It is a dark and rainy Monday in Singapore, perfect weather for sleeping in. Lazily I crawl out of bed, go through my usual routine of checking for any important late night messages. Here it comes, wait for it—waaaah the rain! #sgflood
I look out my window, its face wet with tears. Vaguely I just make out the shape of the housing flats out yonder, no doubt that this torrential pour was going to last a while. Feeling thankful that I have no immediate need to leave the house, I head down for breakfast.
Baked beans on toast, a simple and ordinary breakfast for a dull and grey day. Nothing too special for a day that starts the week. But I am not one to settle for ordinary. What makes a rainy day better? Hot drinks for sure. I have an array of different teas collected over the year but none quite seem to satisfy my snobbish cravings for something different.
Coffee? I’ve firmly rejected most offers for a cuppa joe throughout the years, never quite understanding how anyone could survive the bitter taste. Still, there’s a jar of instant coffee I bought recently just so I could add a little into a cheesecake, recommended by a cousin who only has good tastes.
Curiosity killed the coffee rebel in me. Just half a teaspoon to try. Just half a cup.
The bitter smell of coffee wafts through the air as I pour hot water into my cup. My grandmother’s favourite smell. I’m surprised it doesn’t summon her into the living room. It may bitter, but surely this is the smell of good coffee.
I take a sip. Wait, this isn’t too bad? Another sniff, another sip. Could add sugar if I wanted it sweeter. Strangely, I’m not in the mood for sweet. I start to dream, I start to think: what is it that makes this coffee different from other coffee?
Suddenly I see leaves sprouting around me. Ah, it’s that green of coffee beans, the smell of real coffee. It’s not about the caffeine, it’s the experience of aroma, an understanding of that very place this coffee has come from. Is this what it might be like walking through a coffee plantation?
Back to reality, a cup of dark brown staring back at me. I’m appreciative of this little tonic. I down the last of my cup.
The rain begins to let up and hugging the last remaining warmth of my cup, my little adventure fades to an end. Am I a coffee convert? No, not yet. I’ve still a ways to go, though more likely than not I’ll open that little jar of sunshine and go on a journey once more.