One Popcorn, One Movie and One Act of Self-Worth

Here is a confession.

I might have—or might not have—splurged a bit more than I should’ve.

And honestly? It’s hard to see it as “just a little” when you’re a broke university student and it feels like you just bought a yacht. Okay, not really. But emotionally? Close.

Have you ever felt like that before?

No? Not yet?

Alright then, come, let me bring you into my little dilemma.

Imagine this.

I spent a not-so-tiny chunk of my monthly allowance on a movie ticket. In my defense, it came with popcorn, a drink, and some cute little merch, but the moment I pressed that confirmation button, the guilt started brewing.

Not like a dramatic waterfall, oh no.

More like a tiny guppy, lurking quietly under the rocks.

Still there. Still watching me. It’s that kind of guilt that sneaks in right after the sugar rush from a soda (diet soda). So I sat there, on the floor of my room, blinking into the void.

Am I worth this ‘luxury’?

All because I locked eyes with a poster of my favourite animation (something I didn’t need, but suddenly couldn’t resist). This is not what I plan, but the poster screams at me. I sat there (might’ve been lying on the floor by then), wondering. How many eggs could I have bought with that not-so-tiny chunk of money? The answer is around 57 eggs, in case you’re wondering. Around 50, if the eggs are feeling a bit fancy here and there.

Now, it wasn’t just about the money anymore, not after a few minutes of lying on the floor like the main character in an indie film. It was about me, again (what a dramatic way of living life, truly). I started wondering if I even deserved something good. If I deserved something that didn’t count as a need. You know, that exhausting little tug-of-war between:

“I deserve the best joy in my life”

and

“I am broke. I should be a responsible adult.”

I even considered refunding the ticket. Spoiler alert: the ticket was non-refundable. Of course it was. So with nothing but sheer willpower and a questionable budgeting history, I kept whispering to myself that it was worth it.

Here’s the breakdown:

I’m a broke university student, which obviously is not a robot; beat that allegation already. Joy is not some luxury item locked behind financial stability (or instability, if we’re being honest). Sometimes, joy is a loud animated movie, a popcorn bucket that is obviously and globally, I think that, half air, and merch I’ll probably stare at fondly during a breakdown over my thesis proposal.

So I decided. I made a deal with myself. I would eat rice with sambal and fried egg (or boiled) for a week.

A humble, glorious combo that surprisingly became the holy trinity of broke-student survival.

Add some vegetables if I’m feeling gourmet. You know what? I’ve finally managed to convince myself because that money didn’t just buy me a movie ticket; it bought me a reminder. That I am, too, allowed to be happy. Even if it’s budgeted. Even if I still get hormonal acne, and even if I have to play Tetris with leftovers just to make it work.

I’m okay with it, you know why? Because I’m worth every penny I poured into that movie.

Self-worth isn’t just built in therapy rooms (which, let’s be real, are extra expensive) or stitched into grand achievements. Sometimes, it lives in small rebellions, like choosing to be kind to yourself when it’s easier to be cruel.

So, here’s to sambal, animated joy and the quiet power of saying, “I am worth this.” Here’s to choosing myself (deliberately, unapologetically) over things that can be replaced, over the guilt that always tries to bargain me down.

And if you’re reading this,

I hope you, too, choose yourself a little more often.

I hope you look at that book you bought yesterday and think,

“Yeah. That was for me. That was my small reward for the small wins I always overlook.”

Or when you read this, you would think that the meal in front of you is worth your penny and time. Shouting to you that you're worth it.

Because sometimes, self-worth isn’t loud.

It doesn’t need a parade. Sometimes, it’s whispered into the steam of your rice, spooned into sambal, and tucked into the folds of joy that you dared to believe you deserved.

Even if it is just for one movie, one popcorn and one little moment of magic.