Lately, I’ve been pouring my soul into my book, working so intensely that I completely lost track of time—and apparently, my hygiene routine. It wasn’t until I decided to take a day off from writing that I realized I hadn’t showered in three whole days.
I was sitting on the couch, absorbed in a series, when a distinct, unpleasant smell caught my attention. For a moment, I was confused, then horrified, and finally, amused. It hit me all at once: “Oh my god, Suzette, you stink!” I burst out laughing so loudly that I scared the cat and had tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t laughed like that in ages—not at a movie, not at a joke, but at myself. It was ridiculous and liberating all at once.
Still chuckling, I shuffled into the kitchen, completely unbothered by my state of aromatic disrepair. I’ve recently started dabbling in cooking—not out of necessity, but as a new hobby. My friend Nada, who’s witnessed my kitchen disasters firsthand, has made it very clear: “Suzette, I love you, but I will never, ever try your food.” She even went as far as calling my recipes “edible experiments.”
Today, I decided to live up to that reputation. I opened the fridge, grabbed anything I could find—flour, eggs, cocoa powder, maybe sugar (was that sugar?)—and announced with a flourish, “I will make the best cake in human history!” My voice echoed dramatically through the kitchen, and I immediately started laughing again. If anyone could see me at that moment, they’d probably think I’d lost my mind.
I mixed the ingredients with zero precision, tossed it all into a baking pan, and shoved it in the oven. While waiting for the “masterpiece” to bake, I leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. A thought crept in, quiet but powerful: “When was the last time I laughed like this? When was the last time I felt this light, this happy, just because of something I did for myself?”
For so long, my happiness had been tied to others—partners, friends, even strangers. I relied on their words, their actions, their approval to make me feel good. I chased moments where I felt validated by someone else, never realizing how much of my joy I had handed over to them. But today, standing in my kitchen, smelling awful and probably ruining a perfectly good cake, I felt something shift.
Memories came flooding back—those simple moments of happiness I used to feel without needing anyone else. The jolly, carefree joy of trying something new, making mistakes, laughing at myself. Somewhere along the way, that innocence had been buried under the weight of expectations, relationships, and the need to prove myself to others.
But here I was, rediscovering it. Laughing because I smelled bad. Laughing because I’d decided to bake what could very well turn out to be a catastrophe. Laughing because, for once, my joy wasn’t dependent on anyone else.
When the oven timer beeped, I pulled out the cake and looked at it. It was lopsided, cracked in the middle, and looked nothing like the glossy cakes on Instagram. I couldn’t help but grin. “A disaster,” I said to myself. “But it’s my disaster.” And that thought made me laugh all over again.
I plated a slice, took a bite, and immediately winced. Yep, disaster confirmed. But it didn’t matter. In that moment, I realized something profound: I was happy. Not because of how the cake turned out or how I smelled, but because I was learning to enjoy my own company.
Happiness is Within
Happiness doesn’t have to be big, perfect, or tied to anyone else. It can be found in the messy, silly, imperfect moments of life. Today, I learned to laugh at myself, embrace my flaws, and take joy in my ridiculousness. And honestly, that feels like the best cake I’ve ever made—disaster or not.
