What does it taste like? I asked my Tito one sunny morning as I watched him sip from a small cup of steaming black liquid. He was sitting on the wooden bench in our kitchen, quietly enjoying the moment. I had no idea what it was called until he said, “Coffee.”
I remember him taking another sip before answering my question. “It tastes bitter,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Pero masarap.” His words lingered in the air as if the bitterness he described had a meaning far beyond the drink itself. “Matitikman mo rin ‘to pagtanda mo, ngayon gatas ka lang muna.”
When I was young, I wondered why grown-ups loved coffee so much. It seemed to be part of their lives in ways I couldn’t understand. In our home, coffee wasn’t just a drink; it was a ritual. Every morning, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee would fill the air, signaling the start of another day. Whether my dad was sipping it quietly at the dining table or my mom was preparing a cup for a visitor, coffee was always present.
