coffee, cigarettes and conversation

Ry writes about coffee, the thing that makes her go, with her Coffee Conversations ("the most revealing, most intimate, most corny, most shallow, most romantic, most funny" and safer than alcohol banter) and a slow drag of nicotine.

I remember coffee, cigarettes and conversation. I have a little notebook filled with doodles and the various things that V and I would talk about over a cup of warm brew. This was in the heyday of Allegro, and V and I would walk to Glorietta from her pad at Valero Plaza. We would talk about anything, anyone. Conversation topics ranged from the latest Friends episode to philosophical meanderings. Those conversations, as Ryanne says, were revealing, intimate, corny, shallow, all at once.

We dissected Alanis' song Unsent and connected each guy in the song to some guy in our past. We discussed what it would take for us to murder a person. We invented stories for people who passed by outside Allegro or those walking across the street along Landmark. We befriended the baristas and always had a slice of Amaretto Almond Crunch cake with our brewed coffee. We talked about dreams, about dying, about parents, about religion. Douglas Coupland was our author of choice and we read Adrian Mole's diaries.

At that time in my life, when Z. and I had just broken up, DnA were off doing their own thing, Gelpren was still with JR, Bespren J was training, Bespren M was in Batangas, AJ was in Cebu being pregnant, and CJZ was with his first boyfriend--V and I stuck together and had our coffee, cigarettes and conversation. It's funny how life throws you curve balls sometimes. V and I, ever the polar opposites in college, had become really good friends. And then another curve ball. There was a misunderstanding. It was stupid that it was about money, but it was an insanely large amount for me at the time. She just upped and left, and there was no turning back. To this day, we haven't spoken about the money, but I still haven't written it off. Nor have I written her off, despite my exhortations to the contrary. I can't forget that she was ever my friend, but I felt hurt to be betrayed over, of all things, money.

I look back on those conversations over those months, when we were slackers, when we were younger, more foolhardy. I'm glad that fate threw us together, but I regret that we came to the point that we're at now. Those years, they curbed my so-called Quarter-Life Crisis; and I was glad that I had a constant--if transitory--friend. I think I learned more about myself in that span of time than I did in the four years I was at college. And I have coffee, cigarettes, and conversation to thank for that.

Last Song Syndrome : The Circle Game - Joni Mitchell