You know how sometimes you just… pretend everything’s fine? Like, deep down you know it’s not, but saying it out loud feels like it’ll make it real, and that’s just too much. So you just keep going. That’s me right now. My dad’s bistro. It’s a family thing, obviously. Six months now, I’ve been working there. Full time. Twelve hour shifts, usually. Sometimes more. Weekends are always insane. Chef life, you know. Everyone says it’s an experience. My parents are proud, I guess. My dad especially. Back home, it was always about working hard. Making something of yourself. That’s what this is supposed to be. But for the past… like, two weeks? I’ve been feeling off. Not just tired. Like, really off. Stomach feels weird. Nothing tastes good. Which is a huge problem when you’re literally cooking all day. How am I supposed to make good food if I don’t even want to eat it? Everything just seems… blah. And I’m so annoyed. All the time. At everything. Someone drops a plate, and I feel like I could actually scream. It’s not like me. I’m usually pretty chill. My dad noticed, of course. He’s always noticing everything. Yesterday, during the dinner rush, I almost dropped a whole tray of pasta. He pulled me aside after. Said, "Are you feeling okay? You look… not well." I just brushed it off. Told him it was just a little cold. Nothing major. Said I’d be fine for the weekend. We can’t just… close. Or even have me not be there. It’s a small place. Every hand counts. ESPECIALLY for the weekend. He kept pushing. "Maybe you should take Saturday and Sunday off? Just rest." And I just looked at him like he was crazy. Take two days off? After everything? No way. I told him I was just run down, it happens. Everyone gets a little cold sometimes. I even coughed a bit, just to sell it. He looked at me, kind of sad. And I felt bad, but what am I supposed to do? Say, "Hey Dad, actually I think I’m just completely burnt out and maybe I hate cooking now?" Like, how do you even say that? To your parents, who built this whole life around food? It’s stupid, right? I know it’s just a cold. It has to be. Everyone gets sick. But this… this feels different. It’s like, my body is trying to tell me something, but I’m just not listening. Or I can’t listen. Because what would happen if I did? What would happen if I admitted that I’m just… tired of it all? Tired of the smell of garlic and onions sticking to my clothes, tired of the heat, tired of the same orders over and over. My mom called today too. Asked if I was eating properly. My usual answer is "yes, of course." But it was a lie. I had like, half a piece of toast all day. And a coffee. That's it. Is that even normal? To just lose your appetite like this? Because of a cold? Or is it something else? Something… bigger? Sometimes you just wish you could hit pause. For a week. Or two. Just disappear and not have to think about anything. Not the bistro. Not expectations. Just… nothing. But that's not real life, is it? So you just keep going. And pretend the cough is definitely the reason you feel like you're going to scream every time someone asks for extra sauce. Yeah. Just a cold.