Still Noodles, But a Little More

There was a time I thought eating noodles meant you were poor.

When I was younger, noodles were the default meal on hard days. They were the backup plan when the fridge looked empty, the go-to dinner when payday still felt far away. I remember the taste of those nights, salty and hurried, often eaten with a quiet ache.

Way back in college, noodles were part of my plan. I would stock a few packs at the start of the week, convincing myself they could stretch my little allowance a bit longer. It wasn’t much, but it helped me survive the long days of classes. Back then, it wasn’t comfort food. It was a strategy.

I used to believe people who could afford “real” food were living better lives. Rice meals meant stability. Take-out meant success. And noodles? They meant you were barely getting by. They were the edible reminder that life wasn’t as put-together as you hoped it would be.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

The other day, I found myself standing in the grocery aisle, scanning the shelves for a familiar blue pack. I smiled when I saw it — Jin Ramen Mild. I started buying it because of a certain someone who shares the name, and maybe that small reason made it feel special. I even bought the multi-pack once just to collect the stickers that came with it. As a fan, that part was already a given, but it still made grocery runs feel lighter, almost like finding a tiny joy in the ordinary.

When I cooked it at home, it hit me. It was still noodles. Still the same concept of water, seasoning, and a few vegetables pretending to be more than they are. But it didn’t feel cheap anymore. It felt earned.

Maybe that’s what growth quietly looks like.

It’s not just having more. It’s understanding more.

There was a time when noodles meant lack. Now they mean choice.

They mean comfort on a long day, a small treat to look forward to, or even a simple reminder of joy in unexpected places.

I smiled as I waited for the water to boil. It wasn’t just about the meal. It was about the moment. The quiet realization that I no longer saw it as a symbol of struggle. Somewhere between surviving and slowly finding my rhythm, noodles stopped being a reminder of scarcity and became a small proof that I made it through.

Maybe healing sometimes looks like this.

You revisit something that once reminded you of lack, and instead of sadness, you feel gratitude. You remember the version of yourself who ate out of necessity, who stretched a meal for one into something for two, who tried to make it look enough. Now, you honor that version by eating the same thing, but this time with peace.

It is funny how life works. What once made you feel less can now remind you of more.

So yes, it is still noodles. Ramen, if I’m being a little fancy about it. But now I can laugh, savor, and sit with the memory of where I came from. I can look at a steaming bowl and think, this tastes like progress. It is the same kind of food, but it feeds a different kind of contentment.

Still noodles, yes.

But not the same me eating them anymore.- MESSY E.

🍜🍜🍜

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