The waiter came and handed me my cup of coffee. I smiled, said thank you, and nodded politely. I took a sip slowly and carefully, as if I was already sure I was going to burn my tongue — instantly forgetting I ordered an iced cold one. I felt quietly embarassed for doing that, but thankfully no one knew except me.
I immediately grabbed my phone from my bag, unlocked it, and randomly clicked on different social media apps to check if there were any message or notifications to see. But in reality, I didn’t know what to do in that very second. I was actually waiting for someone’s reply, while also pretending to look busy — just so people think I had a life, and not just a bystander scrolling aimlessly on her phone.
I took another sip. Because what else was there to do, right? No message, no notifications, no emails to check. Seriously, do I really have a life?
It was my first time visiting this coffee shop — soft dim-lit lights, sophisticated vibe, professionally dressed people, and friendly baristas. Surprisingly, this place sits on a corner, just a few steps away from the row of clubs and bars on the main street. The inside exudes a different mood — cozy, warm, and inviting — compared to when you step outside — loud, energetic, and crowded.
The contrasting mood somehow resonated with my feelings during that dusk — calm on one side and tense on the other. I actually wanted to stay a little bit longer to cool myself down, but my phone suddenly lit up with a message I’d been waiting for.
“Take out mo na yan,” he said.
It felt like I no longer had a choice but to step outside and to face this tense feeling of mine. I didn’t complain or hesitate. I just stood up and walked away. The street I took earlier now seemed unfamiliar. The sky slowly got darkened as the bars began to light up.
Why did I ever leave the place that felt so safe, only to chase the place that felt uneasy?
The old me would never leave. But this time, I’m embracing the uncertainty — holding that place in my memory and a half-finished cup in my hand.