The Disappearing Breakfast

I woke up one morning and realized that breakfast was disappearing.

It's not that the refrigerator was empty, or that the cafes were closed. Rather, people's concept of "breakfast" is becoming increasingly indifferent. Or, increasingly "liquid."

The news said, "It's best to have a liquid-based breakfast for weight loss." The accompanying picture showed a woman in yoga pants, holding a suspicious green liquid, giving a professional smile to the camera. I stared at that drink for a long time, always feeling that it resembled juice extracted from some extradimensional creature.

I turned off the TV and went to the kitchen. In the refrigerator were milk, orange juice, and several boxes of "meal replacement shakes" in different flavors. They were neatly arranged, like soldiers awaiting inspection. I suddenly felt a surge of inexplicable weariness.

I miss the past. Breakfast back then was solid. A bowl of hot millet porridge, with fried dough sticks and pickles, or a steamer of steaming xiaolongbao. They carried the scent of cooking, the texture of life. And now, all of this has been packed into cold plastic bottles, turned into something that can be quantified and calorie-counted.

I poured a glass of milk and sat at the dining table. Outside the window, the faint noise of the city could be heard. I remembered a girl I met on the subway yesterday. She was very thin, pale, holding a bottle of pink liquid, drinking it as she walked. Her eyes were empty, as if her soul had been drained.

I suddenly felt a wave of loneliness. This loneliness wasn't because I was unaccompanied, but because it seemed like there was a thick pane of glass between me and this world. I could see them, hear them, but I couldn't truly touch them.

I finished my milk and walked to the balcony. The wind was strong, making me a little cold. I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The taste of nicotine spread through my lungs, bringing a brief feeling of numbness.

I thought of Kafka. The characters in his works are always trapped in absurd yet real dilemmas. They struggle, searching for an exit, but ultimately find themselves trapped in a giant maze.

What about me? Am I also trapped in this maze of "liquid breakfasts"? What am I really pursuing? Is it health? Is it efficiency? Or some elusive "ideal life"?

I don't know.

I only know that I increasingly miss those breakfasts that once existed, with their warmth and texture. They were not just food, but a ritual, a connection, a confirmation of life.

And now, all of that has disappeared. Just like those unspeakable emotions I once had, they eventually dissipated in the wind.

I stubbed out my cigarette and turned back to the room. Sunlight streamed through the window, shining on the floor. I saw my shadow, thin and distorted.

I thought, maybe I should go buy some fried dough sticks (youtiao). Even just to smell them would be good.

But in the end, I didn't do anything. I just lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Time passed, second by second.

I felt myself slowly becoming transparent, becoming light, as if I would float up at any moment and disappear into this world filled with liquid breakfasts.