I wake up at 5:30 now. It used to be 6:40 well, 6:10 on some days, when my body stirred before my mind did. But I never got out of bed before the alarm. That was non-negotiable.

Now, I don’t wait. I turn off the alarm before it even rings, sit there for a few moments, and then get up. The only real difference in my routine? I bathe. Twice a day. Not because it makes me feel fresher or better just because. It’s one of those things that happens, without much meaning attached to it.

I eat something light before heading out. Never too much, never too little just enough to make the half-hour walk bearable. I don’t remember the last time I skipped a meal. I don’t think I could. My body knows to expect food at certain hours, and I listen. Midnight oats are a favorite, soft with chia seeds and almonds, just sweet enough from the dates. Other days, cereal. Something predictable.

And then, I walk.

Thirty minutes, whether I have work at the office or not. The walk isn’t about work it’s about passing time. The city is always the same, yet slightly different every morning. A new poster on a wall, a different dog in the street. The people mostly look the same, moving in familiar patterns, heading to their own small corners of the world.

My shift starts at 8, ends at 5. I chose this timing because it gives me some hours at night to be with myself.

At 12:30, I eat lunch. It’s the same meal from the night before while cooking dinner, I always portion out an extra serving for the next day. That keeps me going. One less thing to think about, one less task to do.Lately, I’ve been craving something sweet after eating. It used to be ice cream or cool drinks, but now it’s fruit. A small change, but one that feels better.

By 5:10 sometimes earlier I leave. By 5:40, I’m back.

I don’t rest. I can’t.

The first thing I do is bathe again. Then cooking. Ideally, I’d rinse the rice, set it in the cooker, let it steam while I shower. But my roommate has this thing says the smell of cooking makes her feel suffocated. I don’t use masalas, but I let her have this one. I shower first, then cut vegetables, let them sizzle and soften, then start the rice.

By 7, it’s done. By 7:30 or 8, I’ve eaten.

While eating, I watch something I’ve already seen before. Modern Family. Abbott Elementary.Something light, something familiar. I don’t have the energy for new stories at night. Rewatching feels effortless, like a conversation where you already know the words.

While I eat, I pour water into the rice cooker, let it sit so the starch doesn’t harden. A small trick, learned through routine. Then dishes. Skincare. By 8:30, I talk to my mom. It’s the third call of the day the first during lunch, the second while cooking. This one is different. It feels like a bookend.

By 9, maybe 9:30, the lights go off. Sleep follows soon after.

There are days I wish I could do something else maybe take a detour, maybe sit in silence for a little longer before starting the evening chores. But I don’t.

I can’t.

My routine is stitched into me. If a thread is pulled, the whole thing unravels. Some people say routine makes life dull, but for me, it’s the opposite. It gives me structure, something to hold on to when everything else feels unstable. There’s a certain peace in knowing what comes next, in following a rhythm that is entirely mine. It keeps me steady, keeps me moving. And if that’s all I need right now, then so be it.