Coffee shop spiel (read: schpeeeeeel)

At twenty years old, I know what I like.

I like sitting in coffee shops alone. I like my coffee black — no sugar. (Cake on the side is preferred, though.) I like listening to the bustle of my environment with no headphones on. I like views and sunshine. If I ever choose a spot, it will have a view and the sunshine. I hate shopping malls. 

I’ve never been more content with being twenty. I feel calm, self-aware, content. I feel self-assured. 

Sitting here in this modern coffee shop — with its fake leather chairs and fake panelled wood; with my pretentious black coffee and pandan cake; complimentary jasmine tea in a nonsensical shot glass; complimentary biscuits — I am happy. 

Yes; right outside I can hear the pompous entertainment news voice of some presenter hosting an equally pompous “I’ve been given a big budget from a huge retail group to create a superficial buzz around yet another generic shopping mall so enjoy this distraction” type show.

But as long as I have my little escape in this booth at the back of this cafe with the sun and the view and my coffee and cake and notebook, I will not complain. I get to do what I, at twenty years old, love to do: 

Sit, drink, write, and observe. And think… I don’t ever (and won’t ever) stop thinking. 

Love always, 


PS… choose compassion. X

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