You come in many shapes, in many names.

Sometimes you're round, and in a cup. You like to be called cup noodles then. Sometimes you transform into a rectangle, and are called ramen. Then there are those numerous commercial names given to you by the corporate hyenas who fight over inconsequential things like market appeal and packaging. Fools! For they don't know that to your faithful lovers, you can look however you want to on the outside. All that matters is that for the price of roughly a dollar, you are substantial on the inside.

Instant noodles, this is for you.

You have many naysayers who bash you, sure. They say you're garbage, unhealthy and provider of useless calories. But all great things have been harshly criticized in their times. You have saved countless broke college students from starvation. You've provided motivation to people pulling all-nighters through generations with your warmth and thin, overly-salted soup. The satisfactory slurp from your noodles has filled many hungry and lonely bellies. Where the education system, the government and the food delivery guys have broken hearts, you have taken over and saved the souls of college students. It's a wonder you still haven't gotten your own seat in the UN, because if you ask me, you seem to be creating and keeping more peace than they ever have. But then again, maybe you're better off.

As for my own feelings about you, what can I say? I'm in love. With every form of you. You in a cup, you without a cup. The Korean you, the Japanese you, or the plain old American you - I don't discriminate. I've tried you in every flavor, and I've loved all of them (except maybe for the chicken one, that one is a bit iffy).

Your half-bodied noodles, those dried-up plastic veggies, the thin soup- all so imperfect, yet they combine together to form something warm and pleasing....at least to a poor student living on a budget. You've provided me with comfort on days I've been ill, stressed, miserable and lonely. You're so very dependable. I always know that I can count on you to fill me up with cardboard-textured food and optimism even on my worst days. At this point in my life, only you can truly understand me. And I'm grateful for that. There's is no power strong enough that can come between me and you. Except for maybe pizza...but on most days even that's too expensive so we're good.

One day (roughly two years from now), I'll finally listen to my mother and give up on you. I'll understand how caustic our relationship is, how you're bad for me and I'll have the courage (and the money) to move on. Or atleast that's the hope people who care about me has.

But until then, my beloved cup noodles, I love you from the bottom of my heart (and my purse).