With the recent outbreak of Covid-19, lives across the globe have lost routine. Where the 7 days of the week brought diversity and feeling to our lifestyle, staying at home without a set purpose has made each day dull and monotonous. I began to miss these “characters in my life”, and decided to write a letter to each of them, hoping they return when all of this is over.

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Dear Monday,

It almost feels as if you have never left. I try to forget that feeling of grief you bring as another weekend flits by without mercy, but certain feelings can not be erased regardless of how much time flies by, can they? Your morning coffee could never open my eyes wide enough, and even if the sun was in the most perfect spot in the sky,  you always felt incomplete, like one-sided love, or living with someone impossible to please. I tell you, over and over, that the world does not revolve around you, but your sleep-deprived mind can not make sense of the simplest of rational thought. Monday, I tried to care about you, but your timing was never right. I know that the hate that you receive from humanity is soul-crushing, but why does it feel as though you have given up all hope? Please do return. Complaining about you was so much more fun than your absence. You were the low that made the highs so much more worthwhile.

Dear Tuesday,

You were the day that teachers loved putting tests on, but I didn’t mind you much. Compared to Monday, you were heaven itself. Now, I realize it was your routine that provided me comfort even though the week had just begun. I noticed that you were never cyclical, but rather linear, telling me to connect dots as told by those around me. Tuesday, you reminded me that if I followed the rules, persevered through the most impossible of tasks, and meticulously strove for perfection, then I would be successful in this world.  You were order and obedience in its most refined form. I loved the way you never made me think. I love how you made me feel that I was getting somewhere in life.

Dear Wednesday,

I never could figure out what you wanted from me, but I guess that was why you were always in the middle. Sometimes, your seconds would run as fast as a hummingbird’s heartbeat and I would forget that you even existed. Other times, your minutes refused to move on, and I would find myself staring at the clock watching your Time smirking at me. It was those days that my mind would wander to places, both known and unknown. Wednesday, you took me traveling to countries I didn’t even know existed while I was seated at school, twirling my pencil in physics class. You took me to Mount Everest and sat me on its peak, showed me the best parts of life, revealed things that would never be possible in a Tuesday’s world. My hands would stretch out, yearning for an inkling of freedom, but then you would disappear, and I would be thrown off, frostbitten, screaming into the depths of life where only grief can exist. Wednesday, you were more talk than action, but I thank you for all the stories you have shared with me. Without them, the reality of Thursday would have annihilated my heart by now.

Dear Thursday,

You showed me all of the life that I did not want to ever see. Your dark circles, sunken shoulders, and an aching lower back make you feel as if the end was near, but when you looked up and into the future, the road stretched out for eons. I saw periodic yawning escaping your lips in short bursts, quick enough that others do not see. While Monday flaunts its tiredness like a badge of honor, you seem to be ashamed of its presence. I can understand. You just want to be over. You dream of living on an island away from the prejudice of people and fears of failure. Your sighs reek of regret and a life not lived to the fullest, but I will always revere you for your strength. Somehow, you manage not to drop everything and run away. Even though no amount of coffee can motivate you again, you are determined to finish strong. When you do, you make Fridays seem like a trophy hard earned.

Dear Friday, 

I looked forward to you not because your presence signaled freedom, but rather that your innocence actually believed that it existed. You needed no coffee because the adrenaline of seeing the finish line was enough for you to power through the day. You were obnoxious bus rides. You were late night Bollywood movies with the family. You were rambunctious parties in living rooms filled with more bodies than the room should hold. Friday, you were reckless, giddy and everything in between, and I felt that even if I could not reach the tops of mountain peaks. Even if I could not look at the sun like Wednesday promised that I would be able to. Even if Thursday’s sorrows seemed to belong to a distant past, I still ran to you like you were my lover. For providing me momentary bliss, I thank you. Having you in my life made all the struggle worth it.

Dear Saturday, 

Back then, I wished everyday was you, because you were moderate. Your mind was not clouded with the crazy high of Friday, nor sulking in fear of the aggression of Monday. Peace permeated out of your body in slight breezes, almost… addicting. You were evenings by the playground, boldly claiming that soccer was superior to basketball. You were umami and home-cooked goodness with competitive chess games all in a tight bunch. You were homework done out of enjoyment, because, Saturday, you didn’t have a deadline. You did things just for the sake of doing them, and if you couldn’t, it was okay. Now, I realize that you are dangerous for me. You always trapped me, telling me that I had enough time to accomplish everything in life, and I could simply sit back and watch it all unfold before me. You wanted me to become mediocre just for temporary relaxation. I hate you for twisting me in the name of comfort.

Dear Sunday, 

I always felt sorry for you. Your freedom was shacked with a veil of tomorrow, and no matter how many times you looked at the clock, it would come. This apprehension that fed on your soul made you restless. You were late nights finishing homework that should have been completed by Saturday. You are frenzied trips to the basement, ironing clothes for the next day. Sunday, you feel as though you are still at the starting line, running on a treadmill, and told to finish a marathon, and no matter how strong you are, no matter how many times you take this cycle of life, weakness was your only destination. You don’t want to start something fresh, because you are quivering in fear of what it could bring. Another week trudging after someone else’s dreams? Another day spent, investing in a future that you didn’t even want? Another week of sinusoidal waves that’s range and amplitude stretch so much that you could barely breath just thinking about it? Sunday, you were decisions that are never taken into action. I laugh at you for your cowardice.

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