Sundays are her favorite. After six tiring days of running behind her goals and trying her best to fulfil whatever is expected from her, waking up early to the sound of the church bells on Sunday, a day when all the world expects from her is a smile, when she can curl up in a corner with a good book and just spend hours imagining herself in a whole other world, when she can cook a nice meal for herself and make a cup of steaming tea in the afternoon, not be too tired to take a nice long shower and take two hours to just stare out the window of her fourth floor apartment at the clear blue sky and the farmland that stretches out in front of her, take an hour long call to her family and laugh out loud with her best friend…yes Sundays are definitely her favorite days.
Even in the cold, dark and gloomy Winter, Sundays always seem brighter than the other days to her. When people take time to come out of the warm comfort in front of their blazing fireplaces to walk around in the park, be amongst the nature, to cycle around the town, to hang on to a hot coffee mug and catch up with friends they almost never see during the weekdays. Sundays are the day of the God, the people in the new country she had just settled in told her. Although this was completely new to her from what she was told in her own country, she still sometimes felt the presence of a greater power when she stepped out on Sundays. In the faces of the old men and women sitting around a table outside and chatting or maybe reminiscing of a time gone by, in the smiles and the laughter of kids running around playing their own little games, in the entwined hands of lovers strolling past her, engrossed in their own little worlds, and sometimes even in herself, when she smiled to herself as that song she loves comes up on the shuffled playlist almost as if it were part of a grand plan.
“What would I be doing if I were home today?” she often found her asking herself on Sundays, for you see, even though she was always one to travel far and away, she always left her heart in one place; her home. Many authors in the countless books she read said that home is not a place but a feeling, and she does often feel this way herself, and yet she knows there’s always a place in the little island she grew up in, which will hold her heart like no other home ever will. And Sundays in that place were always the best in her mind. When her whole family, which is quite big already, would be home, coming downstairs to her mom’s tea and breakfast, and then as is her usual routine, settling down with a good book until it’s time for lunch. But what’s the difference you ask? Well she was surrounded by family of course, and family was a very important factor in her life. Not because they were perfect, they actually were far from it, but because they were always there, no matter what.
So she loves Sundays, no matter where in the world she is, who she’s with and what life is currently throwing at her. And she firmly believes that regardless of what the future may bring, Sundays will always be her favorite because she will always wake up on Sundays with the same happiness in her heart.