Confessions of a Coffee-Holic

Yes I am a coffee-holic battling the grind.

Don’t mind myself a cup of coffee, or two, or three. It’s a guilty pleasure, I confess.

Truth be told, I don’t even know what the real physical health implications are, I should probably find out a little more about that.

There is a little more to it than that, it’s not just the aroma of those sweet sweet roasted coffee beans that steal my heart, it’s more about what a simple cup coffee means to me.

I have actually found myself reflecting on the significance of coffee on my life, yes really, I have, actually devoted time to understanding coffee’s hold on me.

It actually traces back to my childhood. I have fond memories of popping into my grandmother’s and watching my mother sit around chatting to her mum and her sisters over a coffee, or two, or three (familiar?).

There was something communal about this.

I also have memories of dropping into my Nona’s (Italian for grandmother) with my father and watching him sip on an espresso, or two (or three) as he expressively chatted away.

I long for this connection, that sense of belonging that I once felt.

So, yes, I have an attachment to coffee, but I also have an attachment to what it represents, how it makes me feel. There’s beauty in its simplicity.

Whether it’s a healthy attachment or not, that remains to be seen, I will leave that to your good judgment.

Who knew a simple cup of coffee could have so much depth.

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