Every morning, I

... wake up at 6.30am to X’s face. I take a quick shower and get dressed, put on my make up. I grab the car keys and if I remember, my lunch. If X is free, he’ll send me. If not, I leave 10 minutes earlier at 6.50am, drive down the M1 highway at 100km/h. I turn left at Exit 82 and go through a whole series of roundabouts. I park my car at the first level because the basement is always full by the time I get there.

I get into the 7.25am train. Usually I try to get a seat in the corner of the carriage so I can rest my feet on the bar of the seats perpendicular to mine. There’s also fewer seats there in comparison, reducing the chances of my sitting in the vicinity of People Who Talk Loudly On Their Phones and People Who Board With Their Friends and Can’t Shut Up. Fat People Who Choose to Sit Beside You Because You’re Small Therefore They Are Able to Rest Their Bulk on Your Seat Too are unavoidable.

I try to shut my eyes for the next 1 hour 7 minutes.

At 8.32am, I arrive at South Bank station in Brisbane. I’m really fond of the place in general, but lack the time to admire its lush landscapes and artificial riverside lagoon. I hurry up three flights of stairs to get to the South Bank Busway. Sometimes I take the lift.

I usually get on the 174 or 175. Although the buses have their own schedules, they’re often unpunctual. I tap my gocard and sit down. The area which we are headed to is rather multicultural so there are many Odorous People on the bus. It’s not a racist statement, because these people come from many different countries, But what many of they do have in common is this invasive, pervasive stench, which has the uncanny ability to linger long after the offender has gone. I can’t tell if it’s from their diet or if their culture only permits monthly showers or they apply some sort of rancid lotion as part of their beauty routines.

I hold my breath.

I usually arrive at work about 8.50am or so. I work, I do my thing, I socialise with my colleagues, whom I am rapidly growing fond of. I enjoy the little privileges of being able to leave my milk in the fridge and having my own desk and my own little niche to fill. Auditing has left me with nomadic tendencies, so I haven’t graduated to the stage of leaving my jacket or shoes at the office yet. I did leave my pen, but the mysterious office Pen Thief got it. I check my emails, process the requests etc.

Lunch break is half an hour. Sometimes I get take away and have it at the pantry, or walk around eating while I window shop.

I leave work at 5pm sharp, with the only one exception where I stayed until 11.30pm clearing up my predecessor’s mess. I run across the road and pray the bus won’t be late, that there won’t be tourists on the way, boarding the wrong bus and wasting the driver’s time with questions. If I’m lucky, I get to South Bank in time to catch the 5.23pm express train to Gold Coast. If not, I take the 5.36pm or 6.04pm ones, thereby effectively delaying my return home.

The trains home are usually packed. Though packed here, is a relative term. It’s nothing like the LRTs in KL kind of packed (i.e. sardines in a can), but let’s just say I have the options of either standing for 45 minutes until Coomera (where half of them get off) or sitting on the carpeted floor, looking somewhat undignified in my office clothes and high heels.

I choose the latter. Usually, I can’t sleep so I’ll read my latest (temporary) acquisition from the library.

I reach Robina between 6.30pm to 7.10pm. If X doesn’t pick me up, I drive home, going through the aforementioned roundabouts in reversed sequence.

I get home around 7pm – 7.30pm.