I am also a writer, essay, coffee, daily life



One and a half spoons of coffee, two spoons of cream, and two spoons of sugar, usually!

This is my secret recipe. The difference in taste comes from the subtle adjustment of the amount of “poor” and “packed with humanity,” such as “suitable” for “soy sauce” in mothers’ cooking maps. Although I was a barista in the house, coffee was a taboo for me, a drink for adults. Nevertheless, I was quite satisfied with the role of taking a seat on one side of the table that was being cleared after the meal, and being able to handle the rattling black grains, baby smelly creams and sweet sugar at will. The smell of boiling water and stirring a few times spread out, none of the children’s food was so pleasant and savory. Drinking coffee that you can’t taste with your tongue was like the double life of a chef who worked hard to make delicacies for customers and ate meals with simple bibimbap. My mom used to leave me a sip of bows, and I said, “Horokhorokhorokhoru…He made an air tunnel between the empty glass and the throat and repeatedly swept it in to soothe his disappointment. ‘If I could grow up quickly and drink as much coffee as I want!‘My obsession with coffee grew bigger and bigger as I watched the elegant touches of adults blowing and sharing several times.

It was only a few days after the high school graduation, but suddenly a lot was allowed. You could have taken a 100-won coffee out of a vending machine in the university lobby and muttered, ‘University student, now you’re an adult.’ But somehow I picked more cocoa than coffee. Even at the cafe, I crave more fruit juice. In spite of the obsession I had, I was indifferent to coffee because I was enjoying other things.

I succeeded in finding a job ahead of graduation. It was coffee at the end of the dining course for office workers, and when I went to the cafe, I got coffee and came out right away. For busy office workers, I thought the cafe was like a giant vending machine. I got used to the unfamiliar but luxurious taste my seniors bought me, but the access to the cafe felt too luxurious for me.

I had a lot of overtime work because I wasn’t used to the company work. Lastly, I had to prepare for the remaining final exam. When I came back from dinner cutting through the November air mixed with quite a cold winter smell, I suddenly felt falsely accused. ‘What are you doing to get to work so fast?’ wrote the mouth. There are times when you have to be crooked, and this is the time. I glared around in a hurry. On the dark road a round green sign, a woman with a fish body in it, called me brightly.

“Give me a latte.”

It was the first time I placed an order myself without the message of my seniors, and after the host left the blind date, it was awkward as if only the two of them were left to start talking, but it was no big deal. I took a sip outside to fit the use of the giant vending machine. My nose and tongue, which became clearer due to the cold air, served as a delicacy, confirming that it was good and soft enough for me to enjoy. ‘I’m making money from my work. That’s why you can experience these things. You’re becoming a better office worker, and when you’re having a hard time, you’re giving me an award.’ I was a little bit encouraged.

After that evening, he gave me numerous awards. On his way to work early, the generous presenter said, “I had a good day today,” “I’m proud to have come to the company despite the rain, so I can’t go out and play even though it’s snowing, so when the weather is refreshing, he gave the award to cheer me up.” Coffee prices have often been cited as the main culprit for pinching the era of consumption, but they have no choice. ‘Can I have this luxury?The concept of the award, which was used as an excuse, has disappeared. When he was in a situation where he wanted to drink but couldn’t, he was as lethargic as if he had a lack of affection. It was an area of instinct and habit that excluded thoughts and judgments. Addiction. I was a coffee addict.

It was when I liked Americano that I thought addiction was on a perfect track. In Americano, the main character drank so deliciously in the movie “Good Will Hunting” that he bought along with it and tasted bitter. The main character, who used to be blue-collar, drank before work and was like their new soju, but I couldn’t throw it away because it was too bitter for me to drink. The twist was a meeting with a writer who wrote a novel about coffee long after. A famous barista was also invited to serve coffee on the side. I had no time to say no because it was a hand drip. I’m afraid I’m going to spill it, so I’m going to reduce the amount. I felt the damp taste of earth in the jungle. The tropical leaves, the feces of birds and wild animals mixed with abundant rain, had a rich taste of soil, and any fertility was possible. (I thought I was clearly drunk when I saw people explaining the taste of wine in this way, but I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize.) A combination of sour taste with a slightly stinging aroma, savory taste touching the tongue and burning taste heavy near the throat! It was not a good thing to eat with this essence. Since then, the coffee addiction has gotten worse.

Americano is a rainy day. Spring and winter are somehow Americanos. Breakfast is roughly Americano. At around 5 p.m., it’s absolute Americano for sweets. This was almost absolute trust, hard to replace in my life, compared to the ice latte on the first half-armed day, cappuccino on autumn, cafe mocha on emotional hunger, mixed coffee on camping, and mixed coffee mixed with white milk when dipped in bread.

Look down at the Americano.

as one looks at one’s old lover with a fresh, keen gaze But I can see myself in Americano. When the whistle blows, it dissipates, and when it calms down, it reoccurs. I looked blankly at myself reflected in the coffee like Narcissus.

If it wasn’t a mirror, I wouldn’t be able to touch myself in the mirror.

It’s part of the above-mentioned poem, “Mirror,” where you put “coffee” in the place of “mirror.”

How could I have met myself in coffee if it wasn’t a cup of coffee that I couldn’t touch me in coffee.

Are you really meeting me through coffee? At one point, time passed faster than I did, so I needed to consciously make time. It’s like a coffee time that you slowly savor. A chance to balance out by allowing a little perverse in life like a model student! A friend who suffered postpartum depression after giving birth said, “It was the hardest thing not to drink coffee because I was breastfeeding. I was so grateful to the man who bought me a latte.” Also, the restaurant lady finished washing the dishes and got mixed coffee and said, “It’s my pleasure to eat this after work.” Adults did not have the ability to do what was given to them and easily get better when difficult things happened. They are always busy living a life that is a little more overwhelming than they can. So you need to be addicted. A time when I can only see myself selfishly for a moment. This gives me the strength to take care of my tired self and to carry on with anything else. When I was young, I remember my elders drinking coffee. They may have been silently savoring the “sad but savory coffee time” so that I could enjoy the “sweet and cool, but ice cream you should eat before it melts.”

Ritual refers to the conscious and frequent repetition of what one likes. Addiction, which expresses this a little rough, is small, but the point is to know what makes me happy, and to do it often.

“I collect Moomin characters. Because it’s cute.” “Buy a lottery ticket. Think about what to do if you win. It’s amazing that what I want to do keeps changing. If you don’t win, you can buy again.” “A long conversation with your husband?” When we talk together, we have something in common that forced us to get married. That’s a good time.“Buy a scarf or a scarf? I need all the colors and textures! It’s so nice to keep it on a regular basis and pick it out when it’s on sale and buy one or two a year.”

I asked my friends about ‘small addiction that makes me happy’. And I knew it was a good thing. Just thinking about their addiction made them happy enough. “I like to see or buy handkerchiefs because I feel like I’m dead,” he said to one of his friends, “Let’s have a day like a handkerchief!” It was also interesting that each had a different addiction. What’s even more amazing is the addiction that makes them happy, and even I was happy to hear it. I almost got addicted to “Asking about the little addiction that makes me happy.”  So I will drink more coffee from now on. This will give me some time to cheer and encourage me to go further. It was bitter, but I thought it was good for your health!