Precious

Routine

I was awake but I couldn't quite understand if I was cold, sweaty or just uncomfortable. It's astonishing however that I hadn't felt the need to check my phone then. I was either actually changing as a person or the fact that maybe I was too lazy to turn to my left could have been stopping me from doing so. Fortunately, the morning light that was filling up my dark room with its blinding luminosity was a good reinforcement. I had always been told that being in your 20's is the best time of a person's life. I can't quite understand that; I'm merely an adult, avoid going out with friends, refrain from being indulged in small talk and try to be as reserved as possible. I thought to myself as I checked the number of texts I had received. There were fortunately none. I then put down my phone and looked at the ceiling. I observed the fan circling so fast that time seemed to match its speed for me.
At that moment I didn't get how people had vivid thoughts and imaginations mostly at night. My brain was so contained that opening my eyes felt like running an electric grinder at maximum speed. The only difference was that a grinder would stop when there isn't enough electric current. It was 9:30 and my alarm had gone off for the millionth time. I was not very disappointed even though I  had been shamelessly snoozing them for about two hours.
I sat up and observed my own room as if I'd never seen a view like that before. The off-white walls matched perfectly with the plain, light blue bed sheet that I had changed the night before. My single bed was glued to the front and the left wall of the bedroom. The remaining two walls, each bore a piece of furniture; a sofa, a table, and a chair appeared to make the room congested as ever with the marble flooring just adding to the suffocating beauty of my haven. This reminded me exactly of who I was as a person.
I stood up and raised both my arms in the air. Clutching the right wrist with my left hand, I stretched out each muscle in my body. Those three seconds were eternal bliss for me. I then walked into the bathroom that was nearly five steps from the side of the bed and looked straight into the square shaped mirror which hung exquisitely on the left corner of the right wall. The marble continued into the bathroom floor right up to its walls. No wonder I had always been afraid of change. I wasn't sure why I was looking at myself in the mirror then and I still haven't figured now.
My hair appeared to be somber yet fell so perfectly down my shoulders. It was longer than it had ever been. My face however was obnoxious and murky that morning. I caressed underneath my left eye with my right ring finger and noticed how tired I appeared. I immediately assured myself that I looked better than how I had looked the day before. It was not the first time that I had felt like an impassive being with my chest enduring some kind of a pressure that needed to be lifted. Yet that day for some unimaginable reason, I sensed the greatest amount of agitation I had ever experienced in my life.

It was sunny outside and all I could hear were birds chirping and a faint sound of children laughing. Although it was a hot day, these kids didn't seem to care about the increasing humidity or the scorching heat. My childhood wasn't very different from theirs. I spent my summer vacations playing treasure hunt and hide and seek to the point where I would be minutes away from collapsing.
There was nothing very different about my living room. It had the same floor and the same walls apart from the fact that my living room had a good amount of windows unlike my bedroom, which had none.
I can't recall the last time I had switched on the television. I thought as I made myself a hot cup of tea. I then sat on the couch observing the bright sunny day.  Surprisingly, Mrs. Pickey hadn't visited me yet. She had first met me last winter when she was only a baby pigeon. Mrs. Pickey was then a shy, injured bird who had been attacked by an eagle. She nearly lost a leg and had found shelter in my balcony. I noticed her the next morning when I saw how she had cemented herself in the corner while she was shivering with fear, struggling to fly every time I got near her. She has been a regular visitor ever since. I would be lying if I said it wasn't annoying then as she had considered my place to be the perfect spot for raising a family later on. She had even hosted huge parties for her friends that forced me to hang CDs on the washing line. I had read somewhere that any kind of shiny objects could keep pigeons away but Mrs. Pickey was a brave creature who, in spite of being warned, did not care one bit though her companions were pretty scared of it. Luckily, my balcony doesn't smell like pigeon droppings anymore.

My tea was still hot and I watched the steam escaping my cup in a trance like state. That reminded me of freedom probably because I had spent the night watching 'The Pianist'. Digestive biscuits and tea were my breakfast that morning. I dipped the biscuit into the cup and took the first bite. Each grain of wheat melted on my tongue and the tea made the biscuit taste sweeter than it already was. I hadn't even swallowed the first bite or taken a sip out of the cup when I heard a loud cry. I was confused as I couldn't remember 'The Beatles' ever crying in any of their songs and definitely not during 'Hey Jude' that I had just played on my phone. I swirled my tongue around my teeth and took a second bite. The cry became even louder. It almost sounded like a scream. I was sure it was a child and that it was coming from the outside. I placed my cup on the glass table that was in front of my couch and rushed toward the balcony.