"I must further advise you, Harriet…not to heap such mountains of sugar into your tea, nor to pour such a deluge of cream in; people will certainly take you for the daughter of a dairymaid."
Letter, c. 1766-1770

A Glitch in the System

I feel like Vanellope—a glitch. I’m the same as everyone else, seeming to be on the same level until the race begins and I’m still behind pushing to my best. On the same level until I suddenly glitch and suddenly everyone backs away. I know deep inside of me I’m a princess; a child of God, but I feel as if I have a glitch that I never realized until now.

It became evident in Accounting; that quiet, slamming moment that showed I was the weakest link in the class. I thought I was on the same level, not understanding the same things that others were. Until I found out that the Chapters I was finding difficult were actually the easiest. I could tell by their expressions how stupid they thought I was. Suddenly I wasn’t among them, I was behind. The professor even seemed to shoulder me when I gave a blank stare of “uuuuuuh” when she would ask me a question. Everyone was rapid as cheetahs with answers…even the ones who were always joking and texting. I took notes! I never pulled my phone out! So why was I so slow! Why when class work was passed out I stared at the paper with fog in my brain and needed my partner’s help?

Even in Ballet, as everyone else grasped so easily to Balance and Pada Boure, the steps left me baffled. I could feel my dyslexic feet not know where to go. The Chaine turns, no matter how hard I tried to spot, no matter how many times I practiced left me dizzy and behind everyone else. My Jete runs were horrible as my left leg would not extend out.

 And I had never felt so alone then in that moment in Accounting when someone muttered under her breath I was slacking off and I could feel the ones around her thought the same. I was stupid, an airhead. I was the dumb girl in class. The most blowing feeling when I sensed my partner even doubting me. I was alone.

It’s never happened before, so why is it happening now? The feeling of being left behind, being slow, not executing things as well as everyone else is. Or maybe I’ve always been that way and I was too naïve and young to notice. Maybe.

"Do you ever finish a book after being immersed in it for hours and kind of float around feeling disconnected to your surroundings and not quite awake or able to shake the fictional universe bubble off? Kind of like jetlag only with books. Or swimming in water and having your clothes still be damp after having gotten out…"

Sunday Morning Pour Over

I wanted coffee and K-cups were expensive. I wanted coffee and my brother offered his grounds. I wanted coffee but didn’t want to use my brother’s pot in case I didn’t clean it correctly after like he did. I wanted coffee but I thought the Keurig burnt the grounds by going through the mesh container so fast, besides my mom didn’t like how I was using more of the water bottles (for my parent’s coffee pot and the Keurig, we have to use bottled water or our hard water will destroy & ruin the hardware with calcium build-up). I wanted coffee and my mom didn’t want more dishes. I had the grounds from my brother’s courtesy…now how was I to brew? Pour-over. If coffee shops did it, why could not I?

I took the measuring cup, I took the funnel, I took a coffee filter, and I grabbed the grounds. I filled the measuring cup and put it in the microwave, pressing the beverage button twice to heat it up to a light boil. I placed the funnel over my mug, placed the filter in the funnel and measured out two and a half scoops. The beep of the microwave and the small bubbles confirmed readiness for my experiment to be done. I held the funnel aloft over the mug and slowly poured the hot water, careful of the rising heat gracing my fingers. The grounds began to foam and expose their flavors, the drip process had begun, nice and slow, just. like. a coffee pot. Without electricity. Without clean up. And not impatiently fast like a Keurig with it’s scalding water that gives a burnt taste. This was patience. This was flavor.

Once the water was all poured and the grounds had given all their juices, exposing their shriveled, shrunken, crackled selves, I folded the filter together and threw it away after cooling; I rinsed the funnel and lay it on the sink’s edge to dry. I dried the measuring cup and put it back in the cabinet. I flavored my coffee the way I like it and I sat down with a smug smile. My mom lifted an eyebrow commending me and I raised the mug to my lips. Finally, I had brewed coffee. Finally, I had flavor.

Just read about Turkish Coffee—absolutely divine and magical if anything can describe it. 

Just read about Turkish Coffee—absolutely divine and magical if anything can describe it. 

"Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I believe in that click."
Ann Aguirre, Blue Diablo