8,000 Cups of Coffee

Each time I am at home with my Mom, the happiest and the most painful of days were marked by coffee.

My mother finds peace in making me coffee. Nothing lavish. Coffee in powdered form stirred with hot water in a earthy brown, chipped mug.

I cannot remember the exact year I started drinking coffee. My mom, because of her vacillating blood pressure, had stopped drinking coffee since I was a child.

I was 16 when I began studying at the university. My best friend's grandma lived close to the university. We spent countless days chasing dreams, singing songs, and laughing at jokes only we could comprehend inside grandma's rustic home. Grandma kept a stash of delicious infused coffee. It gave me such joy to have a taste of her favourite coffee every morning with fresh pandesal from the bakery nearby.

Drinking coffee has always been comforting to me.

I have spent most of my years in community building work for advocacies as multi-faceted as the varieties of coffee. The most unforgettable of conversations were marked by cups of coffee.

These were cups of coffee graciously prepared by a farmer, a leader of an indigenous community, a student, and a mother.

For five years, I led the Youth Affairs Programme of a district representative or member of the House of Representatives.  Ours was a small team and amidst an influx of constituents who requested for a range of assistance (e.g., medical, burial, educational) I assisted our social worker in accommodating our guests.

Many times, we would come across exhausted farmers or anxious mothers humbly requesting for government assistance. I offered them cups of coffee. Their eyes lit up like the warmth of sunshine. It is magical how cups of coffee would seemingly lighten an overburdened heart - even for a brief moment.

Conversations with friends over cups of coffee remain warm and enduring in the senses and in the memories.

The context of the days are fleeting but the moment shared between true friends are embedded in the soul marked for eternity.

The cups of coffee I make for myself are humble manifestations of self-care.

Warm or cold. Plain or drizzled with evaporated milk or heavy cream. My green, chipped mug or a transparent glass with a golden pineapple design.

At the beginning of each day, I give myself a warm embrace with a comforting cup of coffee, writing myself a note, "you can do this."

As the day ends, I sip and breathe in the gift of decaffeinated coffee and send hugs to myself, "tomorrow is another day."