7AM. The alarm on my phone rings.

It pulls me out of the middle of a dream. The last thing I remember is sitting on a bus, next to a girl I went to high school with, trying to put on socks, struggling. I have three different pairs of socks in a backpack, two of them don’t belong to me and are the wrong size, and all of them are sandy.
I reach for my phone, turn off the alarm, and set a timer for 15 minutes. I sit in a cross-legged seat and meditate. After 15 minutes, I reach for my phone [again] and turn off the alarm [again]. I brush my hair, which I cut yesterday to 5 mm, with my hand. It feels good.

I get out of bed, put on socks [right size and not sandy], pajama pants, a sweatshirt, and a hoodie. I do a series of exercises to get my body going: push-ups [15], supermans [15], ragdoll stretches [five rounds of 2-2-4 breathing], a stretch where I fold my hands behind my back, draw the fists toward the floor, and look up at the ceiling [five rounds of 2-2-4 breathing], and an exercise where I move from a basketball defensive stance to reaching my arms up as high as I can, hands touching, and then back into the defensive stance again [15].

I slip into my slides and walk over to the windows to open the curtains. The sky looks heavy and light at the same time. It is barely visible, covered in dense, dark gray-blue clouds that move slowly from left to right. They remind me of a never-ending caravan of elephants traveling across the sky.
I take out my camcorder, open the balcony door, and film — only briefly, until I realize that it is not the right time. I stop the recording and simply look at the sky and clouds for a moment, impressed. I go to the toilet.

I go to the kitchen and boil water for my morning cup of sayu. While it is heating up, I walk over to my room, stand in the open balcony door, and look at the sky again. The kettle beeps twice. I close the balcony door, go back to the kitchen, and pour the boiling water into a small ceramic mug that A. made.

I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and connect it to the external second screen. I set a 30-minute timer to edit the article that I’m writing because 40 Nights in Toronto is on the short list of the Marŝarto Awards 2025. After 30 minutes of editing, I type what I wrote in my journal last night before going to bed into the notes doc where I keep track of all my journal entries. I close my laptop and look through the window. Almost all clouds have disappeared.

I get up from my desk. I fold up my pillow, duvet, and sheets and put them back in the sideboard. I fold my futon twice, remove it from the tatami mat, and lean the mat against the wall. I drink a glass of cold water and swallow a vitamin supplement. I put on a vest, a fleece zipper, a jacket, and shoes, and go on a walk.

The sky is clear, light blue, almost white. A plane crosses two small peach-colored clouds, illuminated by the low morning sun that is nowhere to be seen because it has just risen, not yet above the buildings that line the street.
It is cold and quiet. I pass a handful of Christmas trees that were already left outside on a street corner, as well as several people. Having three perfect days ahead of me gives me a deep sense of calm. I stop at a post office to post a letter to P. and M. and walk back toward my apartment. A strong, icy wind blows in my face. More people come toward me, toward the S-Bahn station that I just passed. I arrive at home, take off my shoes, drink a glass of water, undress, brush my teeth, and take a shower.

I get dressed: fresh socks, underwear, and a T-shirt, and the same pants, sweatshirt, hoodie, and slides I put on after getting out of bed. I open the window in the bathroom, put deodorant under my arms, lotion on my face, and my silver Miraculous Medal necklace around my neck. I go to the kitchen, bring water to a boil to prepare rooibos tea, and fill up a glass of water that I put on my desk.

I open my laptop, connect it to the charger, and plug it in. I take my wdy…? notebook out of the desk’s right drawer. I take out my daily planner as well, open today’s page, and cross off what I already did. I close the window in the bathroom, get the rooibos tea, sit down at the desk, start a timer for 50 minutes, and arrange the video clips for the first level of wdy…?

The timer rings. I stop it and set another timer for 10 minutes.

I get up from my desk, open the balcony door, go to the toilet, refill my glass of water, do 15 push-ups and five rounds of 2-2-4-breathing ragdoll stretches, and move over to the open balcony door. The sun is just high enough to glimpse above the roof of the three-story building on the other side of the street. I let it warm my face and close my eyes. The timer rings again.

I open my eyes, close the balcony door, stop the alarm, close the door to my room, and sit down at my desk. I set another timer for 50 minutes and select sounds for the first level of wdy…? that I just arranged.

The timer rings again. I stand up, turn toward the window, and open the balcony door. The sun is higher now and warms my entire body. I stand in the door frame and reach my arms over my head, to the left and to the right.
I go to the toilet, then back to my room to clean up my desk. I put the teacup in the dishwasher, the keyboard and the keyboard stand back in the corners of the room. I close my laptop as well as the wdy…? notebook and put it back in the drawer. I take out my daily planner again and cross off what I just did. I unplug the laptop, roll up the charging cable, and put it on my desk.

I swap my pajama pants for gray Dickies 874s, and the blue crewneck and gray hoodie I am wearing for a black crewneck and a black hoodie. I go to the bathroom and insert my grillz, put my vest and fleece zipper on, and pack my bag: wallet, keys, AirPods, grillz case, highlighter [color: sage], i peaked in high school — stories of my stupidity by Jacob X. Jones, A Path Of Being At Peace postcards from the 40 Nights in Toronto release exhibition, camcorder, water bottle.
I put on my white and gray Los Angeles Lakers jacket, slip into my shoes, leave the apartment, and walk to the Rathaus Steglitz S-Bahn station.

It is still as cold and windy as it was when I went on a walk in the morning, the sky a brighter blue now. I feel slightly uneasy, because I fear I may not have enough time to eat without being in a rush. After observing this thought, I let it pass, certain that I will have enough time if I just let things unfold.
I ride up the escalator; the platform is crowded. I did not expect it to be on a Tuesday, around noon. Five minutes until the S-Bahn arrives. I stand still, close my eyes, and let the sun shine on my face.

The S-Bahn arrives. It is even more crowded than the platform. I find a free seat and sit down. Station by station, the car gets emptier. At Friedrichstr., it is almost entirely empty. I get off one stop later, at Oranienburger Str. I leave the station, walk toward and along Torstr., and enter Slice Society.

A man, a woman, both about 40, and two maybe eight-year-old children stand in front of the counter. I line up behind them, but quickly notice that they may not be ready to order yet. The woman looks at me to signal that I could skip them. I do so and order one cheese slice, one pepperoni slice, and one small bottle of sparkling water.
I pay by card, press 7% tip without thinking about it [I just like the number 7], and notice that I tend to tip more when there is no preselected choice of tip percentages. I take the receipt with my order number and turn around, looking for a place to sit.

All three counter-like tables — two in front of the large windows facing Torstr. and one at the wall next to the cash register — are occupied. I walk over to the large triangular wooden table in the center of the room, about a meter high, without any stools around it. Only two men, who appear to have just finished their pizza, stand at the table. I join them and wait for my order.

Just a moment later, the two men leave, and the staff member behind the counter looks at me, smiling, not saying anything, my order in front of him. I go and get my two slices, each on an individual paper plate, and a small glass bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water.
I return to the table and pay attention to the music that is playing. A rap song with a drumless beat. It is not a type of music I have been into. Now, listening to it, I notice that I enjoy it.

While I went to get my order, the family of four that stood indecisively in front of the counter when I entered came to the table where I had waited. They were five now, as an older woman — maybe the grandmother of the children, or the mother of one of the two parents, or both — had joined them.

I take out my grillz and take the first bite of the cheese slice. Thin and crispy, yet soft and juicy.
Another man and two children join the family at the large triangular table I’m standing at. Now surrounded by eight people, and, after their orders arrive bit by bit, 12 paper plates, I enjoy my pizza. First the cheese slice, then the pepperoni slice. Yamborghini High by A$AP Mob is playing.

After the last bite, I sip the last drops from the San Pellegrino bottle, pick up the shredded parmesan leftovers on both paper plates with the tip of my left index finger, and lick them off. Only a few small puddles of orange oil are left on the plates. I clean my fingers and mouth with a napkin and put my grillz back in.

I take one of the A Path Of Being At Peace postcards out of my bag, put the bag around my shoulder, put the paper plates and the napkin in the bin and the water bottle next to it. I leave the postcard on the unattended counter [it has move at your own pace written on it]. I leave Slice Society.

I walk along Torstr. to Rosenthaler Platz to get on the U8. The train arrives as I descend the stairs to the subway platform. 
I get off at Alexanderplatz to change to the U5. I am surprised by how bright and clean the station is. I haven’t been there in a while and remember it as rather dark and dirty. A pleasant surprise.
I go to the U5 platform, wait three minutes, and get on the train to Hönow.

I get off at Frankfurter Tor, walk down Warschauer Str., and turn left into Boxhagener Str. After about 500 meters, I reach Kino Intimes, right at the corner of an intersection. From the outside, it looks like a typical East Berlin pub. It is probably a few minutes after 1:30 PM. Angel’s Egg will start at 1:45 PM.

I enter and look at the selection of snacks and drinks behind the counter, which is more of a bar, right next to the entrance. I order a ChariTea red iced tea as well as one Lion and one Pick Up! bar. I pay, the woman behind the counter/bar hands me my snacks and drink, and scans the ticket I bought a few days ago. I proceed to auditorium 2. It is a small room with six [or seven?] rows and six or seven seats in each row.

The seats to the right of my seat [row 3, seat 17] are occupied by three young men. I sit down and take off my jacket. I keep the fleece zipper and vest on top of my hoodie. It is rather cold. A few minutes later, a man enters and sits down to my left. I feel uncomfortable, sandwiched between people.
I get a bit jealous of the couple sitting right in front of me because they have the row they are sitting in entirely to themselves.

The first row is entirely empty — until the lights turn off, just seconds before the movie starts. Another man enters, in a rush, and sits down in the first row. The two seats to the left of the man next to me are still empty. About a minute into the movie, I get up and sit down right next to the aisle, leaving one free seat between me and the man. I feel relieved.

The lights turn on again a minute or two after the end credits start. I close the zipper of my fleece, put my jacket back on, put my bag around my shoulder, and leave the auditorium before anyone else. In the lobby, I take two A Path Of Being At Peace postcards out of my bag without looking at what they say and tuck them behind Angel’s Egg postcards in a holder with various free postcards. I leave Kino Intimes.

I walk across Boxhagener Platz toward Ostkreuz. It is a busy late afternoon, just as it was a busy early afternoon. I look up at the sky. The sun, close to setting, turns the fluffy white clouds a peachy orange. Just like it did shortly after it rose in the morning.

PS: What does a perfect day look like for you?

glg Soda Paapi

7AM. The alarm on my phone rings.

It pulls me out of the middle of a dream. The last thing I remember is sitting on a bus, next to a girl I went to high school with, trying to put on socks, struggling. I have three different pairs of socks in a backpack, two of them don’t belong to me and are the wrong size, and all of them are sandy.
I reach for my phone, turn off the alarm, and set a timer for 15 minutes. I sit in a cross-legged seat and meditate. After 15 minutes, I reach for my phone [again] and turn off the alarm [again]. I brush my hair, which I cut yesterday to 5 mm, with my hand. It feels good.

I get out of bed, put on socks [right size and not sandy], pajama pants, a sweatshirt, and a hoodie. I do a series of exercises to get my body going: push-ups [15], supermans [15], ragdoll stretches [five rounds of 2-2-4 breathing], a stretch where I fold my hands behind my back, draw the fists toward the floor, and look up at the ceiling [five rounds of 2-2-4 breathing], and an exercise where I move from a basketball defensive stance to reaching my arms up as high as I can, hands touching, and then back into the defensive stance again [15].

I slip into my slides and walk over to the windows to open the curtains. The sky looks heavy and light at the same time. It is barely visible, covered in dense, dark gray-blue clouds that move slowly from left to right. They remind me of a never-ending caravan of elephants traveling across the sky.
I take out my camcorder, open the balcony door, and film — only briefly, until I realize that it is not the right time. I stop the recording and simply look at the sky and clouds for a moment, impressed. I go to the toilet.

I go to the kitchen and boil water for my morning cup of sayu. While it is heating up, I walk over to my room, stand in the open balcony door, and look at the sky again. The kettle beeps twice. I close the balcony door, go back to the kitchen, and pour the boiling water into a small ceramic mug that A. made.

I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and connect it to the external second screen. I set a 30-minute timer to edit the article that I’m writing because 40 Nights in Toronto is on the short list of the Marŝarto Awards 2025. After 30 minutes of editing, I type what I wrote in my journal last night before going to bed into the notes doc where I keep track of all my journal entries. I close my laptop and look through the window. Almost all clouds have disappeared.

I get up from my desk. I fold up my pillow, duvet, and sheets and put them back in the sideboard. I fold my futon twice, remove it from the tatami mat, and lean the mat against the wall. I drink a glass of cold water and swallow a vitamin supplement. I put on a vest, a fleece zipper, a jacket, and shoes, and go on a walk.

The sky is clear, light blue, almost white. A plane crosses two small peach-colored clouds, illuminated by the low morning sun that is nowhere to be seen because it has just risen, not yet above the buildings that line the street.
It is cold and quiet. I pass a handful of Christmas trees that were already left outside on a street corner, as well as several people. Having three perfect days ahead of me gives me a deep sense of calm. I stop at a post office to post a letter to P. and M. and walk back toward my apartment. A strong, icy wind blows in my face. More people come toward me, toward the S-Bahn station that I just passed. I arrive at home, take off my shoes, drink a glass of water, undress, brush my teeth, and take a shower.

I get dressed: fresh socks, underwear, and a T-shirt, and the same pants, sweatshirt, hoodie, and slides I put on after getting out of bed. I open the window in the bathroom, put deodorant under my arms, lotion on my face, and my silver Miraculous Medal necklace around my neck. I go to the kitchen, bring water to a boil to prepare rooibos tea, and fill up a glass of water that I put on my desk.

I open my laptop, connect it to the charger, and plug it in. I take my wdy…? notebook out of the desk’s right drawer. I take out my daily planner as well, open today’s page, and cross off what I already did. I close the window in the bathroom, get the rooibos tea, sit down at the desk, start a timer for 50 minutes, and arrange the video clips for the first level of wdy…?

The timer rings. I stop it and set another timer for 10 minutes.

I get up from my desk, open the balcony door, go to the toilet, refill my glass of water, do 15 push-ups and five rounds of 2-2-4-breathing ragdoll stretches, and move over to the open balcony door. The sun is just high enough to glimpse above the roof of the three-story building on the other side of the street. I let it warm my face and close my eyes. The timer rings again.

I open my eyes, close the balcony door, stop the alarm, close the door to my room, and sit down at my desk. I set another timer for 50 minutes and select sounds for the first level of wdy…? that I just arranged.

The timer rings again. I stand up, turn toward the window, and open the balcony door. The sun is higher now and warms my entire body. I stand in the door frame and reach my arms over my head, to the left and to the right.
I go to the toilet, then back to my room to clean up my desk. I put the teacup in the dishwasher, the keyboard and the keyboard stand back in the corners of the room. I close my laptop as well as the wdy…? notebook and put it back in the drawer. I take out my daily planner again and cross off what I just did. I unplug the laptop, roll up the charging cable, and put it on my desk.

I swap my pajama pants for gray Dickies 874s, and the blue crewneck and gray hoodie I am wearing for a black crewneck and a black hoodie. I go to the bathroom and insert my grillz, put my vest and fleece zipper on, and pack my bag: wallet, keys, AirPods, grillz case, highlighter [color: sage], i peaked in high school — stories of my stupidity by Jacob X. Jones, A Path Of Being At Peace postcards from the 40 Nights in Toronto release exhibition, camcorder, water bottle.
I put on my white and gray Los Angeles Lakers jacket, slip into my shoes, leave the apartment, and walk to the Rathaus Steglitz S-Bahn station.

It is still as cold and windy as it was when I went on a walk in the morning, the sky a brighter blue now. I feel slightly uneasy, because I fear I may not have enough time to eat without being in a rush. After observing this thought, I let it pass, certain that I will have enough time if I just let things unfold.
I ride up the escalator; the platform is crowded. I did not expect it to be on a Tuesday, around noon. Five minutes until the S-Bahn arrives. I stand still, close my eyes, and let the sun shine on my face.

The S-Bahn arrives. It is even more crowded than the platform. I find a free seat and sit down. Station by station, the car gets emptier. At Friedrichstr., it is almost entirely empty. I get off one stop later, at Oranienburger Str. I leave the station, walk toward and along Torstr., and enter Slice Society.

A man, a woman, both about 40, and two maybe eight-year-old children stand in front of the counter. I line up behind them, but quickly notice that they may not be ready to order yet. The woman looks at me to signal that I could skip them. I do so and order one cheese slice, one pepperoni slice, and one small bottle of sparkling water.
I pay by card, press 7% tip without thinking about it [I just like the number 7], and notice that I tend to tip more when there is no preselected choice of tip percentages. I take the receipt with my order number and turn around, looking for a place to sit.

All three counter-like tables — two in front of the large windows facing Torstr. and one at the wall next to the cash register — are occupied. I walk over to the large triangular wooden table in the center of the room, about a meter high, without any stools around it. Only two men, who appear to have just finished their pizza, stand at the table. I join them and wait for my order.

Just a moment later, the two men leave, and the staff member behind the counter looks at me, smiling, not saying anything, my order in front of him. I go and get my two slices, each on an individual paper plate, and a small glass bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water.
I return to the table and pay attention to the music that is playing. A rap song with a drumless beat. It is not a type of music I have been into. Now, listening to it, I notice that I enjoy it.

While I went to get my order, the family of four that stood indecisively in front of the counter when I entered came to the table where I had waited. They were five now, as an older woman — maybe the grandmother of the children, or the mother of one of the two parents, or both — had joined them.

I take out my grillz and take the first bite of the cheese slice. Thin and crispy, yet soft and juicy.
Another man and two children join the family at the large triangular table I’m standing at. Now surrounded by eight people, and, after their orders arrive bit by bit, 12 paper plates, I enjoy my pizza. First the cheese slice, then the pepperoni slice. Yamborghini High by A$AP Mob is playing.

After the last bite, I sip the last drops from the San Pellegrino bottle, pick up the shredded parmesan leftovers on both paper plates with the tip of my left index finger, and lick them off. Only a few small puddles of orange oil are left on the plates. I clean my fingers and mouth with a napkin and put my grillz back in.

I take one of the A Path Of Being At Peace postcards out of my bag, put the bag around my shoulder, put the paper plates and the napkin in the bin and the water bottle next to it. I leave the postcard on the unattended counter [it has move at your own pace written on it]. I leave Slice Society.

I walk along Torstr. to Rosenthaler Platz to get on the U8. The train arrives as I descend the stairs to the subway platform. 
I get off at Alexanderplatz to change to the U5. I am surprised by how bright and clean the station is. I haven’t been there in a while and remember it as rather dark and dirty. A pleasant surprise.
I go to the U5 platform, wait three minutes, and get on the train to Hönow.

I get off at Frankfurter Tor, walk down Warschauer Str., and turn left into Boxhagener Str. After about 500 meters, I reach Kino Intimes, right at the corner of an intersection. From the outside, it looks like a typical East Berlin pub. It is probably a few minutes after 1:30 PM. Angel’s Egg will start at 1:45 PM.

I enter and look at the selection of snacks and drinks behind the counter, which is more of a bar, right next to the entrance. I order a ChariTea red iced tea as well as one Lion and one Pick Up! bar. I pay, the woman behind the counter/bar hands me my snacks and drink, and scans the ticket I bought a few days ago. I proceed to auditorium 2. It is a small room with six [or seven?] rows and six or seven seats in each row.

The seats to the right of my seat [row 3, seat 17] are occupied by three young men. I sit down and take off my jacket. I keep the fleece zipper and vest on top of my hoodie. It is rather cold. A few minutes later, a man enters and sits down to my left. I feel uncomfortable, sandwiched between people.
I get a bit jealous of the couple sitting right in front of me because they have the row they are sitting in entirely to themselves.

The first row is entirely empty — until the lights turn off, just seconds before the movie starts. Another man enters, in a rush, and sits down in the first row. The two seats to the left of the man next to me are still empty. About a minute into the movie, I get up and sit down right next to the aisle, leaving one free seat between me and the man. I feel relieved.

The lights turn on again a minute or two after the end credits start. I close the zipper of my fleece, put my jacket back on, put my bag around my shoulder, and leave the auditorium before anyone else. In the lobby, I take two A Path Of Being At Peace postcards out of my bag without looking at what they say and tuck them behind Angel’s Egg postcards in a holder with various free postcards. I leave Kino Intimes.

I walk across Boxhagener Platz toward Ostkreuz. It is a busy late afternoon, just as it was a busy early afternoon. I look up at the sky. The sun, close to setting, turns the fluffy white clouds a peachy orange. Just like it did shortly after it rose in the morning.

PS: What does a perfect day look like for you?

glg Soda Paapi