It’s still dark outside, the morning light yet to penetrate the thick double-glazed window covered with another thick grey curtain— sunshine barely finds its way inside the room unless I want to. And I always love a bit of light beaming from the blazing sun to come into my room and reflect on the ivory-white wall, making it a well-lit and lively space to brighten my everyday mood. Alas, the winter is bizarrely annoying. Bizarre gusts of wet wind send a chill down the spine, or, at its worst, break against the window and whistle the beginning of a miserable day.
Awoken by the howling sound of the restless wind that felt like a stormy morning, I set my gaze through the window and tried to get an update on the weather. Well, the roads are wet but not watery. Clouds are forming across the horizon, but that’s not my concern— the bus stop is only a few seconds away, so, doesn’t matter if it’s pouring down or blown away by the storm.
Still, waking up at 6 in the morning isn’t a joke, not for me. And I find it extremely difficult to leave my bed at this hour, my cosy bed, the warmth of the duvet— reinforced by the room heater and my reluctant attitude prioritising keep-everything-shut help me maintain the cosiness all day. But it’s more than a luxury for a middle-class citizen like me, you have to get up, freshen up, eat up, and get on the street no matter the weather, regardless of the mood.
And there are more middle-class anywhere in the world than the posh classes. Those people sitting inside a car and driving to the workplace are thinking about paying the loan they took to buy the car, those people waiting for the bus in the stoppages are thinking about consulting a bank official to get a loan and become lower-middle-class just to avoid the hassle of waiting in line for buses. And there are people, like me, trying to connect the social and cultural contexts of two different identities; one that is inherent, another is adopted. Not to mention, how hard it is to keep the balance, finding a rejuvenates point for consolation.
But life goes on.
Just like the autumn leaves.
It decorates itself with shimmering beauty and bursting colour only to fall in winter and rot in the rain. Nevertheless, the cycle continues. The endless sacrifice for a greater good, for an unforeseen future continues. Fueled by the glimpse of bright hope, people desert their beds every morning and zip up their jackets with hats covering their heads marching towards certainty, a certainty defined by money— that can influence your belief, your hope; in versatile ways.
All these struggles are for keeping the hope alive, to strengthen the belief that better things are ahead. Some eventually reach the destination, some don’t. And those who reach there and don’t, find it difficult to have good memories, memories that aren’t filled with laughter, joy, happiness, and passion— memories worth pondering in old age, worth having a smile upon. Cause they aren’t formed with affection, as simple as that.