Posted by azngeek at October 29th, 2008
I see people in these relationships. As a bystander, as one who is not trapped within such a situation, it’s easy to see how stupid things can be, and how I would never let myself be in such a situation.
I know the hurt. How it can feel so one sided. How sometimes you are never good enough. And you ask yourself “Why won’t he/she reciprocate? Am I just not good enough? What did I do wrong?” The abuse. So profound. It shakes the values of even the strongest willed person.
I’m not talking about sexual or physical abuse. I’m talking about my relationship with this quaint little café that I’ve now become quite the regular.
I remember in my younger years, my mom used to head off on Friday afternoons to share a cup of coffee with some of her friends, to catch up on gossip, to check up on how everyone else is doing, to check if everyone was okay. I never really did get her need for heading out on Friday afternoons for coffee. And then she’d briefly describer her fantastic afternoon over dinner on Friday night, and I’d be astounded how such a boring and dull place would be able to hold the interest of a human being for more than 10 minutes.
Of course it’d be to establishments like Starbucks or Coffee Beans, establishments which today I still frown upon. Mass produced, without a soul. But I understand now, that was the Malaysia equivalent of a café. They wouldn’t know better.
What are cafés? They serve coffee beverages, usually they don’t serve alcoholic beverages, if they do they have some, and usually they serve English breakfasts, and other little tidbits. They aren’t restaurants, they serve some food, but you go there primarily for the warmth and comfort of a hot cup of coffee, and the familiarity of faces, sounds and smells. Of course there is always the adventure of the lack of familiarity when you make your way to new cafés, but that is where part of the excitement lies, to see if it’s good or not so, and then finding your comfort zone.
A bit older, maybe a bit wiser, I’m in love with this quaint little cafe, la café crema (Español for The Cafe of Cream) The early mornings I make my way there for my usual bowl of mocha and sometimes some breakfast -bacon and eggs, or the whole shebang with everything on it. I sit there, familiar with the owners and the waitresses that have been there for a little over a year. On my days where I have a bit of free time, I like looking around. Some call it smelling the roses. I call it smelling the coffee beans. And I observe. I observe the people that come and go. Some people returning multiple times within the hour, talking bashfully about work or other extracurricular activities, some I rather not know, but still find interesting nonetheless. Couples holding hands. Not so conventional couples having public displays of affections. Students frantically working on some assignments or projects ( I for one am a guilty one in that respect).I soak it all in.
It’s very much romantic.
In cafés you can be whoever you want. You could be a private investigator trailing a cheating husband who is on rendezvous with his mistress. You could be a mad scientist who has just come up with the cure for cancer. You could be a movie star trying to get away from the paparazzi. Like being in a new city. Paris. Rome. London.
It’s always exciting.
But then you have people who ruin it all. Cafés in my set of café etiquette does not allow for business to be conducted. Businessman with their expensive suits, their cologne that they were too heavy with in the early morning, and their contracts and their briefcases. Bah. Not in my set of café etiquette. It’s a place for freedom. To escape it all. I think it’s alright for students to work on projects and assignments. Something not so formal. Not so rigid. I dislike business being conducted in my cafés. With the exception of artist of course. Creativity flows with coffee beans. Of course everyone would have their own café etiquette and beliefs. What’s yours?
But of course cafés are not all just rainbows and beds of roses. When her doors are full. I just scout out the tables, and then leave. She turns me a way sometimes, which does make me sad at times. But at other times, the experiences have been so wonderful. Sitting their for hours on end. Thinking through problems of my life. Or less meaningful but still important ideas that I just couldn’t get my head around but need for my next lecture or a test or a project. And she keeps me warm and lets me write frantically away at a question I just had a small epiphany over and would rather have it on paper lest I forget. And sometimes when there are too many people, I take my thinking elsewhere after a short sit. But I think it’s a right to sit their for hours to worry about the little or bigger things in life. A cup of coffee be your hall pass.
Maybe our relationship isn’t so abusive afterall?
Taken from http://hilton.org.uk/facade/paris-cafe-noir.jpg
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