AT A special stall in the public market where they grind coffee and other beans, I again chanced upon the old Tugbok farmer whom I met many months ago in the very same place. Just like last time, he was first before me to be served, with half of his sack of cacao already being processed in the grinder.
The first time we met, our greetings had been shy and polite, but they had slowly graduated into one of those casual conversations between strangers where both parties continually grasped at what else to say, looking for common interests in order to continue with our chat.
When we finally warmed up, with smiles all around, one of our topics led to the benefits of drinking brewed coffee, as compared to the instant and three-in-one varieties commonly served in restaurants and other establishments today.
This time, it had already felt like meeting an old friend once again. I inquired how his family enterprise of selling the processed cacao had fared since that last grind schedule. In turn, he asked jokingly how my nerves were holding, considering I was back again, bringing in three more bags of coffee beans for grinding.
Had my family already finished consuming the last batch I brought in? Also, noticing that since the last time we met, he kidded that it must be, we were the only patrons of the place because we rarely met any other customers there ever.
Incidentally, when we returned to our coffee-chat, he shared that he had right away followed the tip I gave him… Empty a sachet of instant coffee into a pot and let it boil for a few minutes. The result will taste like you were drinking brewed coffee.
An hour later, we had gone our separate ways and looked forward to our meeting. That was it, same place, Grinder’s stall.
Inasmuch as I loved to talk about my favorite brew with new friends, I likewise get the same pleasure whenever I do about music when with old musician friends. The way I see it, there’s a common thread that’s distinguishable in music, old friends, and coffee.
Recalling our conversations long ago, old musician-pals often mentioned how our frontal lobes were largely undeveloped, judging from how extremely foolish we were back in the day, and that always brought out, not only loud laughter but a more sober review of our past escapades.
What have we been thinking of then? That’s how amazing it is when I encounter them again, whom I played with in the past. It’s as though we’ve never even gone our separate ways. Our recollections of the past seemed fixed, like everything just happened yesterday.
The next best thing: I got to play with a few of them again, and that’s what makes shared memories doubly special.
I likewise remember during one special occasion before the pandemic, around seven of us had gone up the stage to render a few requested old tunes, without the benefit of rehearsals. Though not seeing each other for more than a decade, we’ve still not forgotten the lyrics of the songs and our assigned blending. As I thought of them, my mind had gone back to coffee. And music. They heal, in a sort of way, I thought. And that must be the special blend all three share.
