They say in Indonesia, “Lapar bisa ditahan, tapi nafsu makan? Itu urusan setan.” Hunger, you can tame. But appetite? That’s a whole different beast.
And let’s be real — who’s out here craving a kale smoothie after a breakup, a bad day, or even just a boring afternoon? Nobody.
You want ribs dripping in sauce, extra sambal on your ayam geprek, an oozing slice of martabak manis with double keju coklat. And yet, somehow, we’re all supposed to heal our guts while eating like monks? Yeah, nah.
The problem isn’t gluttony. It’s guilt. It’s the idea that if you eat “bad,” your body must suffer as punishment — that your gut lining shrivels every time you dip a french fry in mayo.
That kind of black-and-white thinking turns food into a battlefield. But what if the real damage isn’t the burger, but the stress you chew with it?
See, your gut isn’t a fragile flower that wilts at the sight of sugar. It’s more like a nightclub bouncer — strong, adaptive, a little rough around the edges. Feed it crap 24/7, sure, it’ll riot.
But feed it joy, feed it peace, feed it with context — that’s a whole different story. The human gut is neurotic but smart. It listens. It adapts. It knows when you’re eating in celebration versus when you’re bingeing out of self-loathing.
Take it from centuries of food wisdom — the kind that doesn’t come in wellness infographics or overpriced powders. In Javanese culture, people fast not just to detox, but to reset rasa, the sense of balance.
Not to be skinny, not to punish. Just to start again. And when they feast? They go all in. Rawon, rendang, lontong sayur — full flavor, full spice, zero shame. The secret was never in restriction. It was in rhythm.
Let’s say you’re a sucker for gorengan. Who isn’t? It’s crunchy, salty joy in a paper bag. Eat it. But maybe don’t chase it with a liter of soda and then repeat the ritual for dinner and again at midnight.
Instead, throw in bitter greens the way Indonesians do with pecel, or sip warm jamu like turmeric tamarind after the fact — not to “cancel out” the oil, but to speak your gut’s language. Pedas, pahit, manis, asin — balance isn’t about denial. It’s about harmony.
Gut health isn’t about cutting out everything you love and calling it “discipline.” It’s about understanding your body’s love-hate relationship with excess. You can down a slice of greasy pizza and still be friends with your microbiome — if you don’t treat it like the enemy. The real poison is stress. The pressure. The inner dialogue that turns every bite into a crime scene.
No one’s saying eat donuts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But damn, don’t fear your cravings like they’re out to destroy you. Your gut doesn’t need a food prison. It needs a peace treaty. One where you don’t worship fiber like a cult, but you also don’t let nihilism drive your fork.
One where you know your gut flora would probably enjoy that bowl of kimchi fried rice as much as you do — provided you’re not scarfing it down in the dark, full of shame.
So how do you eat like a glutton and still heal?
You honor your hunger without turning it into your god. You throw some fermented stuff on the plate not because TikTok told you to, but because it actually helps.
You drink bone broth not as a punishment, but as an act of repair. You feast when it’s time to feast. You rest when your gut screams, “Yo, timeout.” And above all, you drop the guilt like yesterday’s leftovers.
Because at the end of the day, healing is less about the food and more about the vibe.
“Eat with joy, not judgment. Your gut can taste fear — and it hates the flavor.”
So go ahead. Lick the plate. Sip the jamu. Balance it like the old folks did — not with apps and macros, but with rasa. And next time someone tries to food-shame you, just smile and say, “Perutku, urusanku.” My gut, my rules.
