I harbor some kind of an obnoxious love for small cafes; irrespective of the tastes, and varieties of beverages; being more interested in what surrounds me than what I can order. As I sit here in a small quaint cafe again, I was wondering about a very radical conversation I had with frivolewis just hours ago, in yet another cafe/bar; wondering what brought about the topic of debate, and how it affected my chain of thought. Which led me further on, only to discover or rather rediscover the reasons to ‘why do I end up spending sometime everyday at these cafes?’ The yearning I feel, to visit one, it’s almost akin to the yearning we feel when we desperately want to meet a lover, for a booty call.
With Frivolewis, at a small cafe/pub.
As to the question of why, I came to the conclusion that it’s definitely not for what they’ve have to offer on their menu or the cost associated with their offerings. It’s a little more than that.
For years on end, as far back as I can recall, I’ve been visiting these corner side cafes. Menus filled with coffee, teas, snacks, desserts, and what may have you. Cafes of the kind that sit quaintly around the corners of noisy or soon-to-be noisy neighborhoods or streets; filled with all kinds of people, wares, and whatnot; filled, and surrounded with life that I perceive to be very alien than mine own. Learning from every sound, every eye, every spoken-written-word, and from everything else that makes up the atmosphere here, and out on the street.
Evenings at one of the best desks ever!
Somehow, I find these cafes a better source of inspiration, news, philosophy, and entertainment than most other sources. A better source for learning, and accepting my own perceptions about life, the universe, and everything. I’ve met all kinds of people at these cafes. I’ve spent hours with them, talking about personal views, philosophies, anime, music, and everything else I bother to talk about or for that matter spread my gray matter on. I’ve made soundboards out of my friends sitting across the table with me or across the screen of a smartphone; made soundboards or rather thoughboards out of everything; freely throwing my perceptions at everything, while sitting here in these little spaces defending, and debating all that I’ve thrown outside, around here. This is so that I may learn, and grow. Soak it all up so that I may assimilate all of it, while looking outside the small window back home.
I think above all, and everything else is the fact that I’ve met myself in these cafes. I’ve sat alone with a cup of coffee or tea or nothing, pondering about the tiny speck of my own existence, brainstorming ideas, questioning reality, making processes, playing chess, watching the rain fall, sketching, taking notes, debating thoughts with my own self — those that are still too nascent to voice, and reading books.
These cafes for me are a hotbed of creativity, education, and self growth. They make me ask questions about myself, others, life, and everything else. Thus, making a writer out of me.
