Holding a cup of coffee, I stared blankly out the window at the dazzling, shimmering lights. Amidst the heavy downpour, the neon lights displayed a mesmerizing beauty.
As a child, I often went shopping with my mother. Occasionally, I would see people in cafes, reading newspapers and sipping fragrant coffee. At the time, I had no idea what coffee was. Curious, I asked my mother, "Mom, are they sick? Why are they all drinking that black liquid?" My mother smiled and replied, "That's not medicine; it's coffee." I pressed further, "What is coffee? What does it taste like?" Since she hadn't tasted it herself, she playfully teased, "It's sweet, just like chocolate." Excited by this, I insisted, "I want some! I want to drink it!" And so, coffee became a fond, whimsical memory of my childhood.
When I finally grew up and took my first sip, my mother's words echoed in my mind: "Coffee is like chocolate." However, reality was far from my expectations. I immediately spat it out, thinking, "How can this be? How is it so different from my childhood memory?" I refused to accept this bitter, unpleasant liquid; I wanted the "chocolate coffee" my mother had described. Noticing the condiments nearby, I saw a pitcher of fresh milk and a packet of white sugar. An idea struck me: "The chocolate coffee my mother spoke of must be made with milk and sugar." I poured the milk and sugar in without hesitation and stirred it with a spoon. I thought to myself, "This must be the chocolate coffee I've been dreaming of."
I took a second sip. A sudden tremor ran through my heart. Ah! Why was it so terrible? My mother had lied to me! The first sip was too bitter, and the second was far too sweet. I couldn't stop cursing the coffee—"Bitter coffee! Awful coffee!" I quickly paid the bill and stormed out into the street, feeling increasingly frustrated. As I walked into the park, dusk had begun to fall. The dimming streetlights flickered sporadically, and maple leaves drifted endlessly to the ground. Suddenly, a scent wafted through the air. Was it a strange yet familiar scent? Was it... coffee? I let my senses linger on the aroma. Yes! It was coffee! And it was exactly that bitter, unpleasant taste. Why did this flavor I so despised linger in my mind? White pigeons cooed on the ground as the curtain of night fell. The streetlights stabilized, and the maple trees stood bare. In that fleeting moment, I suddenly understood the true taste of coffee. I was only sixteen years old then.
Coffee is not for everyone. Some find it unbearable and never drink it again, while others find it indispensable. In truth, both types of people have experienced the original flavor of coffee. Is life not much the same? If we add too much milk and sugar, life can become overly artificial. Isn't simplicity better? Isn't being ordinary better? Isn't it better to stay true to one's original flavor? After all, it is just coffee.
Since then, I haven't touched coffee again. It's not that I hate it or loathe it; it's just that it is no longer my "original flavor."
