I woke up with my head still heavy, like yesterday had refused to let go. The kind of dizziness that makes you negotiate with the ceiling before you sit up. Thankfully, my youngest stepped in like a quiet hero. She cooked for the whole family, tidied up after, and made it all feel normal, like taking care of your mother is just another item on a to-do list. After food and medicine, the pain softened. Not gone, just kinder.
Kind enough for me to walk to IMAX with my husband and daughter and watch Zootopia. The movie for me was… so-so. As usual, I fell asleep somewhere in the middle. But the ending caught me. That pairing felt oddly familiar: the zen, emotionally clumsy fox next to the endlessly chatty bunny. Some dynamics really do repeat themselves in different costumes.
Before heading home, I took photos of my husband in front of a SpongeBob installation. For reasons I still don’t understand, Patrick was wearing a thong. Slightly disturbing. Slightly inappropriate. We laughed anyway.
By the time the movie ended, my head had grown heavy again. Back at the apartment, my youngest cooked me something healthy so I could take my medicine properly. Because of the headache, I couldn’t join my husband to pick up my mom at the airport. She had just returned to Jakarta from Bangka.
Around 8 p.m., my mom arrived at the apartment, carrying bags full of Bangka snacks I love. I immediately invited her to eat salmon head soup my youngest had made earlier. We sat together, shared the meal, and it was genuinely delicious. Comforting. The kind of yummy that has nothing to do with taste alone.
Some days aren’t about productivity or milestones. They’re about being held together by small acts of care. A daughter who cooks. A mother who brings food. A family that adjusts quietly when you’re not at your best. And somehow, that’s enough.
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