New Year’s Resolution 2010: Vicious Vice & amour FOU

January 1, 2010

There’s something in the air around NYE that literally screams words like CHANGE, NEW LIFE and GOODBYE VICE. And so with all these New Year’s resolutions well on their way I started to think about my own guilty pleasures. As I do not smoke and only drink in moderation, the only vicious vice I found is cheeky cheap, comes in paper cups and gets called foreign names like Espresso, Latte and Cappuccino.

Yes, you guessed it right – my vicious vice is C-O-F-F-E-E. I tend to compare my addiction to that of a rocky long-term relationship with a fiery bad boy lover. We met in the dark corner of that edgy café around my high school in 2000. He (I assume all dark characters are male) had a dangerous reputation, and I’d often seen him pearling from the lips of the rebellious cool kids.

When my friend Nora offered to introduce me to him, I was apprehensive yet powerfully intrigued by his dark mystery. Weak against the gloomy grey shades of a fading Monday morning and too tired to object or resist, I held the steaming hot paper cup, fumbled in my pocket for the coins, and soon found my lips burning, and frantically engaged in a long hot kiss from heavenly hell. My fingertips burned. My lips sizzled. My head sang with merry-go-round dream liqueur. I was intoxicated with his s. He tasted dark and bittersweet. And he suited me well, adding that philosophical touch to my school girl innocence. His smooth taste drifted across my throat. His aroma was on my clothes, in my hair, inside my (pott)belly. It was there that I discovered the true meaning of love at first sip.

In the early days I had to hide our affair from Mum and Dad as ‘the one’ had the reputation of negatively affecting my health (think high blood pressure and high risk of heart attack). I would cradle my forbidden love on-the-go or in cafes my folks wouldn’t set foot in. There was something about his dark amour that would pick up the morning bluntness and afternoon blurriness of the world. One sip and the taste of his black gold would make the time-chaos stand still, allowing my sleepy morning/afternoon thoughts to get back on track and reconnect with the casualties around me.

Within the next couple of months, I realized that my sacred-secret lover boy was not mine alone. He was on the lips of other women, gossiping in cafes, lingering with drunks outside bars way after midnight and with barely dressed girls in the early hours of the morning, having a quickie on-the-go. He could be with me, strong and hot on my lips one moment, and cooling down like a cranky, moody lover the next. There were moments of complete indulgence, followed by phases of empty bitterness and a pale after taste with his temperature swings alluding to the fact that perhaps I needed him more than he would ever need me.

Over the years I would make several attempts to leave him. Cursing his effect on me as I jogged along the park, committed to regaining my natural strength and awakened state without his fierce, hot touch in the morning. At cafes and stations his mere smell would tempt me. Like a vicious ex, he would wait for me on the corner, dripping from the lips of his new lover. For almost 3 weeks I remained defiant, yet despite my small amount of inner strength, I was unable to resist the clever marketing campaigns of looming deadlines, late night shifts and afternoon writer’s block. Like a summer breeze he would sneak in and sense the aftermath of my emotional wars, breathing that inner woman to life with his dark golden poetry.

To this day our bi-polar union continues, swinging between joyous morning wake-up calls and daunting long afternoon fallouts. I know my co-dependency is pretty obvious and I also know that his love is a cheap vindictive poison that tricks my senses and leaves me anxious, jittery and wanting for more. I am highly aware that our on again/off again affair is causing me a lot of heart-ache, pain and torture. At the same time I know a split with him will be the hardest break-up ever. And I think I am not ready for it – at least not yet. Maybe in 2011. Until then, my only wish? To quit, and this time for good.

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