I have long been awake, toiling away at the unfinished homework from the night before. The silence that had swelled throughout the house, only broken by the little tapping sounds from my hurried typing, now hear a different sound. It begins with the rustling of bed sheets, and the chilly morning is startled by a loud yawn that escaped Dad’s mouth. He, with his pleasant dreams still clouding up his speech, murmurs something in Chinese to Mom. Mom, not yet fully aware of her surroundings, attempts an unintelligible reply that is just a little too loud. As if they have reached a conclusion to some great debate, Dad suddenly starts up and waddles decisively towards the bathroom just next to the bed. In this brief instant, filled only by the small shuffling noises Dad’s feet make as they drag along the carpet, I chuckle to myself and feel a warm sense of contentment settle in my lungs. Soon, the steady buzzing of Dad’s electric razor joins the morning’s little symphony, and Mom relents to the reality of the duties that lie ahead. But everyone seems at peace. The day has just begun, and welcomes me now with the comforting overture of my parents waking up.
I pack up the unfinished homework. It isn’t the most important thing in life.