Coffee

Life feels incomplete without it. My day doesn’t truly begin until I’ve had my first cup. Am I addicted? Perhaps—but I prefer to think of it as a ritual, a necessity rather than a habit.

I can’t recall exactly when I started liking coffee. As children, our mother would serve us something she called "coffee" in the morning, but it wasn’t made from coffee beans. Instead, it was brewed from roasted rice grains or leftover roasted rice. It had the rich, deep flavor of coffee—but it wasn’t coffee.

Strangely, I never actually liked coffee, or any hot beverage for that matter, especially in the morning. When I was younger, drinking anything hot early in the day would make me feel nauseous.

Now, coffee has become indispensable. If I’m away from home, I find myself preoccupied with a pressing concern: where will I get my coffee? It’s a question that demands an answer before the day is over—otherwise, I’ll struggle to sleep, restless from the absence of my daily fix.

I prefer my coffee instant. I don’t have an interest in gourmet blends with names I struggle to pronounce, let alone understand.

One non-negotiable: I can’t drink coffee without creamer. If forced to choose, I’d rather skip the sugar than go without creamer.

I’m also not a fan of 3-in-1, 4-in-1, or any other number-in-1 instant coffee blends. How many more ingredients can they possibly cram in? I just want coffee, nothing more.

That first mug is pure relief; the second is pure pleasure. Beyond that, I don’t crave more—any more than two, and I’d be more anxious than satisfied.

At least when it comes to coffee, I know when to stop.