One scoop of Katz decaf, brewed in Houston, my favorite coffee in the U.S. One scoop of Cambodian coffee, from Stung Treng Province.
A can of sweetened condensed milk in the fridge, a hole in the top of the can placed there with the tip of a knife. The milk poured easily a couple days ago. Today, time in the refrigerator has made the liquid thick and slow as molasses. A can opener from Walmart, and the problem is solved.
My favorite mug, the big one with the letter "a" on it, lowercase and simple.
My favorite American mug, with Cambodian coffee and American coffee and Cambodian-style cream and sugar inside.
The dichotomy is striking, and even now, months later, it doesn't end; everything seems to get more and more mixed up and intertwined. I've wondered who I have become, who I am becoming, and I have to wonder: what if, unlike the dichotomy of Cambodian coffee in a American cup, I am more like the coffee itself: blended together from different places in a new flavor which didn't exist before. The coffee itself isn't a dichotomy, and neither am I. I simply am learning to get used to my own flavor. And, I think I'm starting to like it.
