On Sundays I wake up to the sound of my alarm then steal another 5 minutes of slumber. I close my eyes and imagine the nearly deserted roads outside.
For a change, I’m in a good mood, taking time to chat with my mother. I remember the years I lived alone in the city, the simple joys of making pancakes and scrambled eggs during days when I am already gloriously late for work.
On Sundays I let my skin breathe — just a touch of powder and a swipe of lipstick.
There are no long lines at the terminal or at the MRT. I breeze past deserted streets in Makati while listening to the soundtrack of the day. No radio news for me, let me worry about that when I get to the office.
The newsroom on Sundays is a welcome sight. Except for interviews over the radio, politicians and government officials take a back seat.
Sundays are for features and world news. I get my weekly dose of wire stories while attempting to be omniscient — ears on the radio, eyes on the many television screens.
On Sundays I get to eat a pack of junkfood and ice cream for morning merienda.
It gets lonely though…on Sundays.
I scour the Internet for interesting news only to find posts of colleagues spending time with their families, having lunch outside or watching films.
My family asks me to take a day off on Sunday. I want to but I don’t want to.
On Sundays I am at peace with the world.
Postscript: Working on Sundays keeps me sane — it saves me from working on Fridays or Saturdays (and you know how it is during those days). My weekend starts tomorrow and I am as happy as can be. Happy weekend!