I don’t have a favorite table. I don’t reserve a place and I don’t choose a cafe by the stars in the reviews.
I can go to a place that doesn’t serve anything special — as long as there’s hot tea and a soft chair by the window.
I don’t sit there for hours. Forty minutes is enough for me to feel like I’m part of something bigger again.
Other people’s conversations at the next table, the clink of cups, someone laughing on the phone, someone picking at a croissant with a spoon, although a spoon is clearly not for this — and I feel calm.
I can open my laptop and “pretend” that I’m working — in reality, I’m just watching how someone holds their cup, how someone turns their face away, who leaves crumbs on the tablecloth.
It's important for me to know that the world lives without me. That no one is waiting for my word, my laughter, my answer.
At these moments, it's as if I switch off and switch on again - but slowly.
Sometimes I deliberately don't take my headphones. Let the music play around, let the door knock - it's like a reminder: you can be alone and you don't need to explain why you're here.
Once a barista remembered my name. He said it out loud so loudly that I felt awkward. I even thought about changing cafes - but I came back.
Now I sometimes choose others. I like not to get attached.
Sometimes I imagine that someone will come in, see me through the window, think something of their own and move on.
I don't know why I like it.
Maybe because other people's places give you a strange right to be transparent.
No one knows what you're thinking. No one knows what's inside. You can sit and drink the most boring tea - but you will enjoy it, because you chose this place yourself.
And let me have many such corners. Small cafes, where it does not matter who you are, where you are from and where you will go next.
I want to keep this feeling in myself: to be alone among others - and not feel empty.
Sometimes this is more important than any big meetings.