Not too long ago, I was sitting in front of my bedroom’s opened window, anticipating the radiant sunrise. A breeze of wind blew in, giving me a sensation of morning gratification. The scent of my warm coffee, that I had in my hands, energized my mind into full consciousness. While waiting for the fair sunrise to emanate, I seated in my armchair, drinking the first coffee of the day.
The first coffee of the day always gives me an explainable sensation, especially the taste. The taste was uniquely pleasant and wonderful as I sipped my first. I being fanciful, I thought about how grandiose the sunrise would be, and how the sight might be the paradise for the eyes; however, as I daydreamed the sight, my mind suddenly filled with my past where each time period was different than the others—just like my tasting of the coffee, that was in my hands.
I believe my life is like a cup of fresh coffee. The taste of each sip is as unique as each period of time of my past. I recalled my life from my childhood. I was curious of everything; I had to experience the “world” on my own in order to percept it. At such a young age, tasting an unknown food, for example, I had to smell it and to watch others ate it first—empiricism played an important part. The sip from the coffee was unknown to me; therefore, I savored the taste of the coffee in my mouth: like that I was trying to understand the world—an unknown in my eyes.
I started to sip more and more from the coffee; I perceived many aspects from it—just like that I was maturing from days of experiences. The time when I got to be a part of human society, I was no longer curious because everything became intuitional. Everyday, I wore disingenuous mask and played diversified grown-up games to fawn others, acting obligingly to do favor for others.
As I sipped and drank, the coffee became unsatisfying; how I wanted my coffee to be as tasteful as first sip. However, my desire was merely impossible: like in my life, glimpsing tacitly into a full sized mirror, I seemingly saw my matured countenance as if I could regain my childhood where cherubic expressions in my eyes reflected the purity of the world. Bored of my coffee, I sipped less and less; however, as I got to the last drop, it tasted surprisingly tasteful, but it was the last drop. I drank it, wishing to keep and to cherish it. Just like in my life, it always had to be the conclusion of something in order for me to cherish time of its presence.
The first coffee of the day was wonderful. Just as I putting down the cup, the sun broke through the clouds, shinning rays of sunlight into my room. Soon, my room was as if painted with gold. The dazzling sunlight made my eyes uncomfortable, but I knew that day would be a fine day.
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