Waking daily at 4.48am was an excruciating routine. It reminded me of early mornings as a primary school kid, where I’d be forcibly awake for the 6am bus that ferried me to a nightmarish place of alarm bells, prim and proper little girls, and passive aggressive scoldings. Except as an adult, waking up early meant that I was forced to linger until the morning began.
I remember developing the habit of curling in my father’s rocking chair after I awoke from these nightmares. The rocking gave a sorta rhythm to the madness. It wasn’t comforting, but I yearned to be dramatic, and the rocking chair seemed the most apt option.