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Heavy mornings and quiet nights, that’s the short version of my daily groove. I wake up to a short prayer and a brisk walk, then grab breakfast and jump into whatever must be handled that day — schoolwork, coding, or errands. Afternoons are when I’m most social: clubs, meetings, or catching up with friends over tea. I always carry a tiny notebook to scribble down ideas, song lyrics, or comic panels.
Evenings are for decompression: a quick workout, cooking, and a couple of episodes of 'My Hero Academia' when I need a laugh or inspiration. Before bed I tidy up the workspace and read a chapter from whatever novel I’m chewing through. It’s simple but steady, and it leaves room for the little joys that make the day worth it.
Afternoons paint the most interesting scenes in Abed Salama's life for me—there's a lighter, freer energy after lunch where I switch from chores to craft. I might wander into a local market, buy something bright and seasonal, and use that as inspiration for a new recipe or a short story fragment. Little rituals anchor me: a second cup of tea at three, a ten-minute nap when the light hits the bed just so, and a quick call home to hear someone laugh.
Nights are softer. I clean up the day’s messes, lay out tomorrow’s priorities, and then let myself be carried by music or a TV episode. I end the day with gratitude, thinking of one small kindness I witnessed or gave. It keeps me gentle and curious going into the next morning, which I like to believe is a good way to grow.
My days with Abed Salama are quietly habitual: morning prayers, a simple breakfast, and then a chunk of dedicated work. I schedule my tasks in blocks so I can focus without getting eaten by distractions. Midday I step away for a short walk—fresh air recalibrates me better than coffee ever could.
Late afternoon is when I tackle creative tasks: writing, sketching, or tinkering on personal projects. Dinner is often shared with family or friends, a noisy, joyful counterpoint to the day's focus. Before sleep I like to read a chapter from a book, let the words lull me, and reflect on one small win from the day—those little victories matter.
I get up when the sun's still polite and the city is just waking, and Abed Salama's day looks like a mosaic of small, stubborn routines. First comes a stretch and some sun on the balcony—five minutes of pretending I’m a cat. Then I check a stack of messages: family updates, a friend needing advice, a neighbor selling fresh bread. Work gets chunked into sprints; I set a timer for 45 minutes, tear through tasks, and reward myself with a walk or a beat from my playlist.
Lunch is often something I throw together while listening to an interview or podcast. Afternoons bleed into errands—post office, picking up dry cleaning, helping someone with a flat tire. In the evenings I switch gears: cook an experimental dish, call my parents, and maybe binge a single episode of something light. Before bed I write a tiny paragraph about the day, just to keep things tidy in my head. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine and it keeps me grounded.
Sunrise finds me still half-wrapped in the blanket of thoughts, so my day with Abed Salama begins quietly: a prayer, a tall glass of water, and five minutes of pretending I'm going to meditate properly. After that, I actually get up, make strong coffee, and sketch a messy to-do list on whatever paper's closest. Mornings are for logistics—checking messages from family, scanning the news, and deciding which errands to slot between meetings.
Afternoons are the work-sprint: focused bursts of deep concentration punctuated by quick walks to clear my head. I eat with small rituals—olive toast, a handful of dates, and music that nudges me toward creativity. Evenings are for people and hobbies: teaching a short class, fixing a bike, or playing a few rounds of my favorite game to unwind. Before bed I read a few pages of whatever novel is on my nightstand and jot down two things I was grateful for. It’s simple, steady, and messy in the best way; I like that rhythm and it helps me sleep better.
Sunrise finds me with a mug of strong coffee and a list that changes mood by mood. Mornings usually start slow: prayer or a five-minute stretch, a quick scan of messages, and ironing out the small tasks that feel like wins before the day gets loud. I make a simple breakfast — eggs or labneh, sometimes leftovers — and spend twenty minutes sketching ideas in a battered notebook; it’s my creative warm-up and it keeps the weird ideas from piling up.
By mid-morning I’m either on a keyboard or stepping out into the neighborhood. If I have meetings, they’re crisp and scheduled; if I don’t, I disappear into a project that could be anything from rewriting a short scene to tinkering with a side app. Lunch is communal when possible: flaky bread, bold coffee, and conversation about music, politics, or why the latest episode of 'The Expanse' was peak. Afternoons wobble between focused work sprints and small errands — a pharmacy run, a chat with my mother — then I usually squeeze in a workout or a long walk to clear my head. Evenings are for dinner, a bit of streaming, and reading. Nighttime is when the brain loosens up: I journal, plan tomorrow’s priorities, and fall asleep carrying a single thought that feels important. I like the rhythm; it keeps me creative and oddly peaceful.
I keep pretty strict blocks: morning rituals, deep work, social time, and a wind-down routine. Mornings start with movement and a playlist — something energetic to pull me from the fog — then I switch to a 90-minute focus window where I hammer through the hardest tasks. Midday is for meetings or collaborative work; I try to make those as efficient as possible so I can reclaim late afternoons for asynchronous tasks and learning. I study languages in short, repeated bursts, and sometimes fit in an hour of piano practice.
My evenings are sacred: cooking, talking with close friends, or watching a few episodes of 'Black Mirror' or 'The Crown'. Before bed I always spend ten minutes on gratitude and planning, which helps me sleep and keeps the next day honest. It’s not flashy, but this structure gives me momentum and room for spontaneity, which I love.
Mornings begin with ritual: I light a candle, make tea, and spend twenty minutes planning like it’s mission control. The rest of the day is about execution and adaptability. I use time-blocking religiously—meetings in the morning, deep work in the late morning and early afternoon, and admin tasks after lunch. That clears a path for the unpredictable bits: a surprise visit, an urgent favor, or a sudden creative idea that I have to capture.
I try to layer social time deliberately—coffee with a friend twice a week, family dinner on Sundays; that way relationships don't become accidental. Evenings are for learning: a short online course, a language app, or practicing guitar. Bedtime routine is practical—wash up, prep tomorrow’s outfit, and thirty minutes of fiction to decompress. It's a disciplined kind of life, but I like the feeling that each day is intentionally shaped rather than merely survived.
Some days the routine flips: I’ll wake up late after a night of editing and jump straight into client emails, other days I treat the morning like a creative ceremony. I often split the day into three acts — create, manage, recharge — but I don’t always follow them in order. For example, one afternoon I might take a long bike ride to collect thoughts for a story, then write feverishly at midnight when inspiration actually arrives.
I read a lot during transit and between tasks; I rotate between novels like 'The Name of the Wind' and shorter nonfiction essays. I also keep a tiny practice of playing one round of a cozy game — sometimes 'Stardew Valley' — to reset my mood. Late afternoon is the best time for calls or community hangs, then I cook something simple and listen to podcasts while chopping. Night routines vary: sometimes it’s a film, sometimes it’s journaling or working on a personal project that feels indulgent. That flexible rhythm suits me because creativity rarely respects timetables, but it helps to have a few anchors: movement, reading, and a hard stop before midnight. It keeps me feeling human and surprisingly productive.