Last night, I went to bed around 11:30 p.m. and woke up early at 5 a.m. As soon as I started my day, I took care of the garbage and then went for a light run around the school near my house, cutting through the still dim morning air. That quiet time, moving my body in the fresh morning atmosphere, feels like a reset button for me.
After returning home, I woke my son and prepared a meal. We reheated the leftover shabu-shabu from the previous night and enjoyed it together. Both my son and my husband loved it. In fact, my son was so impressed by the taste that he asked to have it again the next morning. So I even made porridge with the remaining ingredients, naturally extending the warmth of the meal into the next day.
Looking back at what I ate the day before, I had a comforting bowl of udon for breakfast, along with a cup of coffee and a small piece of bread I enjoy. For lunch, I had half a ciabatta drizzled with truffle oil and some leftover fried rice. It was admittedly a somewhat heavy combination, but it was simply what I had in the fridge. The meal itself was simple, yet it carried a certain sense of satisfaction and ease.
However, I know that when I stay at home, I tend to reach for snacks without even realizing it. So after lunch, I deliberately left the house and headed to the library. For me, the library is not just a place to read. it is also a space that helps me distance myself from unnecessary temptations.
I especially love going to the library on Sunday mornings. My son used to have a science class at 9 a.m., so I would wake him up around 7:30, prepare his breakfast, and take him to class by 8:30. After dropping him off, I would naturally make my way to my favorite library.
That particular library is exceptionally quiet, peaceful, and cozy on Sunday mornings. What stands out the most is its excellent book curation. Simply browsing the shelves brings a sense of discovery. Interestingly, even when I later come across the same book at a different library, it feels entirely different. I believe this is the power of space - the air, the light, and the overall atmosphere of that library make the reading experience deeper and more meaningful.
I can borrow five books with my card and another five with my son’s, so I usually bring home about ten books in total. Each time, I try to balance the selection between us. Sometimes I pick more for myself, but this time, I intentionally adjusted the ratio in favor of my son.
Recently, he has become deeply interested in biographies. As he reads about figures such as Shohei Ohtani, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, and Bob Marley, he is not just absorbing stories of success, but also naturally understanding the struggles and obstacles they had to overcome.
Some people argue that biographies can present overly idealized narratives and may not be suitable for children. However, I do not agree. On the contrary, these stories help children develop a deeper understanding of reality and teach them that success is never achieved easily. Through these lives, my son is exposed to a wide range of careers and life paths, while also being deeply moved by the resilience these individuals demonstrated.
The most meaningful moment, above all, is when he becomes so absorbed in a book that he loses track of time. Normally, on Sunday evenings, he would rush to get ready for bed. But that night, he was so immersed in reading that he forgot about time altogether.
Watching him like that, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment. All the effort - carefully selecting the books, sanitizing them, and carrying that heavy stack home - suddenly felt completely worthwhile. In the end, it is through these small, repeated moments in everyday life that a child grows.
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