We love our first love the hardest. Our first love is spontaneous: we’re risky, we’re daring and we feel that there’s no danger in loving wild. We love without precautions, because hey, life never came with a handbook right? And we decide that, we can make our own rules, and love can actually be ‘chosen’. And since we have the right to choose, we’ll choose the riskiest and the darkest kind of love. Because that’s what romance novels taught us – ‘if you can’t fix someone’s broken self, don’t love at all.’
Yet eventually, we decide that nothing works. We think that we’re the Florence Nightingale of love: we can fix anybody. We don’t accept it, but we are guilty of thinking that love is synonymous to alcohol. The fresher the vodka: the better the high. But fresh love goes stale, and soon we want something rich, something cultured; old yet refreshing? That 30 year old Glen McKenna seems just right, but how should you ask? Love can’t be asked, or requested. It’s not the buzz of gin and tonic, and not definitely something that’s like an everyday hangover. Now, you realize that love is not lust or attachment. Love feels; love evolves.
And, that’s why. Love is like coffee.
The mature men waltz in, and suddenly you’re lost between the greater choices you have. Arabica roasted or coffee Robusta? Finally, you’ll get what you want; monotonous, yet exotic.
Because, love is like coffee, you want it fragrant, you want brewed right, you want it to sound thrilling and yet, taste sweet. Even though you’re amateur, you won’t start with latte. So, you’ve decided to choose the darkest espresso beans, and to brew it without any instructions so that you can fill a cup with coffee to the brim, add dark chocolate, marshmallows and two packets of sugar, because you saw someone else doing it and someone else’s idea of love is always more interesting. You’ll eventually realize that the coffee picks you and you don’t pick the coffee. You adapt to a taste; you learn how to love a taste.
But that’s still far away.
But loving and finding the right coffee isn’t simple. You respect your coffee, as much as you respect yourself. Slowly, you’ll learn how to love an uncomforting, a gullible, and an unkind kind of love. Love is always the most brutal when you love it the first time. Just like your espresso. You think that since it is coffee, it’s supposed to be tasty – but it’s not. It’s bitter and spiteful and makes you lose a little faith in humanity.
But you will drink it all because, that’s how it’s supposed to be, and only when you finish it, you’ll realize how much of strength it took. And, if you can, you’ll order another cup because, why not? You still don’t get it that ‘the more the better’ is just a myth, and doesn’t really work. For, your first tryst with your lover will be like playing backgammon. The domino’s will fall and slap you so hard in the face that you’ll refuse to even recognize your own self in the mirror.
And one day, just like that, you’ll look at how beautiful the sky feels at sunset and realize that you deserve a new palette of colors; it’s time to change your beans and the cup. And that day my friend, you’ll fly all the way across the world, because you’re in love with the idea of love *again*, and all you want to do is sit by the little of cafes on Champs Elysees in Paris. You’ve overgrown the tangy liquor and espresso is not just for you. And yet still you want the sun, you want the perfectly brewed coffee, and the delicate satisfaction of speaking in a foreign language celebrating your growth, pampering your taste buds with a lighter shade of brown. And so, you want to scream it out to the world, “Oui, it’s the frappe life for me.”
Until, you taste the cappuccino.