Let’s get one thing straight: I am not addicted to coffee.
Coffee is addicted to me.
Yes, yes, I know that’s what every coffee lover says… right before their third cup of the morning. But honestly, in my case, it’s true. If coffee could swipe right, I’d be its top match. I’m the reason beans blush when they see me coming.
It all started years ago with that simple morning cup — the warm hug in a mug, the scent that could make even Monday mornings slightly less murderous. But over time, my love for coffee evolved into a full-blown relationship. No messy breakups, no ghosting, no awkward “let’s just be friends.” Coffee and I are in it for life.
And yes, we made it official — I bought a coffee machine.
Now my kitchen looks less like a cooking space and more like an international coffee embassy. Turkish coffee with its rich, thick glory? Check. Lebanese coffee that smells like poetry? Absolutely. German coffee that’s strong enough to make you file your taxes early? Yes, please. South Indian filter coffee that feels like a warm monsoon morning? Heaven. And don’t get me started on South Korean coffee — it’s smooth, chic, and just the right amount of Instagrammable.
My coffee corner is my happy place. Stainless steel, frothing wands, beans from different continents — all lined up like my own personal Avengers team. People collect stamps; I collect blends and roasts.
And here’s the magic: coffee isn’t just a drink for me. It’s my pause button. The three cups (sometimes four — don’t judge) I have each day are like little lifeboats in the sea of chaos.
After a day of dodging work hassles, enduring crabby moods, and surviving that colleague who thinks breathing loudly is a personality trait, I come home to my coffee. The moment my favorite mug is in my hands, no one else has space to trouble me. Not the inbox, not the bills, not the drama — nada.
Coffee listens. Coffee understands. Coffee doesn’t tell me to “calm down.” Coffee knows I am calm… once I’ve had coffee.
And the best part? Each cup feels like a tiny vacation. I could be in a bustling Istanbul bazaar with Turkish brew in the morning, wandering through the streets of Vienna with an afternoon Viennese blend, and sipping Seoul’s smooth creations by evening. Travel without the jet lag, thank you very much.
People often ask me, “But Rachita, what if one day you can’t have coffee?”
And I say, “What if one day the sun doesn’t rise?”
Because between you and me, I’m convinced the sun only comes up because it knows I’ll be making coffee.
So here’s to the magic bean, my caffeinated soulmate. I don’t drink coffee to live — coffee lives to be drunk by me.
