I had an indifferent attitude towards coffee. My late grandfather used to love it. It’s funny the way he used to pronounce it.


It’s usually black. Straight up. No sugar. Javanese or locally produced. I thought it had a horrible smell. Also, the tiny black things that gather around the rim and the remnants after the liquid was dried.

One word. Ugh.

I immediately associate coffee with old people. I preferred sweet tea. Sometimes with condensed milk. It can make a hot evening worthwhile. So I decided this tea partnership would be for life. I would never touch coffee because there’s nothing interesting about it. Not ever.

Or so I thought.

The change was swift. It was gradual. When I was 13 or 14 I passed by a shop called The Coffee Bean. It smelled marvelous. It strangely reminded me to be calm and relaxed. There were a lot of people. Business like. Laptops and papers and colorful magazines propped on the table. Serious faces. This is not my place, I thought. It got glass table and thick cakes and big cups. I don’t belong here. I belong with tiny cups and teapots and little homemade Mommy treats.

Even in restaurants, I always ask for iced tea. My trademark ever since I knew how to order food and drinks by myself. My siblings would ask for the same thing. It’s safe. I never felt the need to change that.

But change was the only constant in life. It did caught me. I was in my university. My old friend loves coffee and she always bring me to Starbucks. I never intended the change to be permanent. It was just one little sip. The shop was having a cheeky moment and I thought I should join in the fun. After all, what good can it be when you combine coffee and bananas?

Apparently it was really good.

I expected a night of tossing and turning or coughing or choking hazard but no. Nothing of the sort happened. It was just full bliss. I felt like as if my blood finally got some structure. It was order in complete chaos.

How wrong I was all these years.

I still remember the first time I tried Costa Rican coffee. I was not done even after 3 cups. Have you tried Vietnamese drip coffee? Amazing. Just amazing. What about Turkish coffee? Oh, splendid! I can’t believe what I was missing! Expresso? Americano? Macchiato? Latte? Cortado? Oh, please. Tell me something I don’t know.

You know what’s more intriguing? There is an invisible wire that ignites in your brain when you drink coffee. This never happens with tea. The world seemed to make more sense. Things become clearer. Words become lesser but sharper. It’s like a little liquid drug that turns thoughts into things.

I kinda like my after-coffee-me.

So now I admit that I am an addict and I’m not sorry.

Well maybe to tea.

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