When I wake up in the morning, I see the rays of light peeking through the blinds signaling the beginning of a new day. I see brightness, and sometimes some clouds. I see everything still the same as I last saw it before I closed my eyes the last time. It is the same, but somehow it is also different. I see a new day that is just starting, a new day that is just another day.
When I wake up in the morning, as my feet touch the cold floor, I feel a chill. It sends a shiver through my body and into my brain, a wake-up call, an alarm to signal that it is time to get up, go on with my day and be useful. Sometimes, it is cold outside as it is inside. In the coldness of the space, I feel the repetitiveness of life, just like an icy wheel rolling on a bumpy road.
When I wake up in the morning, I hear the emptiness of the room. This white noise that is so absent, yet so loud it troubles me. It is nothing but just another representation of life that seems so full, busy and chaotic yet it is empty, quiet and dull. From outside, I hear the noise coming from cars, people and construction machines, all rushing to get places and do things. Occasionally, I hear a bird in a nearby tree singing or the wind blowing reminding me of the madness of human beings.
When I wake up in the morning, I think that this is just another day that I go on with my business as usual. Another day taken by routine, another day as it passes, it brings me closer to the end of the road which might be far away or not; nobody really knows. I think of all the little things we do every day, how much of it could go wrong but it doesn’t. Against all odds, the world seems to still moving forward and despite a miniature in the greatness of this world, I am still part of it.
This is a writing exercise that consists of describing in three minutes the same event using a different “sense” each time, so I picked ‘getting up’.