Mornings have come to be really important to me. I grew up as one of those kids who gets on the school bus with disheveled hair, eye goop, tie undone, belt in hand, with an open loathing for school & all things routine. Compared to my shiny-haired, pepsi-drinking sister who was the school bus sweetheart, I looked like the original inspiration for the term “hot mess.”
I’ve always been the nocturnal sort, that person in the building opposite yours, whose bedroom light stays on till the wee hours of the morning, the friend you call at 3 a.m. mostly ‘cuz she’s the only one still awake. So if my 15-year-old self met me now, she’d think I’m a sell out! Maybe my dad’s 3000-word lectures on the importance of proper sleep have finally registered, or jet lag did a number on me, but I’m a changed woman. I find myself enjoying having a few extra hours on everyone in the mornings. That time when the house is unaffected by street noise and you can hear every clink of the spoon, swirling the honey into your earl grey, at the bottom of an old Ikea mug.
I still pull the ol’ all-nighter when I have an edit deadline, or I can’t sleep without finishing a song idea, or on a major pinterest-binge. But the morning has become the new night. It's like gaining and losing something at the same time.
The best part of mornings in New York has been, feeling that sense of urgency to pick up my guitar or haphazardly create shitty recordings and voice notes with random melodic and lyric ideas.
The real question however is, can I & will I keep this up when I'm back home in Dubai? Only time will tell; but in the meantime, the occasional, elaborately-prepared chai & a samosa, its savoury half, promise to be the perfect incentives.
All photos by Naomi Rader
Shirt stolen from Husband's wardrobe