What does it taste like? I asked my Tito one sunny morning as I watched him sip from a small cup of steaming black liquid. He was sitting on the wooden bench in our kitchen, quietly enjoying the moment. I had no idea what it was called until he said, “Coffee.”
I remember him taking another sip before answering my question. “It tastes bitter,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Pero masarap.” His words lingered in the air as if the bitterness he described had a meaning far beyond the drink itself. “Matitikman mo rin ‘to pagtanda mo, ngayon gatas ka lang muna.”
When I was young, I wondered why grown-ups loved coffee so much. It seemed to be part of their lives in ways I couldn’t understand. In our home, coffee wasn’t just a drink; it was a ritual. Every morning, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee would fill the air, signaling the start of another day. Whether my dad was sipping it quietly at the dining table or my mom was preparing a cup for a visitor, coffee was always present.
In Filipino households, coffee isn’t just a beverage—it’s a gesture of hospitality. I grew up seeing coffee offered to almost every visitor who came to our home, whether it was mid-morning or late afternoon. It was as if coffee was the key to good conversations, a silent bridge that connected people. My dad, in particular, had this sweet habit of making coffee for my mom. It wasn’t just about the drink; it was about the act itself, a small but profound expression of love. As a child, I admired this. I dreamed of doing the same for my future wife, imagining us sitting together on a rainy day, sharing a cup of coffee, and talking about life.
But back then, my young mind couldn’t comprehend why adults were so drawn to this bitter drink. My taste buds, attuned to the sweetness of milk and the simplicity of chocolate, found no pleasure in the bitterness of coffee. My first taste was a small sip, one I took during a visit to a relative in my mom’s hometown in Palawan. I was in fourth grade at the time and the experience was memorable not because I liked it but because I didn’t. It was bitter, slightly sweet, but ultimately unappealing to my young palate. I couldn’t help but think, maybe I’ll understand this fascination when I get older.
Years passed and high school arrived, bringing with it a whirlwind of responsibilities—homework to complete, lessons to review, research to write, and deadlines to meet. On top of that, there were personal pleasures to indulge in, like late-night gaming sessions with friends. It was during this time that coffee and I crossed paths again.
This time, however, coffee wasn’t just a drink; it became a necessity. With all the sleepless nights and unfinished tasks, coffee was my ally. At first, it worked like magic, keeping me awake and alert during the long hours of study. But as the demands of school grew, so did my reliance on coffee. One cup turned into two, and soon I found myself craving it more than I expected.
From simple black coffee with a hint of sweetness, I explored a whole world of flavors and variations. There were caramel lattes, creamy cappuccinos, and strong espressos. Coffee had become a part of my daily life, no longer just a drink but a reflection of my moods and needs. I noticed that every cup carried its own story, its own meaning. The strong and bold flavor of barako reminded me of struggles and resilience. The sweetness of caramel echoed the small joys I found amidst challenges. And the simplicity of black coffee brought a sense of calm, a reminder that sometimes, life doesn’t need much embellishment.
Perhaps, that’s when I realized that coffee is more than just a drink. It’s a metaphor for life. Life, like coffee, is inherently bitter. It’s filled with struggles, uncertainties, and moments of darkness. But just as we can add sugar or milk to coffee to suit our taste, we have the power to sweeten our lives. We can choose how we navigate through its bitterness. Some prefer their coffee strong and bold, a reminder that they can handle life’s toughest challenges. Others add cream and sweetness, finding ways to make life softer, gentler.
Coffee teaches us that while we cannot remove the bitterness entirely, we can choose how to experience it. We can transform the bitterness into something meaningful, something that aligns with our preferences and personalities. And isn’t that what life is all about? Making choices, shaping our experiences, and finding the balance between the bitter and the sweet.
That’s why I love coffee. It’s not just a drink; it’s a reflection of life itself. A reminder that even in its bitterness, there’s room for sweetness, for creativity, and choice. Perhaps that is the reason why older people love coffee because it is the experience of bitterness. Now I understand why my Tito said, “Matitikman mo rin ‘to pag matanda ka na.”
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Lour Sanchez, 21 a college student who randomly writes essays.