All of Humanity Destined in One Central Cup of Joe

March 14, 2017

At the bottom of every cup of coffee, there are misplaced grounds of beans that did not get to live up to their full potential. There are droplets, chunks, and pieces of sugar- some of which are clumped, and some of which are dispersed evenly amongst the bottom of the cup. This part of every cup of coffee tastes unbelievably unsatisfying. Bitter, despite all of the sugar, it leaves an immensely insipid aftertaste. One must clench their jaw and tighten their eyes to resist the absolute abhorrence endured while sipping that last bit of coffee. If one chooses to neglect it, there is an incomplete, wasteful feeling that swarms the mind. Why pour an entire cup if you don't finish it, right? But when one chooses to drink it, they cringe at the sound of their tastebuds’ brutal screams.

That last sip of coffee is rather pathetic, rather futile, rather useless. It has no fundamental purpose. I’m sure there isn’t a significant heap of caffeine in those ineffectual beans. Everyone knows that it exists, but I may be the only one who cared enough to expatiate upon it, and after all, this is just an analogy. However, one will bite their tongue, silence their tastebuds, drink the terrible grinds and the vile sugar, taste the high aptitude of lonely, sour beans, and when finished, one will pour themselves another cup. They will enjoy the wonder that is 3/4th of a cup of coffee, until they begin the tireless process of facing those ghastly little fragments once again.

There are two types of people in this world- optimists, and realists.

To be an optimist, one must withstand the force of the storm. One must brew up a batch of dark roast and drink it all, denying themselves the alienated ailments that lie beneath the marvelous mixture of beans and caffeine. They donate to charity. They don’t watch the news. These people ignore the hurt in the world; they soak up every inch of magnanimity and bask in it. They look past any glimmer of sadness and pretend that things really aren’t that bad. They accept what they believe they cannot change, only because the effort of change would put a strain on their flowery smiles.

Conversely, realists- are everyone else. To be a realist, one may have variations of mental and physical happiness and sadness. They may accept or decline the truth that stares them in the wits of their being. These people brew batches of coffee to stay awake, because they have paper-work to fill out and student loans to pay off, and they acknowledge it. They try not to drink the futile fragments at the bottom because they cannot bear the weight of any more disappointment in their lives, and if they do, they make a grotesque face and quickly get back to their paper-work. Pessimists are included in this group. They purposely drink the last bit to negate the fact that there were any redeeming qualities in the coffee at all.

Human beings will consequently fall into one of these two groups, and whether one is an optimist or a realist, we are all a part of the same cup of coffee that wages a war against itself by containing those fruitless frailties that lie so pertinently at the bottom. Optimists will agree that there is good in the world- things like missions trips to Africa that give medical and dental care to children and families, and the Salvation Army, and how more than one time, a man saved a little girl from a burning building; and how all of these things are so utterly inspiring, they outweigh the tragedy that forsakes this planet. Then there are the rest of us, the majority. We watch the news, and see abandoned Syrian children in obliterated cities with tears in their eyes, first-degree murder on four accounts towards families on the East Coast. We see death, we see fear, we see corruption, and we normalize it because we see it so often. Optimists can’t live with the death and the fear and the corruption. They know it exists, but choose to avoid it. The rest of us take the death, and the fear, and the corruption, and the people who choose to not acknowledge it, as part of the world. Whether you take it, or you don’t, we are all a part of the same central cup of coffee.

We all, at one point or another, have had a care-free disposition. We all, at one point or another, have laughed so hard our stomachs could not bear the weight of our smiling visages. We all, at one point or another, have felt blissful glee so vibrant, it beamed into our hearts and soared out of our eyes. And we all, at one point or another, have done these things and felt these things, while others, in the same central cup of coffee, were feeling pain and tragedy and chaos shower their lives. 
It exists. Pain exists.

But so do we.

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