THE INDOMIE WAR WITH MY ELDER SISTER

Yesterday, I almost started World War 3 in my house because of Indomie. It was one of those afternoons. I was hungry not the normal hungry where you can manage rice. It was that deep, emotional, Indomie-or-nothing kind of hunger. The one where you have already imagined how the egg will fry, how the pepper will scatter, how you will first taste it before you add more seasoning. In my mind, I was already in heaven.So I stood up, went to the kitchen with full confidence. Hand already reaching for my pack. Then my elder sister entered."Again? Indomie again? Favour, you consume too much Indomie. There is food in the house already!" Ah...My enjoyment scattered.In that moment, I didn't hear concern. I didn't hear love. All I heard was someone trying to block my happiness. Someone trying to tell me what to do in my own house. Someone trying to cut short my small joy. I got angry. I got pissed. And I said things nasty, sharp, unnecessary things. Words that were not even about Indomie anymore, but about everything I had been holding inside. And the moment I said them, I regretted it instantly. She just looked at me and left the kitchen. Quiet. That silence was louder than any shouting. I still made the Indomie. But it didn't taste like heaven again. It tasted like guilt. Every spoon was heavy. So I sat down alone and started thinking. She was right. There was food in the house. Actual food. Soup, rice, everything. But I ignored it because I wanted what I wanted. She was also right that I eat Indomie almost every day. Morning, afternoon, night — Indomie has become my love language. And she knows it. She knows my favourite food is Indomie. She knows I can finish three packs and still ask for more. But her complaint was not about Indomie. It was about me. She was scared. Scared that I would fall sick. Scared that too much of something I love might start to harm me. Scared that one day I would complain of stomach pain and it would be because of this same thing she warned me about. That is how some people love you. Not with "baby, please stop." But with "you and this Indomie again?" We don't always recognize love when it is wearing the clothes of correction. I was so busy defending my enjoyment that I failed to see her worry. I was so selfish in that moment that I turned her care into an attack. We do this a lot as humans. Someone corrects us at work and we think they hate us. A friend advises us and we think they are jealous. Our parents warn us and we think they are too controlling. We are quick to defend ourselves, slow to see their heart.Yesterday I learned again not everyone who stops you is stopping your joy. Some people are just trying to protect your future from your present appetite. I went to meet her in her room. I apologized. Genuinely. Not the "sorry na" type, but the "I was wrong, I see what you meant" type. She smiled. That elder sister smile that says "I have forgiven you but don't try it again."And guess what? We went back to the kitchen together. We made the Indomie together. And we shared it. And this time, it tasted better than heaven because peace was inside it.Love sometimes comes as a complaint. Don't miss it.

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