Let’s Talk about Coffee
Fernanda Siqueira

Before I began to travel, there was nothing I thought was more Brazilian than coffee. With time, I learned that the beverage is an international passion, as many countries appreciate it their own way. But just the smell of it reminds me a lot of my childhood house.

Every afternoon, my mother would send someone to bring the recently baked bread from the “padaria” or she would bake a cake herself so she could sit at the small table we had in the kitchen and enjoy one of them with some cups of coffee. I couldn’t understand how coffee could smell so good and taste so bad. My mother would drink it in spite of the weather (most of the time, excruciating heat), and she would always drink it very hot.

For us, it’s like part of a ritual. Every time you get to a Brazilian house, someone offers you coffee right away. It’s almost like a serum that everybody needs to drink before they are able to talk about anything. Business is done over it. Family matters are discussed over it. Nobody leaves a restaurant table before most of the people have had their coffee.
It took me a while to get used to the taste, but I felt I had to. (I’m Brazilian, right?) But again, I gave it a meaning; it became to me a way of pausing during work. I was always running up and down like crazy, but I would stop for some minutes to drink a cup of joe and talk a little bit with a friend.

Today, coffee is one of my habits. I drink it every day without thinking much about it. But every time I enter a coffee shop, the smell brings something back to me. I can still see the old kitchen and the odd little table. And I smile, sure that the taste I’m about to try is never going to be as good as that smell.

Wednesday

Alex Gheciu

This Wednesday, I was walking on the street with a friend of mine, then we went inside a coffee shop to get a warm drink. While we waited in line, a young lady, looking to me like 30 years old, started talking to us in a very positive manner. She said a couple of interesting things.

“Sleep when you’re tired, eat when you’re hungry, and try to walk or move as much as you can! That’s what my mom always said to me, and she asked me to spread this message to others any time I get the chance,” she said.

She asked us how old we thought she was, and we said, “Thirty-something?”

Wrong. She said she was 51 years old. Then she said, “You guys are like 26 years old, right?”

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Yes, she was right because my friend is turning 26 in two weeks, and I’m also young, 36 years old.

“Okay, then you definitely know some secrets too!” she said to me. We all started to laugh. It was a funny and pleasant moment at the same time.

I actually have my own explanation for those 10 “extra” years on my ID card. I think my youthfulness is how life pays me back for loving it so much. Or maybe that’s just God paying me back for all of those days (years) I was praying to him when I was a kid. Or maybe that’s how I look after shaving my beard and getting a nice haircut? Or maybe she couldn’t see my wrinkles? Or maybe that young lady just decided to make someone happy by saying that. Or maybe. . .

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One fact is clear to me—she tried to share her positive thoughts to others in a nice manner. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?