What does contentment mean to you?
This was the question posed to us by our lovely Chinese teacher, 李老师, as part of our classroom discussion. Most life-coaches or self-help podcasters would have trouble answering this in a single concise sentence, and this task definitely wasn’t made any easier by the fact that it was posed to us in our second language, early in the morning.
We’d originally started on this topic of discussion, as our unit of study was to do with mental and physical well being. Naturally, given our limited Chinese vocabulary, and the fact that we’d spent the better part of two weeks memorising canned responses in Mandarin to do with the merits of exercise, the detriment of junk foods, and the importance of achieving a work-life balance, these were the first points we’d gravitated towards. 李老师 entertained these answers for a grand total of five minutes, before pinning us with a searching look, and asked us to be completely honest.
Quite frankly, the fastest way to induce a panic in a group of IB students, who solely exist to spend their days figuring out what they wouldn’t hate doing for the rest of their lives.
Well, what is contentment? As I type this, I have a pan of sukiyaki pork sizzling on the stove; in fact, writing this post is my pastime, while waiting for it to achieve the perfect taste and texture. Next to me is a steaming tumbler of coffee, the delicate aroma permeating throughout the kitchen. As clichéd as this might be, I’d say I find contentment in these small moments. There’s something so magical about the way simple ingredients can be combined to create something sizzling, comforting and delicious, and it fills me with intrinsic satisfaction when I manage to nail the perfect balance between sweet, salty and umami in my homemade sukiyaki sauce. Especially because this week has been surprisingly light in terms of coursework, I derive so much pleasure from being able to have time to cook for myself, and eat something that fuels both my body and soul.
As for coffee, my barista phase is a recent development, and a delightful one at that too. I'd grown tired of the overpriced, bitter drinks at my local café, and was itching to find a suitable replacement. In a moment of serendipity, while strolling through a park in Shanghai, I chanced upon a small café slash bookstore combination that sold all kinds of novelty goods and interesting magazines, one of which was to do with specialty coffee, and all the care and love that goes into producing it. It was such a random read and yet I’d thoroughly enjoyed it, and upon returning to Singapore, was extremely pleased to find that my excellent instant-noodle cooking skills translated nicely to instant coffee. After that initial breakthrough, I’d dabbled with drip coffee, espresso, even frozen coffee beans at one point. Soon, it became a pursuit of mine, to figure out my own personal preferences for the perfect cup. How much milk was the right amount? Should I steam the milk, to create foam? What temperature did I like my coffee at? There was something so compelling, the journey to figure out how to make a cup that maximised my enjoyment, and there was no bigger satisfaction than when I did figure out how I liked my coffee.
The sukiyaki pork turned out brilliant. Today’s coffee was a little too watered down for my liking, but after tweaking it slightly, it was still extremely enjoyable to drink. The act of making a small fix and having it work out, brought me even more satisfaction than achieving the perfect brew on the first try. A promising beginning in my slow but steady coffee making journey. This, I would say, brought me contentment.
I’m a big fan of the K-pop group Stray Kids, and much like many of the other Stray Kids fans on the internet, I’ve taken to Twitter to find a community. One of the accounts I keep updated with - a fan account for a member named Seungmin - regularly posts tweets that say something along the lines of “What was your small but certain happiness for today?”.
At first, I was intrigued by this expression. I’d never heard anyone use the phrase before, and upon deeper research, I’d realised that it’s a direct translation of the Korean saying 소확행, which itself is a contraction of the phrase 소소하지만 확실한 행복. It’s used to refer to something in your daily life that is certain to make you happy, even if just for a small moment. After learning what this phrase meant, it really started to resonate with me. What was my small but certain happiness today? Could I actively keep an eye out for small but certain sources of happiness, tomorrow?
Some cynics may argue that this is the work of the Twitter algorithm, but personally, I felt that discovering this account was serendipitous. Now, whenever I see her tweets on my timeline, they serve as a reminder to regularly practise gratitude in this fast-paced time that we live in.
Especially as 2023 is approaching its end, I’ve spent the past few weeks far more reflective than usual. What were the biggest victories this year? What were the biggest disappointments? What brought me happiness? Upon deeper consideration, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the many small joys this year has blessed me with, and feel truly, thoroughly grateful for them all.
Another small but certain happiness I’ve rediscovered recently? Reading. After completely obliterating my ambitious Goodreads goal last year, I was a little disappointed at how slow my progress was this year, in comparison. Quite frankly, I was still burnt out from GCSEs and hence gravitated towards rereading some comfort reads, which led to me feeling unfulfilled and unchallenged as a reader, almost stagnating in my comfort zone. But through the combined powers of bookstagram and IB Higher Level Literature, I had simply no other choice but continue to read voraciously, and through that process, found some new favourites to grace both my heart and my bookshelf.
Some of my most cherished discoveries? Strike the Zither by Joan He, the Once Upon a Broken Heart trilogy by Stephanie Garber, and I Hope This Doesn’t Find You, by Ann Liang. I loved how delightfully escapist all of these were, as well as the beautifully crafted characters and plotlines. Another book that really stuck with me was ‘What You’re Looking For Is In The Library”, which is, quite simply put, an encapsulation of all of the best parts of Japanese Literature. It’s a literary triumph, with astute insight, heartwarming narratives that heavily resonate with audiences from all ages and walks of life. What I loved the most about it was the simpler storylines, easy-to-grasp language and short-story structure, with a cast of eclectic focalizers that explored a range of life perspectives. By having such profound themes expressed in such a digestible, authentic manner, it made me feel seen on a far deeper level than any preachy self-help book ever could. This was one of the many things that retaught me the joy of small things.
Whenever I do have the time to read, whether it’s a quick twenty minutes while waiting for a class to begin, or a free afternoon when the IB gods act in my favour, it’s like a pleasant surprise, a little pick-me-up. It’s not just the prospect of having free time, it’s the fact that it’s unanticipated, that makes it all the more special. Who doesn’t like receiving unexpected gifts? Maybe, in some simplistic way, this is all life is: a collection of small, joyful moments, that brighten up the relative greyness of the daily routine.
Many people would expect to derive great pleasure from bigger achievements, bigger events, and hence spend their lives dedicated to the pursuit of such things, to quantify their success. Perhaps, saving for years for a dream car. Perhaps, toiling away mercilessly, in hopes of getting the big promotion, or getting a degree with honours. So singularly-focused on these arbitrary measurements of success, some may end up tunnel-visioned, so fixated on the destination that they fail to stop and admire the scenery on the journey there. I was one of those people, and to some degree still am that type of person, but now, I’m trying my best to count the small victories, to find fulfilment in the everyday moments. These everyday moments may not necessarily be highlighted in yearbooks or reminisced upon in photo albums, but they’re still an equally vital part of life, and so, my goal for 2024 is to see them as such.
I hope 2024 brings prosperity and blessings for all of us, and that we can continue to not only find but create these little pockets of happiness within the fabric of repetitive everyday life. So, let me ask you a question.
What’s your small but certain happiness for today?
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