My mother used to make me a nightly glass of hot chocolate to put me to sleep. At first, the ritual started as an attempt to get me to drink my milk. I would refuse to ever drink a glass of normal milk, but looking at me, you could tell I needed the calcium. By six years old, I had mastered the recipe- a teaspoon of hot chocolate, a hefty amount of milk, and she would top it off with water. One day, I came home from kindergarten crying. I could tell there were two teaspoons of chocolate powder in my drink that night.
A few years later and I’m healthier than ever. I don’t really need the milk anymore, but I despise change. I come home from school crying almost every night. Two teaspoons of chocolate powder is almost standard. It is the only time of day I feel loved.
As I matured, so did my taste. My teenage years began and my nightly drink of choice evolved to tea. Even when life didn’t, mum always got it right- one sugar, spot of milk, lots of warmth.
I got to fifteen and I swapped my nightly drink for nightly drinks- cider, beer, pulls of vodka. Mum in bed, rightfully upset- but always a mug of tea to fall asleep to.
At almost twenty, occasionally trading rich hot chocolate for glasses of wine and strong coffees at 3am, I can go without an evening drink made by mum- I’ve found my nightly hot chocolate in the warmth of shared moments and comfort from within.
Coffee and Reality. 