ode – The Concordian

Spring may be unpredictable, but it’s still my favourite season.

Is it sundress season yet? I thought it was, until that glorious snowstorm we all woke up to on Thursday. Before that, I had set out to write an ode to spring in honour of the frost finally thawing, but the weather reports laughed in my face. “Is spring still your favourite season?” they wondered, cackling and rubbing their hands together. Despite the unpredictability of the season, I will defend spring to the end.

Okay, so maybe the haters of the season have a point. Even once the snow finally melts (and stays away for good) it isn’t the easy-breezy sunshine and green grass transformation we see in cartoons. It’s more like brown slush, ground littered with ancient cigarette butts, and fossilized dog sh—well, I think we all know what I’m talking about.

The springs of my childhood outside of the city weren’t much prettier, to be fair. The snow piles sometimes didn’t fully disappear until June, and I have vivid memories of flooded roads and the soccer field turning into a swamp.

Where is the glamorized version of spring we desperately need, the one with bees and flowers and blooming buds that all the poets are so obsessed with? That version of the season often doesn’t fully come around until May or June, by the time we’re already a couple of months deep into spring. March and April are really more of an awkward transition, an uncomfortable dance between winter and the vague promises of summer.

Still, the glimpses of sunlight make it all worth it. What I love about spring is the chase: the exhaustion of winter and the tension of constantly checking the weather, followed by the thrill of finally being able to stash the winter coats. There truly is no better feeling than the first true feeling of spring air. Not only can you breathe better, but also the joy is palpable. Everyone can attest to the weight that gets lifted when winter finally passes. There’s an undeniable mood boost that hits at the end of seasonal blues and brings droves of hibernators out into the thawing parks.

Not only that, but we also get to witness the days get longer and longer. The joy of not being plunged into darkness at 4 p.m.! More sunlight means more Vitamin D and overall health improvements—both physical and mental.

And sure it might be a little while until the flowers bloom, but the snow right now will only make the wait more worth it. Soon the icicles will melt from the trees, and you know what comes next. There’s nothing cuter than buds on the trees—sure they aren’t proper leaves, but they’re trying to be, and I think that should be enough.

My strongest case for spring though is absolutely indisputable, no matter what anyone else says: the best concerto in Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons is Spring. I will not be taking arguments; this is a fact, not an opinion. So here’s my advice to you: to fully embrace the beauty of spring, throw open your windows (when the weather permits), blast some Vivaldi, and trust that the spring is here for real.

“Mama, did you stop drinking coffee when you were pregnant with me or my sister?”

“No, but I should have, look how you two turned out.”

Hi, my name is Youmna El Halabi, and I’m addicted to coffee. Cue the unanimous chants one gets when at a self-help group.

In pop-culture terms, if Spencer Hastings from Pretty Little Liars and Lorelai Gilmore from Gilmore Girls were to have a love child, it would be me.

However, these shows always emphasized on the amount of coffee consumed, whereas yours truly focuses more on the quality of this bitter, yet indispensable beverage.

Growing up in a Lebanese household, the smell of Arabic coffee was ever-present. And let me tell you one thing: one rakwa (coffee pot for Arabs) is worth 10 of your Americanos, and might just teach you a thing or two about good coffee.

As per my introduction, I genuinely believe my love for coffee is hereditary. Although she might deny it if you ask, my mother is just as bad as I am, if not worse. You know how lent is supposed to be a time where you fast on one thing that brings you joy? You can bet my mother never fasted on her morning coffee. Why? “I just can’t handle the headaches.” But god forbid I go over my three-cup-a-day limit. Mothers are weirdly paradoxical.

But I can’t say I don’t understand where she is coming from. Whenever someone claims to have stopped drinking coffee, boasting about how much it improved their quality of life, I applaud them for taking these steps — because I could never do it.

Sure, the possibility of waking up in the morning without a headache, or any other obvious signs of caffeine dependency, sounds delightful. It might even sound like heaven to some.

But what about the old saying about not knowing what ‘good’ is until you’ve seen the ‘bad’? What could possibly be better than the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, or afternoon caffeine fixes when you’ve struck out during an assignment? The warmth you’re filled with as you sip that hot liquid full of ephemeral productivity and energy?

Coffee might come in all shapes and forms, and I am not about to call out anyone who enjoys sipping on caramel frappuccinos throughout the year, but fellow coffee connoisseurs will attest to the fact that those unicorn drinks never satiate us. To put it plainly: coarse and black, or don’t even bother.

Graphic by @sundaeghost