When was the last time you blinked, looked around, and wondered, “How on earth did I get here?” Because that’s me every morning at 6:32 a.m., right when this one neighborhood rooster (who I swear holds a grudge from a past life) starts singing his off-key remix of “Rise and Shine.” I live in Hialeah, a city that hums with the spirit of cafecito-fueled debates, pastelito crumbs on the dashboard, and music pouring out of every open window. It’s a place where “routine” feels almost like a challenge—each day offering just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

And yet, my version of chaos comes wrapped in comfort. My daily habits somehow keep me grounded as I wade through writing deadlines, the joys of Miami traffic, and the occasional existential crisis. Here’s a peek into my not-so-predictable yet oddly soothing day-to-day.

6:32 AM: Coffee First, Enlightenment Later

Let’s get one thing out of the way—I’m unapologetically Cuban in the way I take my coffee, which means it’s basically jet fuel with a side of sugar. No oat milk, no foam art, just pure café cubano that could jumpstart a spaceship. I brew it in my parents’ old stovetop cafetera, which whistles like it knows it holds the ancestral strength of my entire bloodline. Before the coffee’s even cool enough to sip, I take it out to my small balcony for my morning ritual: greeting the neighborhood cats.

There’s Bigote, a tabby who looks like he’s been through three breakups too many, and Abuelita, whose cranky scowl reminds me of every exaggerated family argument I grew up loving. I whisper hypothetical relationship advice to them while reminding myself of my to-do list—a surprisingly meditative start to the day.

Unexpected Habit Alert: I’ve gotten so good at predicting which cat will show up in which mood that I sometimes text the running “Cat Horoscope” updates to my sister, who mostly responds with, “Raúl, please write your next novel instead.”

8:15 AM: Morning Pages—But Make It Chaotic

Every writer I know swears by morning journaling, something about “starting the day by emptying your mental clutter.” I took that advice and turned it into what I call Letras Locas, or “Crazy Letters.” This is where I jot down the most ridiculously random thoughts zipping through my brain:

  • “Would I survive a zombie apocalypse if the zombies only attacked people who publicly overuse hashtags?”
  • “That time at family Nochebuena when Tía Carmen declared she now identifies as a Scorpio—discuss.”
  • “Why do we say ‘fall in love’ and not ‘descend gracefully with safety precautions’?”

The goal isn’t to find answers—just to laugh at myself, loosen up, and remember that creativity isn’t supposed to be a chore.

10:30 AM: Mid-Morning Deep Dives

This is when my writer mode kicks into high gear. I focus on articles for This Publication, fiction drafts, or emails advocating for literacy programs. But here’s my secret weapon: I write barefoot. There’s something grounding (literally) about pressing your feet into the floor while your head is lost in the clouds of ideas. I learned this trick while doing that writers’ residency in Key West—it’s a Hemingway-adjacent quirk, minus the mojitos before noon.

Also, every hour or so, I break for a dance party. Think Warren Zevon one minute, Celia Cruz the next. Writing romance requires rhythm, even if that rhythm is me chaotically spinning in mismatched socks. Bonus? It’s excellent cardio.

1:00 PM: The Great Sandwich Showdown

Now, listen, every relationship expert out there will tell you that compromise is key—and I practice this art every lunchtime when I try to recreate my mom’s iconic media noche sandwiches. Hers are legendary: sweet Cuban bread, roast pork, ham, mustard, and pickles layered into perfection. Mine? It’s more “naive optimism slapped between bread.” Tomatoes slip out, I forget the pickles half the time, and, worst of all, I commit the sin of pre-sliced Swiss.

Still, I fry it up because effort counts for something, right? Whether it turns out perfect or not, it becomes my quiet time to reflect on something philosophical. Today’s deep thought? “If sandwiches were people, would mine ghost me after one date?”

3:00 PM: The Hialeah Joy Patrol (Starring My Mom)

No day in Hialeah would be complete without a spontaneous errand run with my mom. She’s the queen of keeping things fun: one minute, we’re at La Carreta buying croquetas “for later,” the next, we’re trading gossip about relatives whose drama deserves an entire Netflix series.

She loves giving unsolicited (yet scarily accurate) love advice while we drive. “Raúl,” she’ll say, pointing at me mid-turn like a psychic, “if someone doesn’t like that you read poetry in Spanish, they’re not worth your time.”

She’s not wrong.

Pro Tip: Borrow wisdom from your elders—and remember, most fights with your mom can be smoothed over with flan.

6:00 PM: Defining Modern Romance, Hialeah Edition

Writing about relationships has this interesting side effect: it makes you hyper-aware of patterns, including your own. On any given evening, I might be deep in conversation with friends at a local Miami brewery, asking questions like, “Why do people use texting as a weapon of mass miscommunication?” or “What’s the modern equivalent of a handwritten love letter?”

Here’s what I’ve learned: there’s no universal formula for love, but laughter comes pretty close. Relationships don’t thrive in silence, they grow in the day-to-day randomness—jokes shared on the couch, overcooked dinners, the unexpected ways we learn to forgive each other.

8:30 PM: Twilight Walks with a Side of Spanglish

Post-dinner (fine, post-second dinner if dessert qualified), I wind down by walking through my neighborhood. The breeze carries the sounds of loud domino games and the faint aroma of garlic from someone’s kitchen. I let the familiar rhythm calm my overcaffeinated brain.

This, by the way, is when I do my best daydreaming. Sometimes, I reimagine old heartaches as screenplays, the plot twist being me dramatically thriving. Other times, I wonder about future adventures—new stories, new people, and new pastelito flavors (mango guava, anyone?).

10:00 PM: Bedroom Wisdoms

I usually close my night by reading something that inspires me. Lately, it’s been José Martí, whose verses remind me that life—even its messiest parts—is always worth celebrating.

Right before my head hits the pillow, I mentally rewind the day and search for one moment of gratitude. Some nights, it’s a silly text from a friend or the way my mom’s laugh filled the car earlier. Other nights, it’s simply Bigote doing his best deadpan stare of disapproval.

Gratitude makes all the difference—it centers you, even in a world that feels perpetually unsettled. And maybe that’s the real takeaway here: routines don’t have to be boring. They can nurture you and surprise you, all at once.

Your life, like mine, is probably made up of moments that don’t fit neatly into perfect Instagram squares. And that’s okay! It’s in the quirks, the chaos, and the unplanned pauses that the best connections grow. Whether you’re navigating love, friendships, or the mystery of finding joy in everyday chaos, I’m here to remind you—you’ve got this.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to text Abuelita (the cat) her horoscope. You know, priorities.