By Regina Abuyuan

I usually dread the mornings. I hate the feeling of drowsiness, not being able to think right because you’re just too goddamn sleepy. When I’m sleepy, I turn grouchy and uncoordinated; an ill-tempered puppet.

But it’s school time again, and while my partner D has taken the initiative to make the kids’ breakfasts and drive them to school every morning, I sometimes feel guilty that he has to do all the dirty morning work…so I gather up all my willpower to drag myself out of bed and join him and the family for “breakfast.”

We have no stay-in help, so breakfast is a no-fuss affair. No table settings, no side dishes of atchara or elaborately sliced fruit. This particular morning, it’s ham sandwiches, all piled up on a single plate. Baon is packed the night before (that I do). Sounds efficient, yes? Like everything would go by without a hitch? Not really. Either one of the twins has a hard time waking up, gets absentminded while eating his sandwich and loses it to our new Labrador puppy. Another forgets to turn off the faucet after brushing his teeth. Then the other wears his shirt the wrong way. Their older sister is getting grumpy; she’ll be late if the twins carry on like this. Eventually, it’s over. Schoolbags are piled on little shoulders. Kisses are exchanged. They’re in the car and off to school.

I sit alone at the dining table. Crumbs litter the surface; little bits of wheat bread and egg are scattered on the floor, and already I can imagine the ants’ antennae perk up, a contingent of soldier arms ready to pick up the morsels. I pick up their leftovers, put them in my mouth and chew slowly.

Amidst the mess, the whole house is quiet. Cool, not-yet-so-bright, and silent. I’m alone. For the first time in almost a week, I feel I can breathe.

At that moment, I feel like a different person. I feel no tension and anxiety, and a thought crosses: I love mornings.

Let’s see how long that’ll last.