Vietnamese Coffee

2.13.23.

The underside of my fingers smell like the Vietnamese coffee I was brewing for the first time in years as I write this. 

It's comforting to know a little bit of this morning's magic is coming along with me. I bet my fingers will still smell like coffee until the evening, when I might kiss my own hand again.

One scent could bring you back to everything, all at once. I read Master Thich Nhat Hanh's "How to Relax" mini-book last night before bed. There's a deep lesson on every single 4 by 4 inch page of the small little book. I had to stop reading at page 15. 15 life lessons all before bed felt like a bunch. 

But the two lessons I managed to remember were, "Remember you do breathe. Focus on your breath and isn't that a miracle?" to loosely quote from him. And secondly, "The present contains all moments." 

Me sniffing this coffee scent on my hands is me breathing in being everything all at once. And the same act is happening in the present, smelling a scent that is bringing me back to my history, to mornings when I was rushing to get into the car, while my Dad all too-slowly added 30 seconds to the microwave to reheat that tiny cup of coffee.

I waited then for coffee I wasn't even drinking. And I wait now, for the little coffee here, to drip enough for a gulp. 

And I'll wait later, maybe alone somewhere in some city, some town, for my coffee to run the filter and be reminded all over again, of all the things that make me wait. All the things that I want to wait for in life.

I must be patient.

I must have peace in the waiting. I'll have my own microwave one day maybe. It'll be crazy then, haha, to have my own microwave. 

For Vietnamese coffee, I wait patiently.

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4.15.23. 

lol yes I'm trying to publish all my unfinished and unpublished blog episodes.

I can't have 50% in process. ;(

Even if it's unfinished. Or a half-thought.