#AtoZChallenge – Pandemic Journal: Zǎoqǐ de Rén (Early Bird)

It is certainly not fitting that I write about being an early bird in my last entry for my Pandemic Journal, as I have not finished other entries yet! Although I think it is the most apt conclusion to the 26-day Blogging from #AtoZChallenge.

My Z-day entry, zǎoqǐ de rén 早起的人, means “to get up early” and “person” — or “early bird.” This is the second and last Chinese word in my journal.

I humblebrag being an early riser wherever I go. I try to wake up before everyone else does and want to do things ahead of time. Of course, I get late sometimes. Especially in this Pandemic Journal, where I still have a couple of backlog of entries.

But going back to the word zǎoqǐ de rén. I have changed a couple of words for several entries at the last minute as ideas came in. Then I realized, “Ah, that makes sense.” Just like today’s sudden change.

The Z-day entry, which I intended to be “Zest for Life,” sounded fine at first, but it was truly corny. My original plan was to close this journal with a hopeful note because I feel the pandemic is here to stay. I didn’t want to return to anxiety or binge-watching and get unproductive again.

As I was trying to clear my mind on my way home today (April 30), I looked at my Chinese dictionary app to see if there was an apt z-word – and presto, zǎo appeared. Then the idea came in: that during the self-isolation period in midwinter, I had always been on the lookout for the sunrise. For two months, Beijing experienced less pollution. And that meant vivid dawns. I live in a high-rise apartment so I get a (partial) view of the sunrise from my kitchen (as my room is facing the southwest). That meant I need to move away from my bed to see these daily occurrences.

I’m a sucker for all things related to the sky – yes, sunrise and sunset; the moon and the stars; planets and galaxies; eclipses and constellations – but the sunrise always means something special: it signifies beginnings. Yes, that cliche. And so, I try to beat my body clock and wake up so the first light from the rising sun will reach my eyes.

There’s a visceral feeling to it: that photon coming from the surface of our star travels for eight minutes in the nothingness of space, and then through the chaos of matter in our atmosphere, then through the movements in the city life to arrive at the sensory receptors of my existence.

Let me get it straight: it sounds romantic, but I don’t do it every day!

But I did it a lot of times during my self-isolation period, especially the times when regrets kept popping up, maybe because the stress of living alone in uncertainty triggered my emotions. If there was a reassuring sign that I needed to move on in those hard weeks, that was the beauty of sunrise in Beijing. There was this excitement in me to capture the moment, especially when clouds were visible and make the scene more dramatic. But the mixture of yellow, orange, violet, blue, and black was always enough to energize me.

I’ve always been a zǎoqǐ de rén — I think it started in elementary school when mom would open my weekdays at 4.30 am with a resounding “Bangon na, male-late kayoooo!” (“Rise up, you’ll be late!”). Any time later than that was late, otherwise, I would get stuck in traffic jams. And so I would be bathed in sunlight on the road, and enter the classroom half-awake, occasionally with unbuttoned shirts and or a still wet hair.

I have kept that habit–no, not being unkempt–till now. Actually earlier today when I messaged mom on Facebook and sent a selfie to inform her that I was already in the school at 7.30 am, she asked why I was so early. “It’s safer to travel because there are fewer people on the subway,” I told her. And I like the silence and peace and the headstart that being early brings me.

See? Her morning remarks have stayed in me too.

Photo: Andy Penafuerte III