It is normal routine in the boarding house that after drinking coffee (a hard one – concentrated), you may also try drinking coffee again the second time around. Boil water. Yep, and fill the kettle to its brim, and then it would be gone overnight. The hot water. Everybody would drink coffee in the boarding house. And lots of things to chat about. The coffee helps. Oh by the way, I love milk, among other things (and brandy is out of context), but the fact is, I always drink coffee in the boarding house because it’s cheap, it’s easy, and well, it’s coffee. You can spend 5 bucks for it for a single gulp, and in our case, it’s not even enough to make us stay alive overnight.
If you ask me, I don’t drink much coffee when I was in high school or in grade school. It’s a big no-no for me. My grandmama would blurt nasty things if she finds that her granddaughter drinks coffee. No freaking way! I’m going to move heaven and earth to buy milk. Okay, she’s referring to me. But that was the time when I was still growing up and cute, and college had done something to me that made me realize – in my moments of adult-like concentration – that drinking milk can be so sentimental and drinking coffee could be so sophisticated. I mean look at those yuppies during their coffee breaks, wearing neckties and reading the biz section in newspapers. Great people. But I’m not yet a yuppie. Not just yet. So I still have my best interest at heart for milk.
The fact is, milk is too expensive. So just thinking about rich people bathing in milk (and some with oats) irks me. I love oats, as substitute for breakfast. But they are rich. So we tend to dilute our milk. Oh great.
Now that I’m growing up (although other people doubt it) nobody cares if I drink my milk every morning. Or if ever I still drink milk. Sometimes I miss how my mama or my grandmamma used to poke me to death to finish a glass of milk before bedtime. Now, I’m in the boarding house, and I just finished 2 glasses of coffee. Perhaps, I’m a caffeine-addict, and I’m probably not aware until now. Even if my mama or my grandmama know this fact, they wouldn’t care. So this is adulthood. Gawd, not just yet. I’m holding on to the milky madness. Okay, I’m not making any sense, but I just don’t want to pour so much sentimentalities on growing up. I just want a glass of milk and those times when my grandmama prepares it, or those times when I usually leave a glass of milk for Santa Claus. Back. Back. Back.