The alarm rings at 7:30 am. I hit snooze. And it rings again at 7:38. Then at 7:45. I hit snooze again. And again… until I finally wake up right when it’s time to start working. Of course, this is the case when I work from home. The other days I do the same thing until I really have to get up to catch the metro or take a cab to get to work on time. Please don’t judge. I’m 28 years old and yes I still don’t have a healthy morning routine consisting of exercise like many adults my age do. But anyway, my mornings for the past week have started to feel a bit easier – and no, I haven’t started exercising and it hasn’t become “addicting” as I hear it does. To those of you who are healthy-morning-exercise people: I’m really not hating, I’m just jealous that I haven’t been able to do it yet.

But never mind that, let me tell you why my mornings have become a bit easier.

My mornings have become a bit easier because even though I am still waking up and dragging myself to the kitchen only to stare at the kettle and wait for water to boil so I can make my instant coffee, I’m one day closer to waking up from the best sleep. The kind that makes you feel 10 years younger.

I’m one day closer to getting out of bed and having the ice-cold marble tiles hit my bare feet and wake me up once and for all.

I’m one day closer to slowly making my way through that corridor. That corridor that echoes my entire childhood; the games like “Chambre Noire”, the quiet tiptoeing to eavesdrop on adults’ conversations, the corridor whose sturdy doors served teenage me with the perfect weapon to make an angry statement – SLAM! Not to forget, that corridor whose main role was to keep its light on at night so it wouldn’t get too dark and scary for my sister and I to fall asleep.

I’m one day closer to hearing that distinct and powerful voice that is my grandma’s, asking if the water has come today (اجت المي؟؟) – in other words, has the government graced us with free drinkable water from the tap today? If only they could hear my grandma’s commanding voice; they would have no choice.

I’m one day closer to the smell of Turkish coffee roaming around the house and saying good morning to everyone.

I’m one day closer to “Bonjouuuurrr Oumayatiii” with a side of mom’s cuddles.

I’m one day closer to stepping into the living room and seeing the faces that I love and miss the most in the world all in one room – and as I write this, I try not to feel sorry for myself that this is not a norm in my life; that it’s a special treat I get to enjoy only once or twice a year.

Nonetheless, my mornings and days and nights have been just a bit easier because I’m one day closer to finally being home.