A horribly loud alarm sounds over a huge chain of mountainous islands that are decorated by thousands of plastic traffic cones. Oh shit, it’s not on the islands.
Well, it is, but the islands are just my dream. It’s five in the morning and I have to wake up for breakfast. Today is my Ramadan day, which means that together with some other non-Muslim students in our group we are going to join our Indonesian colleague in keeping with the Ramadan tradition of fasting during the day. My breakfast is as solid as they come: baked eggs drowned in cheese, served with the most filling bread I could find. At 5:41 exactly, the last kosher moment (does the term kosher apply to Ramadan, I wonder? I tell myself not to bother with such questions before noon), I finish the tea, it being the last drops of fluid for the day and crash back to bed. At eight in the morning the day can begin for real. After a brief consideration of the Ramadan terms and conditions on teeth-brushing, I choose to brush. Somehow I feel it will be wise. The breakfast seems to have vanished as if it was never eaten. I expected more of the eggs, really. Ten in the morning, the first coffee break. Or rather, no coffee break. Maybe it wasn’t wise to do this on Monday. A Monday morning without a coffee turns out to have even less charm than its usual self, something I thought was impossible. At one o’clock the lectures are over for today. Home to lunch. Oh no. No lunch today. Back at home the early breakfast gets to me and I decide to get some sleep. Rather, my body decides to go to sleep and more or less passes out. Five o’clock. The alarm goes off again. Not another one of those dark breakfasts, please. It must be my lucky day, as it turns out to be five p.m. and it’s the post guy ringing, delivering a package. Two hours to sunset. Fantasies of club sandwiches fill my mind. I kill another hour writing this article. Quarter to seven, its time to cook. Mmmmmmmm, whatever it is.…
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