Bingsu Diary: The Sweet That Tried to Stay

I didn’t try them all at once. That would have been too much sweetness for a single day. These bowls found me in different moments, on different days, when I needed a small kind of comfort. Maybe that’s what my Bingsu Diary really is, a collection of soft, melting pauses between the chaos.

I’ve always expected something from sweetness. Maybe that’s why I kept coming back for more, not just for the cold, creamy layers, but for the feeling they promised. Like a reset button for days that felt too heavy, or a quiet reward for simply getting through another week. And maybe that’s why I crave them, not only for the taste, but for the kind of calm that comes after the chaos, when the cold rushes in, startling my senses, numbing what’s loud inside me, until everything finally softens and settles.

🍓 Strawberry — The Beginning of the Craving

The first one I tried was Strawberry, soft, bright, and a little sentimental. There’s something about strawberries that feels honest, no pretenses, no surprises, just a familiar kind of sweetness that lingers. I love how the cold seeps into me with the strawberry’s delicate flavor, the way it awakens and soothes at the same time.

Maybe that’s why it felt a little nostalgic, like a reminder of lighter days when joy came easier, when I didn’t overthink what made me happy. There was warmth beneath its chill, the kind that doesn’t ask to be noticed but still leaves something gentle behind.

And if I’m being honest, I love strawberry. It feels like me at my softest, hopeful yet unsure, sweet in ways I don’t always show. I craved that gentleness afterward, the kind that doesn’t demand attention but still makes you feel seen.

🍋 Mango Cheesecake — The One That Felt Like Hope

Mango Cheesecake looked like a little bowl of sunshine, bright, cheerful, certain of its sweetness. I remember the first spoonful, the mix of cold cream and tangy mango, the bits of cheesecake hiding underneath like small surprises. It made me smile, and I think that was the point.

It was the kind of sweetness that didn’t ask questions, it just offered comfort. And I took it, gladly. Maybe because at that time, I needed proof that something could still taste good even when I was tired of everything else. I found myself craving that same feeling again later on, not just the flavor, but the little spark of light it brought to an ordinary day.

🍈 Honeydew Melon — The Familiar That Woke Me Up

Honeydew Melon was something I actually expected a lot from. The flavor felt familiar yet new, like a song I’d heard before but couldn’t quite remember where. As I ate, I remembered it was pretty similar to Melona, that creamy, refreshing kind of sweetness that wakes you up without trying too hard.

It didn’t feel calm at all. It was bright and almost playful, bursting with flavor the moment it touched my tongue. There was something about it that felt alive, familiar enough to comfort me, yet new enough to surprise me. It reminded me that even gentle things can still stir something within you, that awakening doesn’t always have to be loud or sudden.

I craved that feeling afterward, that mix of recognition and renewal. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing lately, moments that wake me up softly, reminding me that even in the ordinary, something fresh can still bloom.

🍫 Oreo Chocolate — The Familiar I Didn’t Choose

I didn’t actually choose Oreo Chocolate; it was my sister’s order. I only meant to take a small spoonful, just to taste. The flavor was already familiar, rich, sweet, and predictably comforting, yet somehow it still felt new again. Maybe it’s because nothing really beats chocolate, no matter how many other flavors you try in between.

It reminded me that even the things we don’t choose can still bring a kind of comfort we didn’t know we needed. Maybe next time, I’ll try it properly, the whole bowl this time, to see if it still tastes like home or if it has something more to say when I let it stay a little longer.

Each bowl carried a different version of me, the hopeful one, the gentle one, the awakened one, the comfort-seeking one, and the one who craves. Not just for sweetness, but for something that feels kind, certain, and enough. Maybe this is what life beneath the mess looks like sometimes, learning to find sweetness in small, temporary things without needing them to last forever.

And maybe that’s another thing about bingsu. It’s meant to be eaten with company, where everyone learns to withstand the cold together, the kind that comes from both the air conditioning and the melting ice in front of them. The second time we went, we even brought a jacket, half-laughing, half-shivering.

The cold always felt like chaos at first, a sudden rush that startled me, as if it were trying to chase away everything heavy inside. But somewhere in that chaos, calm begins to bloom. It seeps in quietly, numbing the noise, softening the worries, until all that’s left is stillness. I love how it cools me from the inside out, reaching even the parts I rarely tend to. Maybe it’s not just cold, maybe it’s the kind of calm that comes after finally letting go.

None of these bingsu moments lasted long; they all melted faster than I hoped. But maybe that’s the quiet beauty of them. They never promised to stay, only to be there for a little while.

And somehow, that was enough.

Because maybe not everything good has to stay.

Some are meant to melt, to remind us that even fleeting joys can leave something warm behind. - MESSY E.

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