It's the day before Mother's Day.
I'm sitting in Cafe Mediterraneum -- the supposed place where the first latte was invented by the Italian owner in the 1q50's. My bias of Italian coffee made me apprehensive to trust the quality of the coffee here. I ordered the latte.
Best coffee I've had since Italy. And suddenly: nostalgia.
I'm in the upstairs areas of the cafe. The track-lighting is dim. There are mismatched chairs, small, round and cozy corner tables, and big ex-kitchen tables. The floor is checkered black and white, but it's scuffed, and dirty; many people have been here. The vibe is students, hipsters, women, men, different ethnicities. People with headphones, others listening to the soft piano music and the clanging and spurting of the coffee machine in the background.
This morning/whole day I was with my mom, my Grandma, my aunt Laura, and my sister Stefani. We went to an old mansion in SF that had been remodeled; every room was decorated by a different designer.
After we went to brunch at a place called Sweet Maple. While waiting for our reservation, we went into a spice shop. I sampled a black truffle sea salt -- it was incredible, the taste lingering in my mouth till we ate. The maple, spicy, grass-fed bacon at the restaurant was unreal. I had an asparagus omelette with the bacon, parmesan, asapargas, and hollandaise sauce sprinkled on top.
After, we walked back to the car, stopping at an open house along the way. It was a studio that was for sale, and it reminded me of all the possibilities I'll have after college -- that day I buy or rent my own place in the city, or somewhere other than Berkeley. It gave me hope. It comforted me.
We then headed to Berkeley, went to Ici, and now here I am, trying to write a paper on land-conflicts in Paraguay.
When Bri and I first got here there was a man sitting in the corner, and he asked me how my day was going. Everyone assumes that when people say hi, they're trying to make a move on you. People can be nice now and then, ya know? It's no novel concept. I always tell strangers good morning or have a good day, and it was so refreshing to have that in return -- to see what a difference just saying hello can make.
I'm content. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm at peace. I'm thrilled and disrupted, all at the same time. My feeling is great.
I'm sitting in Cafe Mediterraneum -- the supposed place where the first latte was invented by the Italian owner in the 1q50's. My bias of Italian coffee made me apprehensive to trust the quality of the coffee here. I ordered the latte.
Best coffee I've had since Italy. And suddenly: nostalgia.
I'm in the upstairs areas of the cafe. The track-lighting is dim. There are mismatched chairs, small, round and cozy corner tables, and big ex-kitchen tables. The floor is checkered black and white, but it's scuffed, and dirty; many people have been here. The vibe is students, hipsters, women, men, different ethnicities. People with headphones, others listening to the soft piano music and the clanging and spurting of the coffee machine in the background.
This morning/whole day I was with my mom, my Grandma, my aunt Laura, and my sister Stefani. We went to an old mansion in SF that had been remodeled; every room was decorated by a different designer.
After we went to brunch at a place called Sweet Maple. While waiting for our reservation, we went into a spice shop. I sampled a black truffle sea salt -- it was incredible, the taste lingering in my mouth till we ate. The maple, spicy, grass-fed bacon at the restaurant was unreal. I had an asparagus omelette with the bacon, parmesan, asapargas, and hollandaise sauce sprinkled on top.
After, we walked back to the car, stopping at an open house along the way. It was a studio that was for sale, and it reminded me of all the possibilities I'll have after college -- that day I buy or rent my own place in the city, or somewhere other than Berkeley. It gave me hope. It comforted me.
We then headed to Berkeley, went to Ici, and now here I am, trying to write a paper on land-conflicts in Paraguay.
When Bri and I first got here there was a man sitting in the corner, and he asked me how my day was going. Everyone assumes that when people say hi, they're trying to make a move on you. People can be nice now and then, ya know? It's no novel concept. I always tell strangers good morning or have a good day, and it was so refreshing to have that in return -- to see what a difference just saying hello can make.
I'm content. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm at peace. I'm thrilled and disrupted, all at the same time. My feeling is great.
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