I no longer had my mom’s voice to wake me. The distance between us had stretched to thousands of miles and to thousands of days. No matter how loud she called and how alert I slept, I still couldn’t hear her. It was my own voice that woke me – a decision I made or a fight I chose to wage against the rights that were taken from me, including the right to education. I figured if I could find a way to have a normal day, I would feel less like a refugee. I found that in waking up early and starting my day like ordinary people. That also meant I had sixteen hours at my feet to fill. Hours that sat against different clocks—a clock of limbo that paced slower, turning the hours into days and days into months.
And I filled the sixteen hours with scheduled studying, writing, watching films, and going for a walk.
From 8-9am I wrote. After 10 minutes of break, I started studying the course I took on Coursera until 11 am. From 11 to 12pm I read. By this time, my mind had grown weary – a perfect time to take a break and I had lunch. I always had it exactly at 12pm with the same people— a group of 10 and the same food that repeated not every day but one for each weekday.
It didn’t take more than 10 minutes to eat. The repetition of the meal had taken the taste out of my tongue. Sometimes, I could barely push halfway through my plate, and I quickly returned to my room. My mind was still exhausted, and I couldn’t do an intense, attention-demanding task. Instead, I watched a psychology lecture on YouTube—not actively engage with it but let it passively sit at the back of my mind. If I lost my concentration, I didn’t feel bad about it. From 1 to 1:30, I watched a film and then half an hour reading to prepare my mind for a nap. The excruciating heat of the afternoon reached its highest point, piercing through the wall and window, turning my room into blazing hell. That’s what often woke me from my half an hour nap. I quickly took a shower to brush off the heat. From 3:30-5:30, I did another studying session. With the sun moving west, raising the trees’ shed, I headed out for a walk on the gravel path leading to the nearby village. Half an hour of that brought me back, and I read for another hour before dinner time.
The evening hours slowed me down but I didn’t stop. The time outside of this intense studying was more daunting as if it was standing over my head like a teacher with a stick in his hand. I did another hour of writing from 8-9pm and reading from 10-11 with a free hour in between before reaching my bedtime. That sent me to sleep and I woke up to another self-curated “normal” day.
It wasn’t the only routine I followed. In those nine years, a lot had happened and changed, but this was one of the most persistent routines I had around 2019 – 2021.
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As always, Hussain, I am awed by the self-determination and discipline you’ve shown in the face of hardship — or worse, emptiness. Now your days are full in a very different way!
Awesomely impressive discipline Hussain. Bravo!