By Samantha Mok (Grade 9 – Mendeleev)
Monday morning. Sunlight filters through the window, casting a golden glow on the translucent curtains. There was a distinguishable smell of air conditioner, mingled with the faint smell of toast wafting through the air. It was just like any other Monday morning. Warmth, fatigue, and the urge to burrow into the covers and just sleep through everything. Some things were different, though. No deafening roar of the annoying motorcycle that speeds down the road every day. No cars honking at each other to get through the traffic that always commenced at 6:30 in the morning. No people, no delightful shrieks of children in glee, running and dragging across the ground, and no reprimanding shouts of the disturbed old lady living next door. Even the dogs were quiet. Nothing. Except for series after series of shrill ringing.
The urge to burrow into the covers was stronger this time. She now knew that staying up all night to study for the biology test today was a bad idea, and her solid three hours of sleep had proven that to be true. Grudgingly, she forces herself to move, and is immediately greeted by the familiar pain in her lower back. These days, it was the only thing to ever do so. She doesn’t complain. Just reaches over the laptop left open last night, over open books, and shuts the alarm off. Peace.
After much contemplating and spaced-out staring, she walks out of her room to find her mother putting on the same black face mask she has done every week since March, and bagging a spray bottle of ethyl alcohol. “Food’s on the table. When you’re done, put your dishes in the sink.” The front door shut, accompanied with the loud revving of the car engine outside. As she listens to the sound gradually fade away, she checks the time on the living room wall clock. There was no time.
7:16. She stumbles back to her room, to the same chair, the same table of books, to the birthplace of her back pain and headaches for the last five months, and clears some space. She doesn’t complain. Just hastily wipes her dripping hair on the bath towel, wakes the laptop up and faces the same set of people, the same sequence of events. It was for her own good anyways.
She hears footsteps as her brother runs past, carrying a piece of toast in his mouth and rushing to his desk. Focus. Words were drilling into her head, and she tried to gather her senses together. “Quiz.” The gears of her mind sputter, not knowing where to start. The lack of sleep doesn’t help either. She grabs the notebook conveniently lying open in front of her, a pencil, and starts listing the dictated words. The day passes. Slow. Dragging. Grueling. She doesn’t complain. Just complies. This is normal after all.
Tuesday morning. This time there was no sunlight. Just gray. There was still that distinguishable smell of air conditioner, still mingled with the faint smell of toast. It was just like Monday morning; but today, even the covers have failed to provide warmth. The fatigue has doubled, and so has the urge, if not tripled. Still no annoying motorcycle, no honking cars, no people. No shrieking children, no shouting old lady, and no barking dogs. Nothing. Except for series after series of shrill ringing.