I slept through my early-work alarm until my neighbor knocked on the wall

Waking up worried me more than the first shift

At the time I lived in a goshiwon, a residence with tiny private rooms along a shared corridor. My bed almost touched the desk, but I liked having a door I could close. To reduce living expenses I took a job with an early start. Allowing for getting ready meant waking before sunrise. Before wondering whether I would do the work well, I pictured oversleeping on my first day. I wasn't used to such early mornings, and felt nervous before I even began.

The night before, I laid out clothes and packed my bag. Toiletries went in one pouch so I wouldn't linger in the shared washroom. I set the alarm louder than usual and added another nearby in case I missed it. I had to wake up tomorrow; every extra active setting made me feel safer. I already knew the walls didn't block much sound, but that thought slipped behind my worry.

Sometimes I heard a chair scraping or a phone conversation next door. I would put in earphones or expect it to quiet down eventually. I hadn't had the same opportunity to hear my own room from outside. Behind a closed door, unseen by anyone else, it felt a little like living alone. Renting a private room and keeping all its sounds private were different things, even if I didn't think about it that way.

The first few days I got up at the first alarm. Nerves may have helped: the slightest sound opened my eyes. The trouble began as the work became familiar and fatigue accumulated. There were still things to do after my shift, and bedtime didn't move as early as planned. In the morning, the ringing blended into dreams. Awake, I thought a louder alarm was the answer; asleep, I was already becoming used to it.

My neighbor knew my alarm better than I did

That morning a dull thud woke me. Someone tapped the wall twice. As I wondered what was happening next door, I realized my phone was still ringing beside the bed. The alarm had clearly been going for a while. I stopped it and sat up. Relief that I wasn't late was followed by an understanding of why my neighbor had knocked. My small room suddenly felt smaller.

When I got dressed and opened my door, the neighboring door opened a little too. I recognized the person from the corridor. Keeping their voice low, they asked whether I could reduce the early alarm. It had been waking them for several days. I had thought today was the first time; they had already been sharing my wake-up routine repeatedly. I apologized twice, unable to say immediately how I would fix it.

They added that sometimes they returned late from work and had only just fallen asleep. My start of the day was someone else's first chance to rest. I had thought only about having to leave early. They weren't asking me to quit my job, just to shorten the minutes of continuous ringing. Our corridor conversation was brief, but their words stayed with me all the way to work.

Even after arriving, I found it hard to joke as usual. Judged only by my not oversleeping, the alarm had succeeded. Yet what actually woke me was my neighbor's knock. I had thought I was managing my own morning and had instead handed someone else the job of ending my sleep. Alongside feeling sorry, I had to accept that my method wasn't working particularly well for me either.

Louder wasn't solving the problem

After work I reviewed the alarms. Several had almost identical names, and some were active regardless of which days I needed them. Removing one made me anxious, but having many hadn't made me wake more reliably. I kept only the times I truly needed. I could no longer overlook that the sounds I added to soothe my fear were reaching the next room too.

Putting the phone across the room came to mind. But it might then ring longer close to the wall while I got up to reach it. There wasn't much of an 'across the room' in my space anyway. I considered the layout together with what would wake me and keep sound from spreading. Common wake-up tips didn't suit every place. Between my bed and another person's sleep was just one thin wall.

I looked for an earphone alarm and tested Nenne. While awake, I checked the sound and whether I could wear the earphones in my usual sleeping position. If they hurt or came loose easily, I wouldn't insist on that method alone. I tried different phone positions too, since vibration could make noise against a hard surface. I wanted a combination I would notice without spreading so much sound, rather than a setting I could choose once and forget.

I also moved bedtime a little earlier. I had started working before dawn while keeping the same evening routine, then asked for more sound in the morning. I couldn't clear my fatigue overnight, but I cut back on some late tasks. Morning belongings went near the door. I planned to sit up and put on my slippers as soon as I woke. Reducing the chance to stop the alarm and lie down again was part of my preparation too.

We could say hello in the corridor again

Everything didn't change perfectly the next day. Tired mornings were still hard, and before sleep I still worried about missing the signal. But I had tested my setup and knew which alarms remained. When I opened my eyes, I sat up first, stopped the alarm, checked the time, and picked up my bag. Simpler preparations reduced the time I spent awake but lingering in bed.

A few days later I met my neighbor in the shared kitchen. I asked whether mornings were better. They said they were. They didn't seem to want a long conversation, so I didn't prolong it. That short answer meant a lot. Instead of changing out of fear of a knock, I increasingly felt grateful that telling me about the problem had helped me fix something I couldn't see.

Afterward I tried not to jump to conclusions when someone made noise in the corridor. I too had overlooked another person's sleep while focused on my own urgent need. That didn't mean discomfort had to be endured forever. Living close together required being able to describe which sound was hard and when. I felt worse about the days before the complaint than about the complaint itself. My neighbor had spent those mornings trying to fall asleep again alone.

Early work continued. My required wake-up time didn't change. What changed was what I included in getting ready: someone could hear me even behind a closed door. Quietly closing that door before dawn, I now think of my neighbor who may only just have fallen asleep. I want to leave for work while they keep resting. Even along the same corridor, our days can be moving in different directions.

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