Coffee. Love its scent, not a huge fan of its taste unless it’s mixed with milk, could indulge in its aromatic bitterness if paired with a good conversation.

Nearby my workplace is a charming tiny cafe. I wave them hello whenever I pass them by.

I’m just a regular nine-to-five worker, doing an ordinary job many can do as well. Whether the job is done out of necessity or indulgence, I refuse to give myself an answer, for I’m scared it might become stagnant water that evaporates painfully slowly even in the heights of summer. What is it?

A curtain to protect my mind
A net to catch the sediments of my escaping will
A lens to focus my freedom
A mirror for my family to reflect a semblance of their transparent hopes
A seed I planted out of curiosity about how the bloom would look like

My life is mine, and it is also never just mine.
I thought, I don’t mind doing this as long as I still can scrape a few tiny joys out of it.

I’m deeply grateful for a space the cafe provided to share tiny joys. I could see they put a lot of effort and care in everything. It was such a beautiful sight. I stood just right outside the edge and painted that scenery from a distance.

Now I can approximate how it could be like, the curves and edges, a strange shape some people would call “happiness”

Here, it’s always felt like summer, even if there is no real season. I don’t think it’s an ideal place to be in, yet I don’t feel like living anywhere else.

Here, I have bitter coffee on a blue summer.