Daily Wake-Up

We wake up slowly to the sound of the alarm ringing out of control. There is a sensation of not quite belonging to ourselves yet, of still being inert, present in the unconscious.

First, the eyes open. You become aware of yourself, turn off the alarm, and realize that it is real. Second, you wait for the body to respond. You begin to rise slowly and then retreat, because the cold wind makes you want to remain still, suspended in drowsiness.

Third, the day calls. The sun starts to slip through the gaps in the large black curtains, and commitments draw near. There is no one to call you, except your own conscience, pushing you into a day that blooms SLOWLY. And yes, you are alone in this great comfort zone your body has found along the path of Oceania.

Finally, your feet hit the floor abruptly. Your body curls inward. You grab the clothes set aside the day before, take off your pajamas—a stained pair of pants that is sometimes used for work that was never part of the plan, but pays the bills—and once again, SLOWLY, you place your feet first and then your body under the pre-warmed water of the shower, which fully awakens you for the new day.

The dreams once idealized—and sometimes achieved—along with the experiences that accumulate along the way, fade every single day in this long process called life.

Every day you face battles; every day you wake up inert, uncertain… unsure of what comes next. And so, by surrendering to an unconscious state of one’s own existence, you move slowly through routine and the experience of earthly days. The autopilot switches on. Where to begin…

Living in Australia is like waking up on cold mornings. It takes strength not to stay in bed when the sun finally rises—to refuse becoming just another survivor of everyday life. Awakening daily to the dreams that gave birth to the unpredictable journey of immigrant life is essential.

You look at the fridge: “Australia — it’s a bloody long way,” says the magnet bought at a small convenience shop. Now you don’t just understand—it’s felt in the skin, in the bones, in the worn-down spirit.

It’s 9 o’clock. Time to go. At 9:15 a.m., the next bus will arrive; you’ll get there around 10:30 a.m. Everything is according to plan… but what about the pursuit of your dreams? What were they, again?

The dreams.

You make a mental effort to remember, but it’s already 9:10 a.m. You’re going to be late. They hate that.

You head towards the door… grab the keys, the bag, the phone, the body, and step outside for another day.

Another day in Oceania. Another day in the land of Nemo.