There’s a food I didn’t plan on getting attached to.
Singaporean rice.
I don’t even know when it turned into the thing. It didn’t arrive with excitement or intention. There was no moment when I decided this would become my go-to. It just quietly started showing up every time I didn’t want to think too hard about what to eat.
Now it’s my default.
Whenever I’m hungry and can’t decide, I end up there, not after exploring options or comparing cravings. It’s more like my mind skips the decision entirely and lands in the same place again. And the strange part is, I notice it happening while it’s happening, but I still don’t change it.
Even on days when I actually have options, real ones, I still choose it.
Like last Sunday, we went out for a small lunch date, nothing fancy, just one of those easy plans where you can eat whatever you want. No pressure, no routine. I remember looking at the menu for a second and telling myself I’d try something different this time. Something I don’t usually go back to.
But I didn’t.
Singaporean rice again.
No real decision. No internal debate. Just a quiet return to the same thing.
And on the surface, it feels harmless. It’s just food. A preference. A habit. But when I notice it properly, it doesn’t feel like a preference anymore. It feels like repetition that has disguised itself as choice.
There was a time I tried to step away from rice altogether. Not because I suddenly stopped liking it, but because I read enough about health to convince myself I should reduce it. So I made a small rule for myself. No rice for a while. Nothing extreme, just a simple boundary.
For a bit, I followed it.
Or at least I tried.
But rules like that don’t usually survive real life for long. Hunger doesn’t really care about what you decided in a calm moment. And habits don’t wait for discipline to catch up. So slowly, I stopped holding onto that rule as tightly. And somewhere in that gap, Singaporean rice slipped back in.
Not as a rebellion. Not even as a conscious decision. Just as something easy.
And now I notice how often that happens. Not just with this, but with other foods too.
There was a time when KFC was my comfort food. Zinger burgers, crispy chicken, that familiar taste that felt like a reliable answer to “what should I eat.” I had it so often that eventually I couldn’t even look at it anymore. It stopped feeling special, then stopped feeling good at all.
After that, it became chicken steak for a while. Then chicken pulao. Then lemonade soda for reasons I don’t fully remember anymore. Each one followed the same pattern. Strong liking, repetition, overuse, and then distance. Like my taste was moving in phases without telling me.
Now it’s Singaporean rice.
It almost feels seasonal at this point. Like I rotate through comfort foods without planning to. Like my cravings don’t belong to me as much as I like to think they do.
What I’ve started noticing is that it’s rarely about the food itself. It’s about the space right before the decision. When I don’t feel like thinking, I don’t explore. I don’t imagine. I just go to what is already familiar, already easy, already available in my mind.
And that’s where this dish lives right now.
Not as the best option. Just the easiest one.
I keep asking myself why I don’t break this pattern more intentionally. Why don’t I pause longer, choose differently, try something new instead of repeating the same thing again. But control doesn’t usually show up as a dramatic act. Sometimes it’s just awareness without interruption.
And that’s where I feel stuck. Because I can see it clearly. I can even explain it clearly. But seeing something doesn’t always change what you do in the moment it happens.
That gap between awareness and action is where most habits live.
I wonder if everyone has something like this. Some food, some habit, some version of “I don’t know what I want, so I’ll just pick this again.” Something that cycles through their life in phases. Something that feels comforting until it quietly becomes overused. Something you only recognize as repetitive after it has already repeated too many times.
I used to think comfort food was stable. Something you return to because it always feels right. Now I’m not so sure. Sometimes it feels less like comfort and more like convenience dressed up as comfort.
What’s interesting is how none of this feels like a decision in the moment. It feels automatic. Like my mind already knows the answer before I even start thinking.
And maybe that’s the real point
Not that I love Singaporean rice so much.
But I reach for it without fully asking myself what I actually want right then.
It’s not a big problem. Not something urgent to fix. But it is something I’ve started noticing about myself. The way choices repeat quietly when attention is low. The way “comfort” can slowly turn into a habit without announcing itself. And how something can become part of your routine without ever being consciously chosen to stay there.
For now, I’m still eating it. Still ending up there. Still noticing it only after I’ve already ordered. Maybe that’s where it starts anyway. Not with stopping. Just with seeing.