I once dreamed of standing behind a long table — filled with rows of large cans, whisks, cups, glasses, teapots, and bush kettles — with both hands dancing with the machine. Staring at the black powder while inhaling its delicious aroma that sticks to every wall of the cafe. I once dreamed of becoming a coffee maker, let's call it a barista. I have thought thousands of times about what magic the delicious-smelling black powder has — which often makes me crazy. One word that makes me go crazy to find out the most appropriate measurements to make caffe latte, cappuccino, espresso, Russian coffee, Irish coffee, macchiato, and others.
Opening my own coffee shop, I have been thinking about it for a long time. However, several considerations have discouraged my intention again. One of them is because of my parents' blessing — this one I did not get. Both of my parents think that a woman is very unsuitable to be a barista. I really disagree, what's the problem?
But, again, my parents' blessing is the blessing of the Creator.
Tell me, what should I do now?
And when Dad asks me ‘why?’ then I will answer with a smile imagining the aroma of brewed coffee that is addictive to me: “Simple, innocent, but captivating. Especially the aroma.”
I once imagined how Dad would come to my coffee shop when lunch time came. Then Dad would ask me to mix a cup of cappuccino with dark rosetta as the latte art. Dad would love it, wouldn’t he?
With two cups of coffee each containing cappuccino and brewed coffee, we would sip coffee together, talking about things that would warm the atmosphere until the afternoon arrived.
Did you know, Dad, that when we tell stories to each other we will grow closer? Starting from coffee, Dad. Coffee can also make our relationship closer.
Isn’t that great, Dad?
I once had a dream, when Mom gathered with old friends and talked about their respective children. When the others were busy praising their children, Mom would smile because she remembered me. Remembering me smiling behind the coffee machine and with both hands making foam that floated on top.
Then I would shout loudly, "Mom, the coffee is ready! Oh, yes, I made a new shape today, do you want to see it?"
Then Mom's friends would ask, did I make Mom proud? Mom would firmly answer, "He is different from the way you imagine, he is a barista. He is good at mixing coffee, and I am very proud of him."
Do you know, Mom, that being different is special? I want to be different in my own way, Mom. Being a barista is also not taboo, in fact with that I can be special because I am different.
Right, Mom?
That day, I dreamed of meeting a reliable barista named Aiden. He was the one who discovered a new breakthrough, making one of the coffee shops in my city a new magnet. Aiden made me curious, he was really like a magnet.
The next night, I was determined to visit his coffee shop. I wanted to talk more deeply with him, about coffee of course. As expected, I would have difficulty finding the right time because Aiden was very busy all day.
Finally we agreed, at ten at night. That was the first time I drank hot coffee with him. With Aiden, the Reliable Barista.
When I arrived, the cafe was already quiet. There were only two customers still sitting in their respective chairs. One of them seemed to be chatting with Aiden. What I saw here, Aiden is a friendly person. I am grateful for that one thing. Hearing the customer's question, I smiled.
The customer asked, "What is the characteristic of cappuccino?" The answer is easy, its appearance. Although its appearance is quite similar to caffe latte, cappuccino does require a high standard of appearance. Why? Because a true cappuccino connoisseur will pay attention to its appearance. If it is not conceptualized, it can affect the mood of the connoisseur. That's my opinion.
A few minutes later, I was sitting with steaming hot coffee with Aiden. My eyes wandered around, the floor and walls of the cafe were made of coarse-grained merbau wood. Along the walls of the cafe were posters of coffee in various poses. The highlight, a large plate attached near the long barista table, containing old-style writing in Dutch:
Adn Koffie
My brow furrowed faintly. Adn?
"Adn. The name of one of the heavens. Welcome to my heaven!" A man shouted. Aiden's voice. I turned my head, then smiled at Aiden. The strains of soothing classical music, with a combination of the aroma of various kinds of intoxicating coffee. True, this place is heaven for coffee lovers, like me.
I then told him about my love for coffee. Aiden listened to me carefully, occasionally nodding his head in response. Then I realized that I had told too much when I started gasping, like a fish running out of breath. This is crazy, I have never been this enthusiastic when telling a story.
“Oh, yeah, one more thing. I really want to be a barista, Aiden. Yeah, like you,” I stopped talking next, my throat felt like it was knotted now.
My attention shifted to the hot coffee in front of me. I closed my eyes, letting my sense of taste take over. My nostrils flared, taking a deep breath of the steam rising from the cup. Feeling its distinctive aroma contaminating the air around my nose. This is espresso, I know the aroma by heart.
I opened my eyes again when Aiden’s voice reached my ears. “You can be a barista, Lillit,” he said enigmatically. My brows furrowed, not understanding.
“Follow me.” After saying that, Aiden walked away from his chair towards the long table near the large plate. The place almost made me jump with joy. Imagine, that sacred place is the barista table!
I watched him, Aiden's two hands dancing with the machine, rows of large cans, whisks, cups, glasses, and all kinds of tools on the long table.
In his left hand, he held a white cup that was a third of its contents filled with coffee. I was sure, Aiden was going to make latte art, the process I liked the most. But it turned out my guess was wrong, Aiden handed the cup to me. I looked at him in disbelief, but Aiden only raised one eyebrow.
"Today, I challenge you to make latte art," he said.
My eyes sparkled, as if a new spirit had been injected into my blood. I accepted the challenge, at least I would prove to Aiden, I also deserved to be a barista.
My brain replayed the incident a few minutes ago, when Aiden watched my action of making latte art. At first I was confused, facing the coffee and foam directly made it difficult to think. All I thought at that time was, how could I give art to the still plain coffee.
Right now, in front of me was my first latte art work. Simple latte art—in the shape of a beautiful heart. I feel like putting that coffee in a museum right now.
I still remember Aiden's words clearly, which I feel are worth emphasizing. Indirectly, Aiden had encouraged me when he said, "You know what? When you sing, you have become a singer. And when you are mixing coffee and making latte art on top of it, you have become a barista."
This incident seemed to pull me back to reality. It made me realize that this is not a virtual space, because all of this is real. I was not playing with my imagination when I got to know Aiden, mixed coffee with him, and made latte art late at night—all of this was real.
He was Aiden, someone who had just met me and believed in my dream, supporting me to continue to achieve that dream. Becoming a barista, this is what I have dreamed of for a long time. Dad, Mom, Aiden has proven that I can be a barista even though I am a woman. So, isn't he great, Dad, Mom? Isn't Aiden great?
The text makes me smile, albeit in a sad way... I am happy about every girl who has the courage and the power to break out of role clichés. And then in the end she only admires the man for his greatness...
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