I wish I could say I understand people who don’t like coffee. Perhaps the flavor is a bit too dark, musky, bitter, or rich. Or perhaps the smell could be abrasive and intrusive. Maybe they just don’t like how it looks, a brown liquid that somehow can turn into a pink frilly drink at Starbucks. I just don’t understand, though.

Now, I get sick of things easily. I could slave over a beautiful dinner but you will never catch me eating leftovers the next day. When it comes to food, variety is key. However, coffee is something that will never get old. On certain days, it becomes more than a delicious drink. It becomes pivotal for survival. Other days, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, sitting in front of a tv drinking a coffee as the wind blows the outside to smithereens, it is one of life’s simple pleasures. I couldn’t imagine my life without coffee, and a part of me doesn't want to.

I have a unique relationship to this substance, a desire and need that fluctuate from day to day. In such an exhausting world, I don’t see any other method to driving home, doing homework, going out, or even simply keeping my eyes open. So for someone to tell me they don’t like coffee almost feels like an insult to my lifestyle. I begin to wonder how they do the daily things I struggle to do. Why is it that they can get out bed and head to class whereas I can’t? As I talk to these people, I feel as if I’m talking to some sort of caveman that is slamming rocks together instead of simply lighting a fire. However, just because I don’t understand how these people maneuver life, it does not mean that I do not respect them. In fact, from my experiences, I have found that it is the non-coffee drinkers who look at me with a face full of disdain that I imagine, first came from their initial sip of my most treasured substance.