when vaughn and i don’t live in the same city, i get things done perfectly well all by myself, in my own slapdash (but very comfortable and not unsuccessful) way. when vaughn and i live in the same city, i rely on him to get things done (his way, which is generally more efficient and elegant than mine) for the thing gets done and it saves criticism. so that is quite all right too.

the trouble is that we haven’t lived in the same city since 2005 but every couple of years he shows up for a few days and discombobulates my life: that is, after suddenly getting an intense earful about my general indolent mode of life coupled with pep-talking about self-sufficiency and purposeful living and changing one’s life, i, duly invigorated (or properly chastised), try to organise my affairs like a vaughn, or at any rate differently. (this does not normally last, and when someone who is a minz tries to be a vaughn, the results are uneven, but as we’d just seen each other mid-february, his admonitions are still fresh in my ears.)

and that was what led to all the trouble with the coffee.

v. always tells me not to buy things that have one purpose only (he disdains even rice cookers and electric kettles, which i find very necessary) and that with skill and resource one can jerry-rig anything one needs. so when addy came back from bandung bringing me a bag of fabulous-smelling ground coffee from the koffie fabriek aroma which i wanted to drink right away, i did not immediately despair of there being no coffee-making apparatus in this household nor any paper filters at either of my nearest ntucs. (my numerous first world problems include being a righthander in a left-handed family and being occasionally desirous of coffee in a tea-drinking household.) i felt, in any case, that a special dash into town at that time of night just to buy a packet of filters or a cafetiere out of a big departmental store would be exactly the sort of thing v. did not approve of, so i began opening drawers and cupboards instead.

at first i opened up a cotton tea bag and draped that over a cup to use as a filter, but the fibre weave was far too loose. then i tried to make the coffee in a cup and then pour it through a metal tea strainer (you ought not use one for tea, by the way. use a porcelain filter) but to my surprise even with a pretty fine mesh the grounds still escaped (a cafetiere, then, would avail me nothing either, had i one.) then i thought of the absorbent paper my mother uses when she makes tempura (it is, afterall, precisely filter paper, but lightly waxed on one side, right? and i can easily wrap it into a cone.) this also failed: the paper was too thin, that the moment i poured hot water on, the combination of heat and pressure meant the paper tore, sending a cascade of powder below. on my second try, with a new cone and a slow , careful drizzle, i found the light wax prevented filtering completely. (by now, the kitchen counter was looking more like the shallows of a beach, grittiness afloat in dark pools.) finally i layered up two paper tea bag and filled that with coffee powder and lowered it very slowly to soak at the bottom of a cup, and then lifted the whole bag out between two spoon carefully, so that there would be as little agitation as possible (and less escaping grounds): this last gave me the least grainy cup which i had to make do with until two days later i got some proper filters out of cluny court cold storage after school. this now involved me standing around for 10 minutes pouring small spoonfuls of water over a filter and listening to the light tapping drips and thinking longingly of tea instead. i have now resorted to japanese drip coffee in pre-filled disposable filters (they resemeble lillputian vacuum cleaner bags) that unfold origami-like and perch on top of your cup on cardboard limbs, but that meant emptying out their coffee and filling them with mine, so there is still a net surfeit of coffee powder in the kitchen, which at some point needs to be used up by traditional means.

if he had not prodded me in my conscience about self-sufficiency and improvisation i would have simply bought myself a drip coffee machine and be done with that, so i am not at all shy about laying my troubles at his door. no doubt he will say that my coffee brewing skills have improved, but that is small consolation.