My History with Coffee

Memories of your younger years, translated…

I am forty-two years-old currently, and to this day, my history of drinking coffee had, spanned across a good thirty-four years.  When I was younger, the drinks that appealed to me the most in my parents’ grocery shop was not the sodas, the juices, but those cans of coffees, with foreign people’s pictures on them.

The shop my family owned was located at the not-yet-developed town of Shulin in Taipei County, and the clients who come to shop were mostly blue-collar workers, and their favorite drinks included: asparagus juice, coffees, and energy drinks.  One day after a skilled worker who’s a friend of my father’s bought his energy drink, he’d sat down with my father to talk, he’d told me to get two cups, mixed the two drinks together, pushed a cup to my dad, and took the other for himself.  He saw that I was curious, handed me the third of what he’d had left, served it to me.  Seeing how my father didn’t object, I’d brought a transparent drinking glass, poured the coffee carefully, slowly, savored the drink.

As the first sip got teeth, onto my tongue, that mysterious taste had, awakened my taste buds, uplifted my eight-year-old’s life experiences to a whole new level.  As the skilled worker uncle and dad were drinking and chatting, they’d not noticed how an eight-year-old was holding that last gulp of coffee, not wanting to swallow, wanting it, to last longer.

I really DO love coffee very much, as it may have, concentrated my own rebelliousness that came later on, contributed to my sense of wandering and nostalgia too, separating me from children my age.  I was afraid that I would get grilled by my mother who carefully planned out every last dollar, I’d stowed away, can after can of coffees, into my second-floor bedroom.  Sometimes, I would trade the water I brought to school for two cans of coffee, and poured them into the water bottle I took to school, that way, I’d have the aromas, accompanying me in my studies, very leisurely, those times.  The Bearded Uncle coffee cans accompanied me, until as my mother came to make my bed, and confiscated a little over HALF of my drawers’ worth of coffee cans.

“I’m only making money for TWO cans per ordered casing, you’d cost me money!  I couldn’t, make enough, to satisfy your cravings!”  My mother knew how persuasion worked, as she’d waved around those over a dozen tin cans in her arms, clinking, like those lost coins she would’ve been paid for them.  From that day on, I’d, tried to “detox” from my addiction of Mr. Brown.

not my photograph….

As I got older, and became more economically capable, those cans of coffee fell out of my favor.  For years I’d studied in France, coffee became a habit for me.  A small cup of Espresso lasted, only about TWO sips for me.  As the coffees came, I’d gotten into the habit of taking a small sip while it was still hot, leaving the half cup that still remained until it was time to leave the cafés, then, I’d, downed it, in one gulp.  These two sips of coffee sometimes spanned over two to three hours’ time, the time I’d conversed with friends, or the time it’d taken for me, to read through the few pages of novels that I had with me.

After I started working in theatre on my return to Taiwan, coffee became like an energy drink for me.  Having a wayward work schedule, I’d needed coffee, to keep me awake, and the results of that was, needing three, to four cups a day.  The coffees I drank became more and more concentrated, I’d drunk them, faster, and faster, and my taste buds became, duller, and duller.  

here’s a daily “serving” of your espresso, NOT my photograph…

After I started working in theatre on my return to Taiwan, coffee became like an energy drink for me.  Having a wayward work schedule, I’d needed coffee, to keep me awake, and the results of that was, needing three, to four cups a day.  The coffees I drank became more and more concentrated, I’d drunk them, faster, and faster, and my taste buds became, duller, and duller. 

Last year, I’d started adjusting my own paces in life and paid close attention to food safety issues, bought a simple espresso set and the beans from a trusted dealer.  There would be half an hour in the mornings every day, I’d sat by the table, like a ritual, grinding up the beans, adding in the water, and waiting.  I’d made myself, a small pot of coffee, every day.  Watching the ground coffee breathe in the heat, it’d, finally dawned on me, that this drink I’d savored, for over thirty years actually came from a tree that grew on the ground, NOT Mr. Brown.  At this time, the aromas of the coffee, presented itself to me, through a closer to the world, fuller of life form, to me.

.

So, this, is someone’s “relationship” with coffee, he’d associated that sense of wellbeing, that feeling of happiness with coffees, and, that, was what his earlier memories showed, that he’d had, NOTHING but pleasantries with coffee, save for that time he got found out by his mother, and, his deep intoxication with coffee probably stems from something that’s, deep down inside of him, it’s NOT as simple as being addicted to caffeine, I think…

 

Advertisements

Talk to Me...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s