From A Far Away Time

At some point in one’s life, every day becomes a near-continuous routine. Wake up, do what sustains you, do what sustains this routine, and rest up for the next day to do it all over again until the weekend. Deviations can be few and far between—sometimes even unwelcome, as humans are creatures of habit and dislike disruptions of the familiar, no matter how mundane.

Part of Aina’s routine was to have these thoughts invade her mind whenever she was at her loneliest and quietest: typically on the last night of a weekend, just before the dawn of a new week of being an office drone. It’s only been three years, and yet it easily felt like it has been over three times as long.

She made this career choice because it felt like the responsible thing to do—for herself, and for her single mother who continues to pursue her own career. If working for a better tomorrow would cost much of her today, then it would eventually be worth it.

“Right?” Aina tried to assure herself as she stared blankly at her bedroom’s ceiling. It was just after sunrise, which would normally be the start of her weekday routine. Her mood turned from sour to spoiled as she realized that it was the wrong day to be up so early: looking at her phone on the bedside table, she saw that it was a Sunday. A weekend, and the last one at that. She should still be sleeping right now, stockpiling it for the upcoming weekdays when she would have barely enough of it. But it was too late. She was already wide awake, and her long-developed habits worked against her.

Aina decided instead to get up and begin the day: bathroom to relieve herself and freshen up, and a trade of her pajamas for something more fitting for the day: in this case, a slimmer-but-still-loose shirt and comfortable shorts. She then went out of her room to see if breakfast was made; otherwise, she’d make it herself.

Nothing. The downstairs living room and kitchen were devoid of people. Her mother was still asleep in her room. She could still teach her daughter a trick or two about adulting, Aina was sure. After checking to see that her mother had not cooked anything in advance, Aina decided to prepare their usual breakfast meal: omelette, a light soup, a mix of steamed vegetables, and rice.

Twenty minutes later, most of the food was ready and waiting on the table, with the exception of the rice which would still need a few more minutes in the cooker. With little else to do and not wanting to eat alone, Aina went out to the back porch.

The sun wasn’t quite in full force yet, so Aina closed her eyes and took in the warm sunlight with a contented sigh. She would have been happy to still be asleep, but the occasional relaxing morning like this wasn’t so bad. She could always take a nap in the early afternoon, she reasoned.

Her neighbor’s radio was audible, but so far it was playing some relaxing morning tunes that weren’t too grating on the ears, and it didn’t seem loud enough to reach her mother’s room. She wasn’t in the mood to complain, either, so she let it go and listened, lazily swaying her head along.

This, too, wasn’t so bad. She rarely had time to enjoy music in her everyday life, and mostly used it to mute the cacophony of everyday life during her commutes to and from work. On weekends, she was either asleep, playing video games or watching videos, or helping her mother around the house, and any song that might be playing during the latter activities was dismissed as background noise. But there was a time when she enjoyed music so much that it was an unshakeable part of her life.

As the song ended, a new one was already queued up. The opening notes made her open her eyes, and a melancholic look occupied them. This is…

The singing started. The voice that did so was instantly recognizable. Her mouth curved into a wistful smile. Then came a second voice, also recognizable, and she sighed and looked slightly down with unfocused eyes.

Halfway through, her legs and then the rest of her body seemed to move on their own—slowly, as if having just been woken up after years of slumber, but with long-practiced movements that time was not quite able to take away.

Her voice followed—though only humming occasionally as opposed to singing along, it was as if the parts she sang were meant specifically for her to sing. She did a slow twirl as the song ended, and then struck a pose that she long thought she had forgotten.

The radio jockey came up, and she sighed as she sat down. It was absurd, what she’d done at the spur of the moment. All because of a song…

“Aina?” her mother called as she peeked out from the door. She was awake now, and apparently heard what she was doing. “I thought I heard something here. Were you…?”

Aina shook her head and smiled another wistful smile. “It’s nothing. I was just waiting for the rice to finish cooking.”

Her mother heard the radio this time, and it started playing a song that she could see her daughter knows all too well. Recognizing Aina’s look for what it was, she nodded and lightly patted her daughter’s head. “I’m sure you were. Let’s have breakfast now.”

As her mother went to the dining room, Aina looked at the clear blue sky and let out one more sigh. Maybe she could still…?

She shook her head. Maybe. But not now.

‘Then when?’ When will that time be? She’s tried to look for an answer to that several times before. Wouldn’t it be too late for her by then? Was this supposed to be the better tomorrow she was working for all this time?

Aina finally went back in, feeling worse than when she’d looked at her phone earlier. It hardly seems fair. She made her choice. She thought she wouldn’t be alone in it, that there would be at least someone who would make her feel like her choice was valid.

But just like the memories that came back, that someone was from a far away time. They also made their choice and accepted Aina’s, and the cost for her was to see them go out of reach with each passing day.

For once, she looked forward to Monday and wished it came more quickly.