I am not a morning person.

It is late in the night when I can hear. I can hear my soul and my heart. All the noise of the day, all the troubles of the day give way to this very moment when I can connect with myself, with who I am, where I can better see my fears and doubts, where I can reflect on my choices and values.

It is this early morning, yet deep into the night, when the world on this side of the planet is covered with the dream blanket, I can sit in the room and make some plans, I can dream the future and aspire.

It is this very moment in time, on the verge of a new day, which can bring tears to my eyes. No, I am not a cry-baby, far from it - I am strong- but there is something very tender and sacred and at the same time very home-like feeling, the familiarity of childhood and a gulp of air of the future, not known but to the point of predictable.

These times with myself and the silence as my witness, I can hear a tender voice that is also very familiar to me from my early adolescence, whispering deep into me of my value, of my purpose, of my destiny.

And later in the morning, when the birds start waking up, when the cool of the morning beacons me to bed I leave – starting this new day with a hope, even through the dreams from which I awake later when the prayers are prayed from the mosques, when the chants are chanted from the temples, when the cars make their way to destinations, when the fruit seller shouts – everything announcing the reality, and the necessity of LIFE that rushes through …swiping and absorbing everything on its way, squeezing all liveliness and energy, twisting like a tornado, banging on the walls and as if challenging and testing whether my solitude times and refreshment can stand the pressures of the day’s demand.