When Coffee Reminds Me That I Exist

I didn’t sleep very well.

Not because I lacked sleep, but because my thoughts were louder than me — I wandered too much and stayed too little in a state of rest.

In the morning, out of habit, I turn on the coffee maker. My favorite cup, though chipped, was bought by my mother when I was a child. I pour the coffee carefully, as if pulling myself out of another dimension — one where I don’t exist.

In that first sip… something happens. The aroma. The image of my parents drinking coffee together every morning.

And it’s not just the caffeine.

It’s grounding.

A reminder that I have a body.

That I am here.

That I am alive.

Light passes softly through the window, not loud but gentle — as if it knows I’m fragile this morning. And that smell of coffee… that familiar scent that brings me back to myself more than any sentence in my head.

In that moment, nothing else matters.

Not the obligations, nor the plans, nor the unspoken words. Just me, and the cup in my hand. Just existing. Without conditions.

And I think: Maybe that is enough.

To be here. To breathe. To feel the warmth through the ceramic.

Maybe it’s not the coffee that wakes me up —maybe it’s me, who every morning remembers who I am.

When coffee reminds me that I exist,
I feel how gentleness toward myself becomes the first, quiet sip of life that warms me from within.

Tell me, what’s your favourite kind of coffee — and what mark does it leave on your day?

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Kad me kafa podseti da postojim

Nisam baš sjajno spavala.

Ne zato što je san toliko izostao, već zato što su misli bile glasnije od mene — previše sam lutala, a premalo ostajala u  stanju odmora.

Ujutru, kao po navici, uključim ringlu. Šolja mi je omiljena, iako je okrnjena. Mama mi je kupila još kad sam bila dete. Kafu sipam pažljivo, kao da se time izvlačim iz neke druge dimenzije — one u kojoj me nema.

U tom prvom gutljaju… desi se nešto. Aroma. Slika mojih roditelja kako piju kafu zajedno svako jutro.

I nije to samo kofein.

To je prizemljenje.

Podsetnik da imam telo.

Da sam ovde.

Da živim.

Kroz prozor prolazi svetlo, ne glasno, već meko — kao da zna da sam krhka jutros. I taj miris kafe… taj poznati miris koji me vrati sebi više nego bilo koja rečenica u glavi.

U tom trenutku, ništa drugo nije važno.

Ni obaveze, ni planovi, ni neizgovorene rečenice.

Samo ja, i šoljica u ruci.

Samo postojanje. Bez uslova.

I pomislim: Možda je i to dovoljno. Biti tu. Disati. Osetiti toplotu kroz keramiku.

Možda nije kafa ono što me budi —možda sam to ja, koja se svako jutro priseća ko sam.

Kad me kafa podseti da postojim,
osećam kako nežnost prema sebi postaje prvi, tihi gutljaj života koji me greje iznutra.

Pišite mi, koja je vaša omiljena kafa i kakav trag ostavlja u vašem danu?