Originally Posted on Feb. 26, 2021

I rarely take the time to simply sit and breathe—to enjoy a moment in stillness.

Typically, I’m requesting to-go orders, rather than dining in, and walking around taking dozens of photos while waiting on my order.

Today, though, inside Flamingo Coffee Bar & Bakery, I slowed down and took a seat on the velvet pink couch to study my surroundings.

I saw hand-painted flamingo designs adorning the walls, numerous bright light fixtures hanging low from the ceiling, and an assortment of croissants—strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla—behind the glass enclosing the bakery.

I heard mellow music from overhead speakers, combined with the whirling of the expresso machine and the voices of the baristas who spoke in another language.

Outside, the windows of the skyscrapers shone yellow in the setting sun. The Qatar flag waved in the breeze.

After a few minutes, one of the baristas, Lin, brought me a table mat, along with a salted caramel expresso in a teacup and a strawberry-iced, flower petal-topped croissant on a glass plate. The pink of the teacup matched the pink accents throughout the coffee bar.

The last time I recall being surrounded by such hues of pink was within the walls of my childhood bedroom with my Fisher-Price dollhouse, which was a Santa gift.

Shortly after Christmas, my mama set up a small table with a stool in my bedroom. Atop the table sat my dollhouse.

Walking in my room one evening, she switched off the light and flipped on my lamp, which had a pink lightbulb—and the pink light illuminated my whole dollhouse. I played for hours.

In my element inside the coffee bar on a Friday after 5, I remained seated on the pink velvet couch, even after my teacup and glass plate were empty.

Taking out my notebook and pen, I wrote line after line. I resorted to my chicken-scratch, reporter-style handwriting to jot down all the details of the moment. I continued to write—eventually tuning out the music, expresso whirls, and barista voices—until I wrote down this last word.