A lot of the time, I don’t post because it’s simply a normal day for me. I get up. I get dressed. I eat breakfast and go to class. Et cetera.
But I realized that a normal day for me is actually quite different from a normal day in the U.S. For starters, my room is way cleaner.
Days are simple, but there’s a sort of beauty in their simplicity. When I get up every morning I have time to hang up my clothes and to make my bed, to put on makeup and sit down for breakfast.
Breakfast is my favorite part of the day here. My padres have already eaten, but my madre leaves out a mug, some heated milk and coffee for me, tea for my room mate. The Japanese have perfected the art of tea ceremony. It’s an act of Zen, a meditation, and the tea is less its culmination than a natural part of the whole. My meditation takes place at a small dining room table in Spain among muffins and Melba toast. Every morning I sit down and enjoy, not just the drinking of a cup of coffee, but the making of it, the stirring of the heated milk and sugar and the adding of the coffee afterwards. I sip it slowly–it’s so much richer here than it is in the States–and look out across the street to the balcony of an apartment building, which has a dog house out of which no dog ever comes, and over it a strip of sky that is brilliantly, surprisingly blue. In the morning quiet I marvel once again that I am here, and thank God, fate, and circumstance for this gift.