Sunday, 16:30h - I slowly creep upstairs and enter the kitchen. A quick look at the stove tells me what I already suspected: everyone else came before me and cooked for both lunch and dinner, leaving half of their delicious-smelling pastas in the pans. That will leave me the choice between the incredibly scratched pan and the one that has who-knows-what caked on it since before I arrived. I shake my head - that's a decision future-Jesler will have to take.
But it can't kill my mood: it's finally time to cook. During times of mid-terms, re-emerging Semester Abroad anxiety (will I be able to leave? will I not?) and the overall depressing idea of turning on the light already at half-past 4 - on the good days - taking an hour or a half to cook is truly cathartic. It's a space to truly be yourself, without a time-limit (except when it comes to boiling pasta), without expectations.
"That's an early dinner!" I turn around just in time to see my housemate's look shoot to the clock and back to me. "More like a late breakfast", I answer with a tired smile. Now her look changes from condescension to worry (though still with a hint of condescension). "Breakfast? How did that happen? Did you just wake up?"
Yeah, how did this happen considering that I've been studying since 9? For this, I have my brilliant study strategy to thank: breaks as a reward. I'll get a snack when I finish this reading. I'll make lunch when I finish this exam question. I'll go to bed when I finish everything. I've been doing it since my first year and, don't get me wrong, the strategy works brilliantly for the smaller things: the rewarding cookie, the relaxing power nap, the motivating glass of wine. It works less brilliantly for other things: for only 'being allowed to' pee after a paragraph, speed-reading the last sentences before jumping up and racing to the loo. And, as you might have guessed, for things like lunch and dinner, tiptoeing around the kitchen and hushing at the pots and pans as I try to get them out of the cupboards as silently as possible at midnight.
Though there's also a beauty to cooking with a feeling of having accomplished something. Of taking your time to really fry the onions, to wash the tomatoes, to listen to the mice peeping in the corner as they go through our cupboards.
So, is it time to retire my strategy? Not yet, I'm only allowed to do that after my Bachelors.
Jesler van Houdt