Borrowed time #1

"Caffeine doesn't give you energy—it just borrows it from tomorrow."

I lost myself within the paragraphs of this simple sentence. I'd been telling my friend how desperately I needed caffeine when she sent me this quote, and suddenly I was drowning in its truth.

Caffeine has become my elixir of life lately—keeps me vertical, keeps my eyes open even when my brain has long since clocked out. I know I'm wearing myself thin, running on fumes and borrowed tomorrows. But isn't that better than having the time to think? To realize? To wake up?

I wake up to another reality each morning. Sometimes it takes several minutes to understand I'm actually conscious, that this is real, that I'm here again.

I walk to my little kitchen—big enough to feed those I love, yet suffocatingly small when I'm cooking for myself. Among half a dozen coffee choices, I reach for black coffee with just a dash of milk: a promise against ulcers, a small concession to self-preservation.

I've started to romanticize my life lately, so I take my coffee by the window—that little piece of sun I've been renting for the past four months—sipping slowly as I skim through a book or lecture notes. I never thought I'd be here, especially not enjoying what I'm doing. Another degree that I'm treating like a magazine, leisure instead of survival.

But this is life, I suppose. Sometimes it skips chapters entirely. Other times it slows to a crawl. A cosmic waltz, in a way. Connecting blood back together over academics like it's fifteen years ago, but it's not—it's now, and it's crazy how life weaves its threads.

Anyway.

My "minimal phone" is buzzing somewhere in the living room. A text from my brother announcing he's ready for our study session. Another from my dad wishing me a good day and announcing he's sent a care package—I should check with reception.

I go pick up my dad's care package. His love language is global, literally—tangible proof that someone is thinking of me from thousands of miles away. Constantly. I grab a couple of chocolate bars to stash in the car for later.

I drive to my brother's place and get lost in the view as the scenery shifts from forest to, well, the concrete forest disguised as a city. The distant hum of the engine is the only sound keeping me company.

Our drives have become my favorite ritual lately. I pick him up. He sits on my left side, passenger prince status secured, and hands me a coffee that I slowly sip the rest of the way. The rule persists: two before 2pm.

These are the moments I borrow from tomorrow.

Before the day rushes in and sucks me into its current, suddenly, violently.

So I try to cherish these moments, even if I'll have to wake up earlier, even if I'm taking a loan from tomorrow.

And maybe that's okay.

Because maybe some debts are worth acquiring.