(photo credits: yahoo search engine)

{Passion}

The definition of passion is feeling very strongly about a subject or person, usually referring to feelings of intense desire and attraction or various forms of emotional suffering. It really is amazing and yet ironical how passion can be so inspirational and yet a dream crasher. I had experiences with passion at various degrees.          

             I remembered strolling down Oscara Street under the sweltering heat, I felt apprehensive and pressurized by what happened. However, the usually methodical me, could not keep my focus on my train of thoughts. I felt like a soluble matter under intense heat, ready to melt without warning. Eventually, I began to tease myself at how sarcastically veracious I had been this morning.

             In attempt to clear my thoughts, I began to think how controversial a topic it was, that I resembled a stick of ice-cream. Then, I tried imagining myself as a masterful singer and began humming a mellifluous melody so as to discard the worrying thoughts I initially had, but in vain...

              Eventually, I decided to settle at a nearby mini café for a cup of coffee that never failed to calm me down. I walked into the dingy shop and   the aroma of various coffees came sweeping into my nostrils. I sat at the corner by the window. I browsed through large variety of coffee in the menu and decided upon one called Flambé. I raised my hand, beckoning the waiter who looked so much like a palm tree. He scurried over at such an amazing speed that caught me by surprise. He took my order and laid some crisp and fragile digestive biscuits on the table for me.

               I leant on the couch with my eyes closed, letting the air-conditioner breathe down cool air on my neck. Memories rushed in again. That poster...

               I jerked myself back into the present and started staring out of he window while I laid my hands of one of those paper-like biscuits that had a mild taste of cinnamon. I bit round the edges, praying that I would not sink back in to those bad memories, my encounter with passion.

              The waiter returned again with my exquisite cup of Flambé. The warm liqueur-drenched spoon of sugar was aflame. It truly was a majestic feast for my eyes. I tilted the sugar into the Flambé and watched the fire disappear into the chocolaty brown. I stirred the Flambé and watched the faint white foam swirl clockwise. I thought, "My passion for coffee drinking is just so luxurious. Passion ..." I trailed of at the thought of passion and plunged into paleness again. I quickly took a sip of coffee as my heart raced. Maybe, I should just let things flow through. Maybe, just maybe it would help.

            For the second time, I leant back onto my couch and took another sip of Flambé. I felt the flaming coffee trickle down my throat, as my memories trickled down my eyes, soon covering myself in it.

             I was back in this morning's incident. I had such a strong passion for experimenting with coffee types. I loved how the chemistry between two or more mixtures and grades of coffee work. Their stunning aroma never ceased to enchant me. Especially when it comes to varieties like the Flambé which combines a non-caffeine type with caffeine, creating something so out of this world.

              That poster, it changed my life. I saw it a few days back before the competition. I spent so much time trying out that recipe. My effort, that cheater, the biasness, I could take it no more.

              Why does it always seem that the world has to be unfair to me? Why does it always seem that my life is crashing down on me? Why does it always seem that I do not get any opportunities?

              I created le café souple after much maneuvering experiments. It was to suit everybody's taste of coffee. It was able to adapt to the person's taste of coffee. It was my masterpiece. However, it was stolen, taken from me because of my greed and veracious personality. I was ripped of my dreams, shattered into shards of broken glass.

               I am a girl so extremely fond about having thrilling perfect life. I want everyday to be at its tiptop state. In short, I am a perfectionist. I fear possible mental dangers and rejection. I turn pale and overly pressurized upon hearing criticism. I am just too passive of passiveness. To me, optimism is my life's goal. Unfortunately, my dreams to satisfy everyone failed.

             This morning, I brought along my recipe, so enthusiastically with my best friend. I planned that we would be able to be the world's greatest hit coffee inventors, together. We were a perfect duo. She had the business brains, I had the creativity. If only, I had not been that innocent, that stupid. I trusted my recipe into my friend's hand hoping that she would keep it safe as I went to the toilet. Maybe it really was not her fault that she went off half cock in the matter of minutes; she had a very short temper. It ran in her family line. Still, she could have just stayed on the spot and not get the ever so tempting "Matcha ice-cream". Perhaps it was my own fault that my dreams were shattered. Maybe I should not have called her dumb earlier that day before I went to the toilet. Coming to think of it, she really was dumb to have suggested adding a banana into the coffee. Like that, would be edible.

             "Like you don't speak? Stop taking me for granted. Our 8years friendship is not a life contract whereby our lives hold such irritating bonds and restrictions! Hello! Miss Perfect! I am not you! I have the choice to walk, remember and choose whether to be your friend and help you in this competition or not! If you think I am a hopeless freak, then why should I help you?" my friend shrieked at me as I rolled my eyes and stomped into the toilet, leaving her fuming outside.

                “I’ll go get Matcha ice-cream..."she muttered after much hesitation.

                I never did saw her again after her ice-cream. She was tired of me being so dominating over her. She was tired of me being so "perfect". She was tired of having me in her life. She was the one with the recipe. She knew how to get to Flambé Street. I did not get to the competition. She did. She took flight for her dreams without me, her best friend. What about my passion for coffee? It still runs in me but I no longer see the purpose of it but for leisure.

                Are dreams meant to be met? Or are they just a goal for life, that is a short-term passion and let us suffer later? Perhaps it just lies in fate to guide us in our destination in life.

                 I learnt that I got to learn to appreciate who I have and what I have with me. I really cannot take them for granted. The world is not just mind but a world to many others. Passion for something is just spices for the soup of life. It lets us strive harder to help others stretch to their best, to help make the world go round. Passion is a magnifying glass. No matter how small is our deed, passion enlarges it and makes a difference in other's life.  Passion provides inspiration but we cannot rely too much on it to survive in this world filled with sins. Passion for greed crashes others passion for life. That was my definition for passion. What's yours?

                                                                                                                                               {1267 words} yes screams!!