Perhaps coffee
My tongue dances in the familiarity of instant coffee, mostly 3-in-1s—those deemed a little too unhealthy.
Allow me a disclaimer to avoid offending the caffeine connoisseurs: I carry with me not a sophisticated palate that can single out the nuances of drip or French press (I barely know what the latter means). Not even an ounce of knowledge do I have to pinpoint whether the earthiness or acidity is just about right.
Another disclaimer: I think the TV series Friends is a wee bit overrated. I love rewatching it, though. But why do we, as a species, like spending on overpriced coffee? Even in the fictional narrative of the aforementioned sitcom, I always question the financial feasibility of a daily café visit. Latte, cappuccino, kapeng barako—it doesn't matter. So long as it serves its purpose of that extra buzz of energy, then it should be fine… right?
I didn't have the urge to always go out and buy. The logic was simple: there's coffee at home. No crowded spaces. No small talk. But my curiosity is nothing if not fickle—so is my waistline. Eons ago, back in my college days, I decided to give cafés a try.
"Ano po bestseller and food na available for takeout?" These were words I had overly rehearsed to survive social interactions. Lo and behold, I found my go-to orders: coffee jelly, caramel macchiato, and anything matcha—perhaps the most basic choices on any menu (as decided by the perpetually judgmental society). It was not for the lack of effort to develop my coffee palate; even open doors can still feel suffocating for the shy. To be clear, service in the many cafés I've been to is top-notch. Friendly is an understatement. However, for a social-battery-dependent being, a moment of interiority is a luxury.
As much as I enjoy the fleeting silence, I have to admit, there is bliss in unwittingly listening to the surrounding noise: the bickering, the occasional sigh, the words of affirmation. When it's a little too loud, you hear nothing but a blurred, laugh-track-esque uproar. Even in the absence of human voices, the conversation continues—through the mechanical muttering of espresso machines, the tapping in agreement of keyboards, and the waltz of utensils onto the table. That's when I realized the true significance of wanting that single cup; could life's beauty be any more obvious?
But, for an introvert like myself, these still pale in comparison to the comfort of solitude, so I stopped frequenting cafés. I stayed at home, made my own coffee, and binge-watched a group of friends bond over comically large mugs. With the previous pandemic lockdowns and the recent boycotts, stepping away from cafés felt natural. It was a rather small pivot in my routine—one that, against the world's chaotic backdrop, was nothing but an afterthought.
Of late, though, my skies feel gray for reasons unknown. My day is like anyone else's: wake up, run errands, work, eat in between. After shift, I would shut the company laptop off, wash dishes, doomscroll for an hour (hopefully less), read a little poetry, then sleep—monotonous and devoid of instinct for improvement. Even after an entire work week, I would not go out. I would simply keep to myself.
As every drink carries a unique yet universal anecdote, so do the narratives of those who poured it with us.
Then, one random weeknight, after seven hours of polishing business reports—nothing difficult and heroic, just the bare minimum—I craved a matcha latte and decided I deserved one after my (hard) work… on a Tuesday. Spontaneity knocked, and I welcomed it, albeit reluctantly, with a touch of whimsy.
“Good coffee and gaming lounge,” I typed in the search bar in pursuit of a go-to place. By some miracle, I found one. So I went to Elixir Café.
Enter an old classmate. I unexpectedly bumped into someone I knew from elementary school. His name is John Carlo; others call him Kaloy. He introduced me to the baristas and the chef (cool people, by the way!). We exchanged life updates, and thus began a conversation.
Ceremonial. First harvest. Specialty drinks. Topics I have yet to fully understand. Still, I found myself listening unconditionally, doing the best I could, not just to quickly burn through the many topics but to genuinely digest every fiber of information. He said the drinks were on the house! I insisted on paying, but he laughed and countered with how I used to lend him my possibly thirdhand PSP back in sixth grade. We shared more laughs and many more stories. My futile attempt to appease the caffeine pantheons is steeped in awe—disbelief, even—by the layered complexity of what a mere cup has to offer. Artisan. Labor of love. Origins.
Then, an epiphany! I do enjoy leisure on my own, but it's not so bad to be with people with whom you can yap, free of judgment. As every drink carries a unique yet universal anecdote, so do the narratives of those who poured it with us. And to share these stories over whatever's in the cup is human. To keep one awake for late-night studying or overtime work, to pair with the leftover cake, and/or to offer companionship on a drizzly morning—just a few of the many drinks to have in a lifetime, only to be flushed out, its purpose fulfilled.
I have been frequenting the café for months now, finding solace in their growing community. At one point, my rusty gamer self even competed (and badly lost) at a Tekken tournament they hosted. Heck, I even attended their first anniversary! Who would've thought I would be present (and cool) enough to get a personal invite to a pool party? All this happened because I simply caved to a craving.
Maybe what Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, Joey, Rachel, and Ross did for 10 years wasn't overrated after all. I'm still under clouds, but sometimes, healing starts with the decision to pick up that cup—perhaps coffee, perhaps not.
Perhaps Coffee 1 cap: “Good coffee and gaming lounge,” I typed in the search bar in pursuit of a go-to place. By some miracle, I found one. So I went to Elixir Café.
Perhaps Coffee 2 cap: My first night at Elixir on March 11, 2025, when I unexpectedly bumped into someone I knew from elementary school.
Perhaps Coffee 3 cap: I have been frequenting the café for months now, finding solace in their growing community.
