June 2025
breakfast: an anecdote
We often say breakfast is the “most important meal of the day,” yet many of us skip it without much thought. This paradox has always intrigued me: something so seemingly trivial, yet fundamentally nourishing—easily overlooked, yet quietly foundational. In many ways, breakfast mirrors the ordinary moments of our daily lives: full of quiet potential, if only we pay attention.
In this reflection, I explore my morning routines across two cities—Seoul and Toronto—and how their meaning shifts depending on when and how I choose to see them. What began as an exploration of habit became a realization about presence, perspective, and the quiet beauty in the mundane.
Let me take you back to a Monday morning in Seoul. I shuffle out of bed, my feet gliding across the floor as I make my way to the kitchen. I open the fridge: white or multigrain? I choose multigrain, smear on a generous layer of peanut butter, and twist open a fresh jar of strawberry jam. As I glide the knife across the toast, I think about my plans for the day. It’s a quiet moment, seemingly insignificant—but filled with comfort.
Now, it is another Monday morning in Seoul. I roll out of bed, phone in hand. I wander to the kitchen, open the fridge without thinking, grab the loaf in front of me. I make the same sandwich: peanut butter on the left, jam on the right, placed exactly where I last left them. This is muscle memory. I scroll, I spread, I scroll again.
Let’s go to Toronto. It’s 7:00 a.m. on a brisk weekday morning. The air smells like possibility. I brew a matcha, scramble two eggs, season them perfectly with salt and pepper. The olive oil fills the kitchen with warmth. I sit down to eat and turn on a wellness podcast, feeling grounded in the rhythm of a new day.
Fast forward to another Tuesday. It’s 7 a.m.—I think. I’m groggy. I stumble to the kitchen, crack two eggs, and half-heartedly stir them into something resembling breakfast. My mind is already racing: deadlines, errands, obligations. A podcast hums in the background, unnoticed. I pause it, finish eating, and begin.
What I’ve come to realize is that all of these mornings are equally true. Each version of breakfast—intentional or mechanical, joyful or rushed—captures something real. They reflect the duality of daily life: the tension between presence and autopilot, appreciation and detachment.
My 2024 resolution was simple: be present. But what I learned is that presence isn't always about romanticizing the moment—it’s about choosing to see it. For a long time, I viewed the past through a rose-colored lens, believing things were better “before.” But I’ve learned that nostalgia is often just the result of perspective. If I can construct meaning from memory, I can do the same in real time. The narrative we tell ourselves about our past can just as easily be applied to our present—without distorting its truth.
This isn’t about dramatizing life, but about finding depth in what appears shallow. Daily routines may feel mundane or even draining, but within them lies the possibility for meaning, intention, and joy—if we’re willing to look closer.
So yes, breakfast. A meal so often taken for granted, yet so symbolic of how we move through our lives. From Seoul to Toronto, from past to present, I now see it for what it is: not just a habit, but a choice—a quiet opportunity to be here, now, and to see beauty in the slice of multigrain toast before me.