My love for coffee began at an early age. My grandparents love to drink Nescafe coffee. Every morning, my grandfather would have a cup of coffee with his breakfast, and my grandmother would offer me my very own cup of “coffee,” that consisted of 90 percent milk and 10 percent coffee. Never the less, I sat next to my grandfather and later my grandmother joined, and we drank our coffee. My grandmother always had sweet bread to accompany it.
My father, too, is a coffee drinker, and for some years after my grandmother passed away I never cared for coffee, but the smell would always remind me of her. As a young adult working and going to college, coffee became my best friend. It was comforting and fueled me with energy for the upcoming day. I welcomed the jolt of energy with great enthusiasm. The majority of my college mornings were filled with the bitter/sweet smell of coffee. When I was upset, I’d drink a cup of joe, and I’d instantly feel better.
Today, I can barely function without having a cup; I think it’s a common problem for most working people. The smell alone is comforting, in my subconscious it triggers nurturing memories of my grandmother, and that brings peace to my day. On particularly hard days, it might be late, but I’d make a cup just to let the aroma fill the house and embrace me in its arms. My grandmother has been gone for quite some years, but she was and will continue to be a special person in my life. I will always remember our coffee memories.
— Cinthia Rico is a staff writer for the Times-Journal. Her email is firstname.lastname@example.org.