I was sitting at the living room table,
scrolling through photos I took yesterday.
My son walked over and asked,
“Is it fun?”
“Yeah, it is. Want to see?”
I showed him a photo my husband took—
a farmer, a cow, and a field.
He looked at it and said,
“It just looks like an image… I don’t really know.”
Then I showed him a photo I took—
yellow flowers glowing under the light.
“Oh, this is nice. You took it well.”
So I kept showing him more.
“Photos are fun, huh?”
“Yeah, they are.”
A Quiet Realization
As I stood up and walked into the kitchen,
he followed me.
“Should I make tofu for you?”
“Yeah. Is it okay if you do this in between like this?”
“Yeah. It’s a day off.”
He started taking photos while I cooked,
and we laughed together.
And then, quietly,
a thought passed through me.
This feels like rest.
And yet… I’m still working.
When I stopped forcing myself into “work mode,”
my work
became part of my rest.
Our Different Rhythms
My son took his plate—
tofu, salad, rice—
and went back to his room.
I glanced into the bedroom.
My husband was lying on the bed,
changing positions every few minutes,
completely absorbed in the martial arts novel he loves.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just his way of resting.
I sliced an apple,
toasted some bread from the freezer,
added a few pieces of tofu on top of a simple salad,
and squeezed fresh organic lemon over it.
He looked at it and said,
“Oh—this is nice.”
The Past — When Weekends Were Full
There was a time when weekends looked very different.
Back when I worked as a journalist,
weekdays were intense—
interviews, deadlines, constant pressure.
So weekends had to be “full.”
Full of plans.
Full of movement.
Full of something.
We would put the kids in the car,
drive out of the city,
go to amusement parks,
or search for popular restaurants just to eat something special.
We thought that was rest.
But somehow,
we always came back more tired.
A Different Kind of Weekend
Now, our weekends are quiet.
Nothing dramatic.
But something has clearly changed.
While others go out to see flowers,
or line up at busy restaurants,
we stay home.
Because we know—
the traffic, the crowds, the noise
will only drain us.
Instead, we move in our own rhythms.
My daughter and I
drive five minutes to a nearby café in the morning,
sit quietly with an Americano for an hour,
and come back.
No rush.
At home,
we eat simply.
A little salad.
Mushroom.
Cucumber.
Some rice on the side.
That’s enough.
Light.
Clean.
Satisfying.
What Weekend Mode Means to Me
Weekend mode is a state
where I stop pushing
and return to my own rhythm.
I don’t push myself anymore.
Not just in cooking.
Not just on weekends.
In small moments like this—
I stop trying to make things better
than they need to be.
I don’t try to make something “special.”
I just follow what feels right,
in that moment.
Sometimes that means
a simple meal.
Sometimes it means
doing almost nothing.
And somehow,
everything feels lighter.
Closing
This is our weekend now.
Each of us in our own rhythm,
in the same space.
Not trying to escape life,
but quietly returning to it.
This is what weekend mode
has become for me.
