It is Thursday, November 6, 2014. A cup of coffee turned into two cups of coffee. There is no immense coffee consumption in the last 2 years and I know why. This is reflection, and this is history, therefore I will write what I will understand. I will not apply poetic structure or fancy words found on Thesaurus.com. I want to keep my authenticity. You see, I can not be forceful in terms of expression because that is just creating an unwanted hoax. Now in theatres, Try Hard, starring Spruce Willis. Speaking of sprucing things up, coffee is dreadful, quite the opposite of what it is intended to do. Every last drip is the opposite of what it is intended to do. My philosophy behind the creation of the McDonald’s coffee cup is that the empty spaces that these cups provide are meant to be filled. McDonald’s created a detachment card so the consumer can detach their feelings of build-up (that is more built up due to the powdered nonsense the coffee contributes) and apply them to the blank space, as wonderfully executed on the picture provided. Thus, after reading this, all I ask is fill me up. Just fill me up buttercup.
The first class, first cup. Half empty, half full… like it matters. Ha…Try Hard. This is all I see: cats on slides, ovulation and the woman’s pregnancy test. I think to myself, “give me something more, Hollywood!” I am a voyeur, is what I have learned, and well, tell me something new. This is a creation of powder to liquid and the liquid is still warm. The clock hits midway, midway of the class. I run down the hallway and encounter a sign that expresses femininity. Since when were skirts a feminized attribute? Thanks for the assurance. Finally, I release. Concluding, coffee minus control.
Break time; a suggestion that there is 2 hours of me. Scratch that, a change of plan, with this plan involving human interaction. Forced into acting out a fake image and pretending to be responsible. Capitalism minus the profit. Labour minus the income. Posters plus the tape. Hands on wall. Squats like there is no tomorrow. I hold great balance and flexibility; I know because a man of greater age expresses his envy with a stare and a comment, “How?” The covering of East and South of the 2nd and 3rd floor. Coffee minus the balance, resulting in almost fainting. Here it comes, a 9th grade flashback: speaking French, an offering of a cookie, I am a saviour. Concluding, coffee minus control.
Second class, second glass, second cup. Skittish but I finally paid attention. Flashback: this is the same class slash/ location that allowed me to face a mid-life crisis. Why global management? Why?! Coffee update: Half full… half empty? Stop being philosophical. The knowledgable female asks with enthusiasm, “What did you learn about Nietzsche today, class?” He needs a fucking hug other than his mother’s, that is what I have learned. Do not get Freud involved. Most importantly, do not get his sister involved. Evil sister stereotype. Concluding, coffee minus control.
Third class, second cup. This is not free advertising. I enter the classroom, knowing it is all a facade. Young man playing all his songs classical. The older the composition is, the more impressive it is on the piano. Not. He taps second last note. He taps last note. There is no applause from the audience; just glued to their digital native heritage. McLuhan do not influence me. Piano player stands and sarcastically expresses his appreciation, “Thank you for being a wonderful audience.” Oh my possibly existing figure, get out and never return. Do you want recognition and praise? Post it on Facebook. A minute before class starts; vintage fashion, shaven sides, bad eyesight, melancholic yet loud personas. That is all I see. Am I proud? Ha… Try Hard. Midway through class and a passage from a critically-acclaimed novel appears on the slide. What does it suggest? Italian women should not touch the inner thigh of a young Irish girl who only faces innocence. Apparently, touching is equivalent to homosexual advances. Coffee, no more, I realize.
“Detach card once cup is empty.”
“Une foise le verre vide, détachez la carte.”
I do not speak French, though I sure do know what that means. Concluding, coffee minus control.
It is detached, I see. It is detached, I feel. Crisp and clean, with a coffee stain located top left. A slap of contradiction. Let’s keep the authenticity. Drawn. This is how I feel. Removal of awkward interaction. An increase of silence. Do me a favour and understand. Coffee minus control. I am no Tupak Soiree; I have not learned anything on the largest mountain that is currently existing. But what I do know is, coffee minus control.
Oh my possibly existing figure, do not expect a cliche. I cannot be explained in two words. A biography — a biography cannot consist a matter of two words. Personally, I find this to be one of the most difficult obstacles one can face, well logically the second most difficult. Commencing third person. Kylie Coleen Tan is an English Student/Writer that settles alongside the border of Toronto. She has immersed herself in interests such as 80s British new wave music, dystopian-themed video games, and currently holds a soft spot in her heart for Dostoyevsky’s Underground Man since 1995.