Coffee is Now Cold

What begins as warmth becomes reflection, and what lingers reveals what we’ve lost along the way.

A warm to-go cup in my hands does more than warm my fingertips and lips. As the liquid coats my tongue, mouth, and throat, it thaws the best parts of me—the pieces I’ve hidden, the ones I’ve forgotten. The cup is held carefully in my grasp, clung to my chest. Perhaps the symbolism begins with the to-go cup itself. Where am I going? Where will I take this compact bundle of energy, this measured dose of desire, and this small piece of my identity that I carry like a prop? Why is it coffee? When can it be substituted for something else? Where will I be when I am suddenly empty handed?

Maybe, above all it begins with the violent greed of identity. As a society, we cling tightly to the idea of self—the carefully curated aesthetic we present to the world. Yet, in the pursuit of “finding ourselves,” we sometimes drift further from our core. After all we are all unique enigmas trying to explain the unexplainable life form we have become. What we need instead is stillness: to sit down, let our potential thaw, our thoughts clear, and our minds settle and root. My coffee is now cold.

I always take my coffee to go. On some of those days, caught in a wistful haze, I turn the act into a performance. I show the cup the world—a montage of fleeting moments, a curated adventure for the sake of the spectacle. On those days, I live for the cup. Other days, I stay still. I let the moment ground me, let the world spin without me while I sip in quiet reflection. On those days, the cup lives for me.

In both cases—whether I’m moving or still—the cup and I find a way to coexist. And through this coexistence, I continue to learn about myself. Here’s what I’ve discovered.

When I take my cup to go, I find unexpected comfort in this simple object. It reminds me of childhood, a time when objects were imbued with meaning and power. Like when my mom would slip something into my pocket to help me through the day or when I’d be greeted by my favorite stuffed animal and feel an instant sense of serenity. Even in classrooms, children are given “talking sticks,” objects that empower them to voice their thoughts. Somehow, this attachment to objects has followed me into adulthood.

I find it curious—has my brain shifted rather than developed? Why must children part with soft, comforting objects, only to replace them with something mundane, like a plastic cup? If the limited time we spend with these objects gives us a sense of comfort or a boost, why do I seem to need that boost?

Perhaps it’s the identity of the coffee itself—an “adult beverage” tied to concepts like productivity and competence. Is it because, on some subconscious level, I feel the need to project an image of capability to the outside world? My coffee is cold now.

When I sit with my coffee, I become malleable, as if the steaming cup transforms into an hourglass. I sit still, waiting for either the warmth or the liquid to run out. During this time, I find myself in a quiet crevice of the world where I can be anyone and no one, seen and invisible all at once. I become who I see myself to be and travel wherever my thoughts take me.

In this space, I go the distance. I think about all the versions of myself who have held a coffee cup before—what I’ve accomplished and what I hope to achieve. I wonder if all those dreams and milestones could somehow fit into this one small cup. I wonder, when I’m older, if my coffee will always feel cold.

I think about the future—how many more versions of me will hold a coffee cup, and where I’ll be. I think of everything I have, everyone I love, and I imagine myself as coffee beans pressed into a cup, releasing everything in one final burst of energy. That’s how love feels to me—powerful and fleeting, abundant yet finite.

Then, I wonder: If I were to suddenly die, where would all this love I carry go? Does it vanish with me, or does it linger for a while before fading away? Does it just leave one day, or is it soaked back into the Earth ready to replenish what has left?

Eventually, my thoughts drift to the city, to the metaphorical streets of my mind. I get lost there. And when I return, my coffee is gone.