My remedy for the world's never-ending rush is quiet Saturdays. They serve as my haven, my recalibration, and my tiny protest against the notion that we have to be "productive" all the time.
The slow, organic waking of a body that at last feels heard is how my perfect Saturday starts, without an alarm. The weight of the blanket feels like a reassuring embrace as I stretch under warm linen sheets. The room is dim, the air is cool, and there's no need to rush.
Finding joy in doing nothing.
"Quiet Saturdays are my tiny protest against the notion that we have to be productive all the time."
Still enveloped in the softness of sleep, I stroll barefoot to the kitchen. I make chamomile tea with honey while my kettle hisses softly. I sip silently while leaning against the counter and listening to the world wake up outside.