Unheard Metaphor Of Shared Coffee

To me, most people are just like coffee. They come off too strong, as if they're covered with a metal shield that you can't even sense a tiny drop of sweetness in their soul. 

Imagine a scenario, people who love the color black, are more elated to drink black coffee. And because they are enamoured by the certain attribute it possesses, they tend to identify with it. Because they look at coffee as if they are looking at themselves. 

When I smell coffee, I scrunch my nose like when I smell cigarettes. As if I'm intruded by its aggressive presence that demands to be noticed. Unlike herbal tees, I have always felt welcomed by its warm wraith, gently hugging me with its soft embrace while drawn by its clean nature, like it fills up the space within me.. that longs for its spirit.

 On the other hand coffee does the opposite, its intensity is almost unbearably confronting, as if intently striking me with its antagonizing authority. 

Yes.. it tastes aggressive/ unloving/ bitter. No, it does not match my tastes nor does it reflect my whole personality. 

Back then, I used to call coffee "useless and boring”. But years later I was proven wrong, when it evolved and came back alive, even still recently dominating more than 100 countries. 

Since then, we have gotten used to responding to such names that are not even our own. And labelling people or things as they come. Speak the language we cannot even comprehend. Without realizing yet, these names are written in different fronts and are understood perceptively. 

Even though I have never learned to utter a single word of Latin, I have understood how coffee now speaks to me like I can. Hence, those who drink it, may have already met its characteristics to be able to speak it. 

As for me, facing my own image now on a glass of coffee feels like observing a twin version of me who lives in a different facet of reality. Her who is unapologetically powerful, unrecognizable, and undefiable. An embodiment of quiet rebellion, was once a person who refused to drink the coffee, of which the character she had resisted to represent.  

In every universe, the burnt tongues from a spilled coffee that moves us outside of the box we have been trapped in, and aligns us into a transcendence of greater being are in fact also burning bridges. 

Bridges we feared walking to, because we have already set our own specific path. In that way, drinking a coffee would risk rewriting the default narrative of our story. So some of us would rather not, because it saves us time from redesigning or relinquishing dead end chapters and reevaluating the status quo. At one point in life, drinking coffee would either mean swallowing pride or allowing a drop of prejudices. 

Which one can identify with, hold strongly to, and be in control of. But this is not just about coffee. This is us indulging in acts of it, or withholding oneself from it. The coffees that are served to society, who makes them? The same society that relives itself from the death of social norms, and stereotypes. 

In between all said lines, spoken in distinguished languages there exists our humanity. Shared by the same cup of coffee.