Normality is a paved road: it’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it. — Vincent van Gogh
Today was one of those painfully normal Mondays. You know, the kind that doesn’t deserve a camera, a journal entry, or even a decent whatsapp status. My husband had his usual marathon of online meetings. Meanwhile, I had my own version of a digital triathlon: laptop, phone, bills, repeat.
If there’s a word for “productive but uninspired,” that’s exactly how I’d describe it. It’s not that I was lazy. I was moving my fingers like a pro pianist. But instead of playing Mozart, I was typing invoices, replying to emails, and calculating how much went to electricity, internet, and the ever-demanding service charge. By 3 PM, I started wondering if adulthood is just a long series of payments with short coffee breaks in between.
Lunch and dinner were my only reasons to step away from my desk. I cooked, not because I was feeling domestic, but because I needed to stretch my back and feel like a real human being again. Cooking, in my case, is less about passion and more about survival, both physically and emotionally. Turn on spotify listen to IMO with Michelle Obama & Craig Robinson's podcast while reheating food, and I'm good.
But here’s the highlight of my extraordinarily ordinary Monday: my daughter handed me a bag of Cheetos she bought from Lawson. Yes, Cheetos! The brand has officially made its comeback to Indonesia, and let me tell you, it tasted just as dangerously good as I remembered. Three of us sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, licking orange dust off the chopstick like it was a delicacy.
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| Pic stolen from Shopee, coz it's a boring day that doesn't deserve photography, remember? 😅 But you can also bought these Cheetos package of delicacy, here. (NOT a paid post) |
It was such a small thing, but maybe it wasn’t so random. Today was also the first day I set up a little system so my kids would automatically receive their weekly allowance again. It’s been a while since they’ve had that, and maybe that snack was her quiet way of saying thank you. No big words, no hugs, just a crunchy gesture that said enough.
And then I thought, maybe that’s what small happiness looks like. Not a grand vacation, not a milestone, not a breakthrough moment. Just a bag of Cheetos pop up on Monday when everything else feels dull.
It’s funny how our brains are wired to look for meaning even in the smallest, most random events. I mean, here I am writing about junk food like it’s a metaphor for joy. But maybe it is. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of reminding me that even in the middle of endless bills and adult responsibilities, something as silly as cheese-flavored air can still make me smile.
The older I get, the more I realize that stability can be underrated. When you’re younger, you crave chaos, adventure, spontaneity. But when life has already thrown its fair share of plot twists, a day where nothing dramatic happens starts to feel like a blessing.
Today, no one got sick. Nothing broke. The Wi-Fi didn’t collapse. The bills got paid. My husband survived his meetings. The plants are alive. I didn’t burn dinner. And there’s Cheetos. That’s a quiet kind of happiness that doesn’t scream, but hums softly in the background.
I guess what I’m saying is: maybe we don’t always need grand things to feel alive. Sometimes all we need is a familiar rhythm. The sound of keys clicking, the smell of rice cooking, the sight of the sun dipping behind apartment windows. And maybe a crunchy reminder that the world can still surprise you in small, orange, artificially flavored ways.
As I write this, I can feel my body complaining about how little I’ve moved today. My smartwatch would probably scold me if it could talk. “You haven’t reached your step goal,” it would say, in that passive-aggressive tone only technology can pull off. And I’d roll my eyes and promise to walk more tomorrow, though we both know that promise might not age well.
Still, I feel oddly content. Maybe that’s the point. You don’t have to move mountains every day. Some days, it’s enough to move your fingers, your mind, or even just your heart a little.
So here’s to the boring Mondays, the quiet victories, and the tiny treats that make them bearable. Because not every day has to be special to be meaningful.
Sometimes the most ordinary days are the ones that whisper the loudest reminders: you’re still here, and that’s already something.