Beloved Brew

The curled, white, foamy leaves bob up and down, and swirl in lopsided circles when I move and rest the mug on the counter. This latte has been my breakfast every day since classes started, and I have no regrets. My first sip tastes exactly right, like 7:30 a.m. on a Monday in September or October, before, and sometimes during, math discussion. The foam covers my top lip, a familiar feeling.

This taste tells me that soon I will go to class, and enjoy my higher education as a part of the worldwide community of coffee lovers. My hands warm on my travel mug, I enjoy the briskness of autumn seeping into the lecture hall, and I anticipate the feelings of productivity and the good kind of busy. 

Soon it will be the middle of the day when class is over, and I can decide what to do with my time. Often I choose a library, where I spread my books over too much space and try to concentrate on my 16 units worth of readings and problem sets. Around 7 or 8, I will probably relinquish my seat to get dinner and, with a cup of black coffee, haul it back to the library. On these days my anxiety often grows as my productivity diminishes. I hope that because it is plain coffee, the caffeine will reach my bloodstream more quickly. 

Or, other days I relish the fact that it’s Friday, or maybe it’s even a weekday but my major assignments aren’t due too soon, that I have been granted a momentary, fleeting rest. A macchiato, or an iced coffee with cream, complements a sunny afternoon with friends. We relax in a street-side café, watching passersby, and I contemplate the fact that each one is my colleague, and laugh at my friends’ stories and enjoy inside jokes.

I like mornings because of my lattes, and black coffees ease my desperate, late nights in the library. The caffeine aids my energy, but the flavors soothe and round my emotions. My week is both a sprint and a jog, but with coffee I feel like I am moving with the world, moving forward.

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