Yesterday wasn’t just a Sunday—it was the kind of day that felt like a scene from a film you didn’t know you needed to be in until the credits started rolling in your head.

The smell of barbecue drifted through the house before the doorbell even rang. Friends trickled in, each one bringing something—sometimes food, sometimes drinks, sometimes just the kind of laughter that feels like seasoning for the soul. The grill hissed and sizzled, the meat caramelizing at the edges while the air filled with that smoky perfume you secretly wish was a scented candle. Plates clinked, forks scraped, someone yelled for more sauce, and somehow, every conversation found its way back to an old inside joke.

We ate like we had all the time in the world—chewing slowly, talking quickly. No one was rushing to check their phones, no one pretending to be busy. It was just us, circling around the table like a well-worn orbit, drawn to the warmth that only food and friendship can make.

After dinner, we moved to the living room for KPOP: Demon Hunters. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect beyond catchy tunes and cool visuals, but it delivered more than that—it gave me a feeling. The kind of feeling you get when a song doesn’t just play, it climbs into your bloodstream. My current favorite from the soundtrack feels like gold melting over the edges of an electric beat—bright, cinematic, and a little bit dangerous. The verses hum with quiet intensity, the kind that makes you lean closer, and then the chorus hits—big, unapologetic, and glorious, like the soundtrack to your own montage of running toward something you’ve been chasing for years. It’s the kind of song that stays in your head long after the credits fade, not just because it’s catchy, but because it feels like possibility.

If you haven’t seen the film yet, I’ll say this: it’s beautiful. Not just visually, but in the way it stitches together music, action, and heart without ever feeling like it’s trying too hard. Watch it with friends, like we did. Or watch it alone with the lights off and the volume up—you’ll see what I mean.

This past week was gentler on me. My shifts were still long, but they were the kind that didn’t drain me down to the bone. I felt healthy, steady, and strangely at peace. For that, I’m grateful. But I also carry a small pang of guilt for skipping church. It’s not just about attendance—it’s about the anchor it gives me, the reminder that I’m not steering this life alone. Maybe next Sunday, I’ll make sure I’m there to feel that grounding again.

The older I get, the more I believe that the best Sundays aren’t perfect. They don’t need a carefully curated timeline or an aesthetic photo. They just need people you love, food you can share, music that moves you, and a quiet ending where you can sit back, look at the mess, and think, this is a good kind of tired.

So here’s to a week of better shifts, good health, golden songs, and friends who know how to turn an ordinary day into something worth writing down. And here’s to the next week—may it bring its own soundtrack, one worth keeping on repeat.

Anj ❤