When I was a kid, I didn’t understand my mother’s obsession to drinking coffee— a black one to be specific. It tasted bitter and bland even though there’s a little sugar in it. Just giving it a look, I already know it wouldn’t taste good.
The moment she woke up in the morning, the first thing she was doing was to make a cup of coffee. In the afternoon, she drank it; there was even a time when she poured the black coffee over her rice, as if it’s a soup. The only thing was running through my mind that time was "I wondered what could make her enjoy that combination?" Making a confused face, wondering how can someone enjoy the combination of a hot black coffee and a rice, I thought of it as weird.
As an 8-year-old kid, I despised the taste of black coffee. I would ask myself, “Why do people like it? What’s so special about it?” Growing up, I preferred the taste of chocolate drinks or full cream milk. Unlike black coffee, they were sweet; it pleased my taste buds and were especially satisfying when paired with a pastry.
In the mornings, I’d ask my mom to buy me a Swiss Miss, who wouldn’t like the taste of it? It even had marshmallows. For the alternative, I sometimes request to have full cream milk for my breakfast. Milk or chocolate were enough for me.
As my mind thought of it; now, I find myself sitting in the coffee shop. Smelling the aroma of the drink I once hated— then the realizations came. My mother didn’t enjoy coffee back then; but she learned how to because it was the only drink she could afford. I failed to understand as a child that she drank black coffee to keep herself awake at 5:00 a.m., preparing for work to make ends despite of feeling tired. I didn’t see that she poured coffee over her rice because she didn’t want to spend her money to buy herself food. She wants to save that for us to my siblings.
Just like black coffee, my mother was strong. As simple as black coffee is, so was she.
Now that I’m an adult, drinking coffee feels empowering. I see it as a reflection of my mother’s strength. I may not like black coffee like my mother did, but at least, I now enjoy coffee genuinely.
“Ms. LA, your Spanish latte is ready for pick up!” the barista said
“I’m sorry, I was busy writing,” I just smiled while feeling apologetic, heading to the counter to get the cup of coffee I just ordered.
Now that I’ve think of it, drinking coffee is a privilege for me. It reminds me of my mother’s strength and how I’ve inherited it to her.
Oh I forgot to tell! You might be confused as to why I ordered spanish latte instead of espresso or black coffee. I tried but it really doesn’t match my taste. My go-to coffee has always been Spanish latte. I chose my personal flavor instead of liking the black coffee my mom had to; spanish latte suits my taste buds. I like how the boldness of espresso with the sweetness of steamed milk and a touch of condensed milk creates a balanced flavor— it is less bitter than black coffee, at the same time not as sweet as other flavors. I personally find comfort in it, and if I were to describe myself, I’m both bitter and sweet. Just like how my days are going through. I have my peaks where I feel blue, yet I also have days when I’m feeling yellow!
On my busy days, I drink coffee.
On my tiring days, I drink coffee.
With any occasions or it might be a normal day, I appreciate the taste of coffee.
Maybe I didn’t really hate coffee; maybe I was just too young to appreciate it.
