Ah, coffee

Iโ€™ve already written about my experiences with Australian prices. When I first arrived, I spent hours walking down supermarket aisles, monitoring, comparing in my head, how much each product costs in various stores.

Although itโ€™s waned over the last few months, the habit has stayed with me.

Thatโ€™s why when I heard a small cup of flat white with almond milk and an extra shot costs $5.20, I had a hard time masking my bitch face. I swallowed the anger that rose to my lips and smiled instead. Thank you for such unfairness.

$5.20 isnโ€™t a lot of money, I admit. But itโ€™s still a lot for a not-so-great coffee in a not-so-big-enough cup. And yet, Iโ€™ve noticed that itโ€™s the standard in most places in Canberra.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived in Melbourne.

For $4.50, I got a much bigger cup of more satisfying coffee. And I fell in love with Melbourne. Well, not just because of the coffee, but it sure helped.

That said, even in Melbourne, alternative milks and extra shots of espresso cost an additional 50 cents each. Some places dare go even further and charge anything between 80 cents and a dollar. 

And thatโ€™s on top of the standard price of a coffee.

I couldnโ€™t comprehend the reasoning behind it. I donโ€™t even think there is a reasoning. Of course, almond milk is more expensive than regular cowโ€™s milk, but that doesnโ€™t justify charging extra over a commodity I didnโ€™t ask for.

I could, for the sake of an argument, dissect the price points of each element that goes into a flat white and evaluate the fairness of the price. But thatโ€™ll get me nowhere.

So I chose to rant here instead.

In all honesty though, this elevated coffee prices has made me appreciate it more than ever. Now getting a coffee outside is special. Itโ€™s not the kind of pick-me-up you associate with takeaway cups and Hollywood heroins in a rush. Coffee means proper coffee, and that means treating it with the respect it deservesโ€”savouring every sip as it travels down my throat.

Of sinks

One of the most important things to me in a home is having a big sink. When I say that to any of my friends in Canberra, I get rolling eyes and raised brows in return. 

The reason: they canโ€™t fathom why Iโ€™d want a bigger sink when the one in the kitchen is as wide as a trash bin. 

As for my unaccustomed-to-the-first-world self, I canโ€™tโ€”for the life of meโ€”comprehend how people live with tiny sinks in which you canโ€™t even rinse a wok without whacking your elbows in the sides.

Over the last six months, Iโ€™ve seen many kitchens and sinks. When I learnt Iโ€™d be travelling for over a week, I moved out of the expensive place I was staying in. And so, for almost two months, Iโ€™ve been house hunting, walking all over the beautiful suburbs of Canberra, peering through overgrown bushes to find door numbers, lighting my way at night with my iPhone, desperately hoping the flashlightโ€™s battery wouldnโ€™t run out, and stopping every now and then during the day to gawk at and photograph early spring blossoms breaking away from their tree houses.

Every place I sawโ€”from old, creaking, leaking buildings to new, renovated, refurbished townhousesโ€”had small, impractical kitchen sinks.

When I mused about this phenomenon, one of friends pointed out people nowadays use dishwashers.ย (Don’t even get me started on the prices of dishwasher tablets.)

Oh, sure. But what about things that canโ€™t go in a dishwasherโ€”like an expensive bamboo chopping board? 

Some of the older houses donโ€™t even have a dishwasher, rendering the argument moot. It makes sense, tooโ€”the dishwasher is a modern, economically well-off personโ€™s fancy house appliance. However, it still didnโ€™t explain the economy in sink size.

When I lived in a fancy house, I never used the dishwasher once. It was useless to turn on the machine when I cooked (meal prepped) only for myself. Itโ€™d take me weeks of cooking to fill up the dishwasher. 

Hand washing is easier and more sensible. If only the sink designers were as sensible as I.

Musings on the bus

They observe,
from the sidelines
behind human boundaries
mutely.

Ghosts of past,
felled by hunters,
now shed skins, peeling,
naturally.

Wheels pass by,
not unlike time,
in twos, threes, and sixesโ€”
boundless.

Fiercely defiant,
owners of the land,
masked in ashen whiteโ€”
eucalypti.


Note: Eucalypus, or gum trees, are beautiful trees to stare at. They’re endemic to south-eastern Australia, where I now live.

Despite all,

Scaled,
stepped on,
pricked and poked,
scabbed, stared at,ย 
gawked, and pointed at,
studied, zoomed in on,ย 
zoomed outโ€”
traced and outlined,
measure… for measure…
muddied, set animals on,
and mulled over
fantasised with,ย 
fascinated by,
pictured, framed, and famed,
reflected on, projected as,
even protective ofโ€”

Moon,
unperturbed shines.