i rarely wake before 9am, but two things combined spat me out of bed: (i) i was going rock climbing before my 1pm class, (ii) the shining Sydney sunlight which stole in through my raised shades splattered across my eyelids…a punch i always feel.

an hour after waking, i leave my room (which faces the bustling, zippy Enmore Road) for the kitchen. C, the mother of my other housemate, was at the dining table, doing her homework, which seemed endless because she was always there. she muttered to herself loudly the same moment i emerged from my room.

“good morning!” we called.

the previous night, she crept up on me as i sautéed onions, telling me that she noticed my toilet was “stained and stinky” and that i should clean it weekly “because it’s part of living! hygiene!”

i brought up that the flush wasn’t working well (“what do you mean, not working?!”)

i said “ok” at the end of it all, instead of asking “why are you peering into my bathroom?”

C likes to watch over me as I cook. And so, I made breakfast, ate fast, biked 1.3km down Edgeware Road, and arrived to a gloriously empty climbing gym, save for two to three other pairs, who were carefree and on climbing highs of their own.

in-between bouldering, I read a New Yorker piece on Guantanomo Bay and Obama’s failed promises. In the text, the phrase ‘habeaus corpus’ suddenly reminded me of a class I once took (American Foreign Policy and Human Rights) of which i scarcely recall.

an hour passed, i biked home: Alice Street, Clara Street, Station Lane, Reiby Lane.

i cooked, prepping brunch and lunch, slicing shiitake mushrooms and toasting cheese on chia wraps.

from her usual, warmed spot at the dining table, C chirps: “Min Yi! it’s a pity you didn’t do your laundry today! the sun is so bright!”

i rarely do my laundry weekly.