At 5:30 in the morning, my colleagues from the international news channel and I left the hotel for Shah Porir Dwip in Teknaf, where we were scheduled to work on a news production. We left without even having our morning coffee.
Our van moved along Marine Drive Road, while the early morning unfolded around us. The air was cool and fresh. Beyond one side of the road, the blue sea murmured softly; on the other, green hills rose through the morning mist. The sound of the waves followed us like a quiet melody. It was a poetic morning almost like the opening scene of a novel.
Travelling to Teknaf by Marine Drive is one of the finest ways to experience nature. The road seems to carry you between the sea and the hills, allowing you to enjoy the landscape without hurry.
We had planned to stop at a roadside hotel for coffee, but most of the hotels were still closed. Then we noticed a luxurious, elegant hotel along the way. Taking a chance, I called and asked whether they could prepare takeaway coffee so early in the morning.
To my delight, they said they were open.
We immediately turned the van toward the hotel. But when we reached the reception, we discovered that the services had been suspended for several hours because a high-ranking official was staying there.
I could not hold back my frustration.
“Oh, shit! This is unbelievable,” I exclaimed.
My colleague burst out laughing. “Ripon needs coffee very seriously; we need a bigger shot too,” he said.
He was right.
When I don’t have coffee during the day, I get distracted. But missing it entirely affects me even more. I need coffee to wake my mind, concentrate, and gather my thoughts. Fortunately, I need only one cup of coffee a day usually a double-shot espresso.
It is not a necessity in the strictest sense. It is a small daily reward, something that brightens the day. I reward myself with espresso and thought-provoking books two simple pleasures that help me feel more present.
That morning, not finding coffee did not ruin the journey. Still, I felt more stressed than usual. Something seemed to be missing, as if an important instrument had been left behind.
Today, as I write this experience as a coffee lover for Cox’s Bazar Life, I have brought my backpack and laptop to a café in Cox’s Bazar town. Soft jazz is playing in the background. I am sitting in a quiet corner, sipping coffee from a small white espresso cup and writing about coffee.
I am also planning the rest of my day, organising my tasks, and completing my to-do list. Somehow, this simple ritual makes me feel like I am starting the day well like it can still become a great, happy day.
With coffee beside me, I turn the pages of a book one after another and think about the world. It does not make me feel privileged. Instead, it helps me commit more to humane thoughts and pay closer attention to the lives around me.
For me, coffee is the sound box of my piano.
My laptop keyboard is my piano. Whenever I write, I feel as though I am playing a melody across the keys. Coffee helps me find that melody. It clears my mind, sparks my imagination, and helps me write complete thoughts for my readers.
And so, somewhere between the sea, the hills, the pages of a book, and the tapping of my keyboard, coffee becomes more than a drink.
It becomes the quiet music behind my words.
Tanbirul Miraj Ripon
A journalist with International Media
