I now hate mornings. Most people get off their beds, ready to sip their coffee then listen to the background noise of nature while staring at their plants, but I find agony from the moment sunlight blinds my eyes.
This pandemic made me hate mornings. I still remember my pre-pandemic life; going to school was a pain in the ass, but it has an unexplainable warmth it gives. Despite the need to wake up an hour earlier than my first subject’s time, it emits energy and motivation, like you’re looking forward to that day.
Before, I usually get up around 4 AM. That’s crazy, right? It’s too early and pretty tiring, it may sound, but I look forward to the breakfast my mom prepared for that day. I usually finish my morning preparation around 5 AM because I need to get on the bus stop by 5:30 AM. All of those seem exhausting, but it became a routine, a part of me. I’ll probably get on the bus around 6 AM, and if I’m unlucky, it would be 6:30 AM. By the time I get on the bus, whether I am seated or not, my playlist and earphones will already accompany me. The music complements the scenery I witness almost every single day, but there was never a time I got tired of seeing it. It really does feel like you’re the main character in a coming-of-age film or a star in a music video. It brings so much pleasure, and it makes me feel alive.
The various people I encounter every day — different faces with different dreams, I may not know them personally or wholeheartedly, but they give connection despite being strangers. Ironic it is, but for once, I felt I belong. Our heartbeats move into the same beat and rhythm while we’re breathing the same air. There’s a sense of belongingness that radiates harmony, and it’s a reminder that everything is occurring — we are living.
But now? Everything seems black and white. It’s dull, plain, and lifeless.
The sudden shift to this new routine is overwhelming. Mornings are now a heavy concern for me. Every time I think of tomorrow, I already feel exhausted. Another morning reminds me that I am stuck in a loop. It’s ridiculous that I have fewer movements for my new morning, yet it feels more tiring than the long preparation I had before.
Now, I wake up around 7 AM despite going to bed at 2 AM or sometimes 3 AM; it varies on how much workload I needed to accomplish that dawn. I barely eat any breakfast because I don’t even crave for anything at all. I don’t even make myself pretty anymore. I just get up on my bed and grab my laptop so I can join our Zoom meeting. Together with other students, we patiently wait for our professor to start the class. Before, there’s some sort of connection between the strangers and me from my mornings, but now? There’s nothing. The belongingness that was once an antidote to loneliness is nowhere to be found. Every meeting feels empty. Well, right now, I’m actually trying to solve a math equation our professor asked us to do, but even though I’m trying my very best to comprehend it this morning, I can’t understand it at all. It’s not for the fact that I don’t like math, but I already lost the enthusiasm and motivation that was once burning.
This pandemic made me hate mornings, and I hate the fact that I now hate mornings. I want to go back to the early bus rides, morning playlists, the random eye contact with strangers, the welcome hug from friends, and the unexplainable comfort it gives.
Call me ungrateful for not appreciating the mundane things around by the moment I wake up — I’m sorry that I got exhausted in looking for craze in mornings, in life.
For I now hate mornings because the time of the day that was once a reminder that we are alive and existing is now a reminder that we’re stuck in an endless uncertainty.