and Words
Closing time, open all the doors
And let you out into the world
Closing time, turn all of the lights on
Over every boy and every girl
Closing time, one last call for alcohol
So, finish your whiskey or beer
Closing time, you don’t have to go home
But you can’t stay here
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
As a young child in Puerto Rico, my dad ran his own restaurant; the rear of that building was our home. My parents ran the business, though different aspects of it. However, I only got to spent time with my dad during the afternoon siestas and late at night, after our business closed and all the side work had been finished. I think this was the start of my becoming a nocturnal creature. I treasured those moments I spent with my dad, though he passed away shortly after I turned nine.
My mom tried her best to get us to bed at a sensible time. The television stations played this annoyingly memorable song at a particular time at night; that would inform parents to put their kids to bed. The first verse translates to “Let’s go to bed, since we have to get some rest.” We eventually grew wise to this scheme and turned the channel in order to stay awake a bit later.
My mom fought a losing battle. As I grew older, I stayed up progressively later. By the time I hit teen hood, I’d routinely stay up until 1am or occasionally 2am. On occasion, I endured the fatigue while I attended school during the day but nonetheless typically excelled in school.
Strangely enough, I did nothing that required darkness. It’s not as if I studied astronomy and waited for the night sky. I occupied my mind with either television, novels, programming projects, or video games. The vast majority of the time I simply wanted to finish that movie or chapter in a book. Even through high school, there was no project that couldn’t be finished overnight. It created some very bad habits, and similarly tragically inflated my ego.
Growing up in Florida, literally known as the Sunshine State, the sun (and heat) was persistent and brutal. I spent much of the day exploring the neighborhood, going farther as my familiarity grew. The nights were the reprieve from that sun that burned with the intent to kill. While our house had air conditioning, we rarely used it, opting instead to open the windows and run oscillating fans at full power. Maybe staying up was a side effect of that unrelenting heat.
Once I started at the University of Miami, I enrolled in an 8am Chemistry 101 class on my first semester. I ambled into that lecture hall in a zombie-like state those mornings. However, that state of mental disrepair didn’t prevent me from acing that first exam. I vowed to never take an 8am class again. Being in college and having the leeway to select my classes allowed me to schedule my classes such that I could avoid those dreaded mornings.
In many ways I led a bit of a double life during college. Shortly after I graduated high school, I met a group of Chinese American teens and finally found kinship. My life oscillated between the engineering student who implemented algorithms and the social creature drenched in sweat from dancing. These outings kept me out until absurd hours of the mornings, where I’d occasionally see the glow of the sun as I arrived home.
On my junior year, the unstoppable force met the immovable object. Every engineering student needs to take basic engineering courses from different departments. These courses included statics, statistics, circuits, and from the mechanical engineering department, that class was thermodynamics. They only offered thermodynamics once every other semester, by only one professor, Dr. Adt, and only at 8am. It would’ve been fascinating to observe third year engineering students desperately trying to stay awake through that class, had I not been struggling myself. I think many students gave up attending the class and figured that they could pass the class by studying on their own and taking the exam.
After finishing my engineering degree, I landed at Microsoft. Upon receiving the offer, the recruiter pitched the fact that they practiced flex time; they were not kidding. Early in my career I paired with another engineer. We occasionally got into 36-hour day cycles. This was both incredibly productive and absolutely insane. I didn’t simply take advantage of the flex time benefit, I exploited it. I wandered into the office just before lunch so that I may find a parking spot, but I stayed at work until late at night.
My manager once had the temerity to schedule a recurring 11:45am team meeting for fifteen minutes. On one day, he sends mail to everyone, “It’s 12pm. NO ONE IS HERE.” No one in my team was a morning person either.
For years, I identified with being a nocturnal creature. I stayed up until I saw the flash of sunlight peeking from the sides of my black out shades. I stayed up doing nothing that I couldn’t do earlier had I simply moved everything down a few hours. Sometimes I’d nod off at the keyboard or couch. Years ago, I remember getting a black shirt from a gaming website with the words “Carpe Noctem” front and center; they’re the Latin words for “Seize the Night.” I’d often joke that 12am to 5am was my powerband.
And quite abruptly, it all changed; we bought a house. I went from being a man-child, though functioning adult, to a functioning part of a couple. We willfully made the decision to live our lives together. We carefully integrated what had been two separate people, each with their set of idiosyncrasies, into one combined life. I became a morning person, routinely waking up by 6:30am. I survived the first forty years of my life never owning a coffee maker.
I’d routinely show up to work by 8am, before most teammates. In the evenings, I’d often leave around 6pm, as I’d pick her up from the bus. On many days, I’d bookend my teammates on both start and end of the day. That same manager who reprimanded me for failing to get in by noon, now joked as he asked if I ever left. He observed that, had it not been for the change of clothes, he’d believe that I never left the building.
My routine continued even as she left that job and slept in for a while. I’d get up as quietly as possible around 6:30am and eventually wander out around 8:30am, planting a kiss on her as I left. Eventually, I started new routines based on my newfound schedule, among them is The Breakfast Club, which continues to this day.
On an otherwise forgettable weekend night, I sat in a venue past the night into morning. Abruptly the staff turns the lights to full brightness and starts to play this song over the speakers. The words communicate their intent, “Closing time… you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” In some ways, this catchy tune became the unofficial contract that informs the patrons that it’s time to call it. Only briefly does my mind touch upon the reference to closing time for my dad’s restaurant, where it all started.
On this particular night, I reflected on all the instances in my youth where I actively fought going to bed. In rare instances, we simply longed to spend more time together. However, I spent most late nights doing nothing in particular that I couldn’t simply do earlier. I behaved as if I wandered out late at night figuratively slaying dragons. Though I came to the realization that these dragons did not exist and learned that rest and slumber was its own haven.
A friend insists that people are either day or night people, and that they do not change. I did, and thus I proved him wrong. I do not look upon those days with regret or melancholy; I can best describe it as nostalgia. Much like we look upon a young child opening presents on Christmas morning, blissfully unaware that Santa Claus is an artificial construct. I don’t see myself regressing to a nocturnal creature; it’s a stage of my life that shall remain in the past.
And with that, I finish my drink, grab my jacket, and venture into the night.