Instant noodles are not just food. They are a test. A mirror. A spiritual path where every step reveals the deepest truths of life. The wise man does not resist the noodle. The wise man becomes one with it.

The first great illusion appears—chicken or spicy? My mind believes it is making a choice, but the outcome is already written. I pick spicy. I always pick spicy. Free will is a myth, and so is my ability to handle heat.

I stare at the pot. The pot stares back. Time slows down. “A watched pot never boils,” the old saying goes. But this is false. The pot will boil—it simply does not care about my impatience. The water teaches me a lesson: Everything happens in its own time. The noodle does not rush the water to boil faster. The noodle waits. I must be the noodle.

I tear the seasoning packet too aggressively. Half the sacred spice scatters across the counter. A tragedy? No. This is destiny. Life always takes a little bit from you, just to remind you that nothing is truly yours. The wise man does not mourn lost seasoning. He simply scrapes it back in, pretending nothing happened.

The noodles enter the water. They do not fight, they do not resist. They accept their fate. Be like the noodle. When life heats up, do not become stiff—become soft, absorb the flavors of existence. This is the path to wisdom.

Three minutes. The package says “Three Minutes.” But what is time? A human construct. A prison of the mind. Three minutes feels like an eternity. My stomach growls, my hands twitch, my soul screams: “Surely they are done now!” I poke the noodles. Still firm. They laugh at me. “Patience,” they whisper. “Or be cursed with crunchy disappointment.”

I take a bite too soon. The tongue burns. The mouth is on fire. I have reached the Gates of Suffering. But pain is a teacher. Pain reminds us of our foolishness. Pain asks, “Did you learn?” And I respond, through tears, “No. I will do this again tomorrow.”

Just as I finish my sacred meal, the doorbell rings. It is my friend. “Hey, I brought pizza!”

Ah, life. The universe loves to give us what we desire—just after we have committed to something else. This is the cosmic joke. If I had waited, I could have had pizza. If I had chosen differently, maybe this moment would be different. But wisdom is knowing this: There is no wrong path. The pizza is good. The noodles were also good. Regret is the enemy of joy.

In the end, all food is one. All choices lead to the same place—satisfaction, a full belly, and a slight sense of regret for eating too much.

I take a slice of pizza. I do not feel sad. I do not feel foolish. I feel enlightened.