A story about how my life became a little richer once I started properly making and eating breakfast.

It has only been in the last year that I started properly making and eating breakfast.

It all started when I lived alone last year.

I think it began because I didn't feel motivated in the mornings, so I thought, 'To get even a little bit of motivation, I'll make and eat something I like.'

From there, I started thinking about getting enough protein or eating vegetables, and before I knew it, I was making 'breakfasts that look pretty decent.'

Since I was a child, I've always been a 'bread person' for breakfast.

When I was little, I would toast half a slice of six-cut bread and eat it with butter and strawberry jam.
I also remember drinking milk warmed in a small saucepan (which would constantly boil over), while carefully removing the film that formed on the surface.

Sometimes I would add 'Milo' to it. That stuff is delicious, isn't it? I want to drink it again after all this time. Maybe I should go buy some.

Years passed, and by the time I was in high school, I had stopped eating toast.
I was never a morning person back then and it was a battle against time, so I couldn't afford the luxury of toasting bread or spreading butter and jam on it.

I would choose one from several types of sweet breads and wolf it down, then wash it down with milk straight from the fridge, or if I had a spare minute, I'd warm it up in the microwave, or sometimes I wouldn't drink it at all, or I'd just think, 'Water is fine!'

There were also many days where I would just nibble on a slice of apple that my father had cut for me (for some reason, it's a habit in our house for my father to cut the morning fruit).

It wasn't that I never ate anything, but I would rush out of the house every day in a state where it was hard to say I had actually 'eaten breakfast.'

That kind of morning continued even after I became a company employee.
I should have just woken up earlier, but I couldn't do it. I hate how much I struggle with mornings. Even now.

I could take it easy on my days off, but the menu was much the same.
I would slowly eat sweet bread that my mother had bought at a convenience store or supermarket, or a savory bread from some bakery, while watching TV.
Along with that, I'd drink café au lait made by adding milk to instant coffee.
If there was fruit that my father had cut, I'd eat that too.

Come to think of it, I wonder when the 'family breakfast together' stopped happening.

My early-rising father eats first, then my mother eats when she wakes up, and finally I eat when I wake up. Sometimes our times overlap a bit, but basically, 'everyone eats as they like' is the current breakfast style in our home.

It's not necessarily because of that, but I never really had that 'Yay, it's breakfast!' feeling; it was always more like, 'I guess I have to eat something.' Always.

That changed a little when I lived alone.
I started putting a little bit of effort into my breakfast.

Even after returning to my parents' home at the end of last year, that has continued.

That said, I'm not doing anything particularly elaborate.

Things like frying an egg or boiling a sausage, tasks that only take a few minutes.
I'm just putting in a tiny bit of extra effort.

I tear the banana for my yogurt by hand,
the broccoli is frozen so I just microwave it,
and while I use beans instead of instant for my coffee, the machine does all the work.

I'm not doing anything difficult enough to brag about.

But compared to when I used to just mindlessly eat a store-bought bread roll, I find myself thinking "this is delicious," I feel like I can be kinder to myself for the effort I put in, I can think "good for me" for standing in the kitchen in the morning, I feel like I get more energy from eating a hearty meal, and I feel like my spirit becomes just a little bit richer.

That said, there are days when I don't have time or when my motivation is at zero.

On those days, I think it's fine to just have a store-bought bread roll and instant coffee.
I'll cut corners and say, "I can't be bothered today." That's okay too. It's not something I should force myself to do.

Anyway. I have one slice of bread left for tomorrow, so should I make French toast, or maybe an egg sandwich with multigrain bread... I can't decide.

Like this, "What should I eat for breakfast tomorrow?"
Going to sleep at night thinking about that is also kind of fun.
It's a joy I didn't have before. I guess life can change at any age (a bit of an exaggeration).

By the way, my toast diary is compiled in my Instagram stories.
I would be very happy if it serves as inspiration for your breakfast tomorrow.