I'm almost exhausted, the power went out at lunchtime, it's cold outside, my mood is at its lowest.

And I'm standing there chopping onions.

Why?

Because the smell of broth is the only thing that smells like "normal life" right now.

When everything around me is falling apart—war, bills, the news, the silence in the house—this smell says, "I'm still here. I can still control something."

As long as the broth is simmering, I haven't completely fallen apart.

Sometimes I cook not because I'm hungry, but to prove to myself that I'm still alive.

I can just take a pot, chop some vegetables, add some salt, taste them, and say, "Yes, that turned out well."
It's like a small victory over chaos.

But sometimes the opposite happens: I look at a full pot and think, "Why did I do that? I'm just going to eat it all by myself anyway."
And then I feel sad in a different way.

Not from hunger, but from having no one to say, "That turned out delicious, didn't it?"

How are you?

Do you cook more for yourself now, or do you still cook for others?

Is there a dish you make purely "for the mood," even if you're feeling lazy?

Or have you already switched to "yogurt and a sandwich" and are feeling fine?

Write if you want.

I'm genuinely interested in how you're coping.

Yana 💅🖤🍲