When I was still a child, Saturday mornings meant waking up at 8:00 AM and seeing my father cleaning the motorcycle, while Mama would tend to her plants on the front porch. He always reminded us to sleep early on Friday nights even if we have no classes the day after. “Why?” I would always ask Papa. “So you could start playing early.”
When he was my age, my father worked in KSA for two years. I wonder how Saturday mornings were like in the desert. Perhaps he had to wake up very early to tend to the chickens of the poultry farm where he worked.
When I started working and got the weekends off, I always make it a point to wake up early on Saturdays and Sundays, because it’s the only way to make the most of home-time and friends-time.
I would feel exhilarated to know that I’ve done chores, gone to grad school, gone out with my friends, written a few drafts, and spent time with Mama and my sisters — and realize that it’s only Saturday.
Perhaps this is what my father talked about: Playing early.
Also appears in my Instagram on May 6, 2017. Photo taken at home, upon discovering a box of old photos, documents, and letters owned by my late father.