An Ode To SLC Coffee Shops
My entire life, I’ve lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, an oasis of conservative hipsterdom in the Mountain West. For many 20-somethings like me, college was a period of self-exploration and community building. A Bengali-American woman with an evolving and fluid sense of self, I often found myself attempting to connect with others outside of my family’s home. Most of my memories from the last four years took place on campus, in friends’ houses, and of course, a place my friends and family know me to occupy the most: coffee shops. Functioning as a public space where one can choose their experience (put your headphones on, you are alone. Bring friends with you, and suddenly it can be your own living room), I found escapism and acceptance here. Upon reflection, I realized that I had four distinct phases in college, which fit neatly into the four coffee shops and neighborhoods I frequented.
Sugarhouse Coffee
The dark ages and a representation of familiarity. A budding freshman student completely lost and searching for a place to land. I was exhausted after Student Government meetings on campus. As one of three Asian American students in the organization, I felt myself falling into the trap of existing as a model minority. Issues regarding discrimination, safety, and exclusion on campus were never raised, and at the time I didn’t have the confidence to bring them to light, even though they felt important to me. The knowledge of being a token Brown representative in a sea of white weighed heavily on my bones. Once I found the conviction to voice my opinion, the organization chewed me up and spit me out. I confronted a racist offense from another student towards me. This occurred after my public protest of police brutality and the Ferguson shooting of Michael Brown in 2014. Initially, I joined Student Government to feel like I belonged to something important and helpful. But after standing up for myself and others, I faced the opposite of belonging, threatened with being ousted if I did not apologize for hurting the other party’s feelings. My pain of facing a direct aggression was turned into a weapon against me. A place meant to be embracing and inclusive turned hostile. I stuck with the meetings and events for my own academic future. But it became intimidating to enter the meetings, and I was weary to leave them. Feeling ostracized at school and idle at home, I didn’t know where to go afterwards.
On my bus route towards home, I’d put on my earphones, and listen to Hindi melodies while I processed my new college life. As I passed the bus stop near my house, I would end up at Sugarhouse Coffee. It was the same coffee shop my debate club friends and I used to frequent during high school. I would find a comfortable spot to journal, chat with my online friends, and people-watch. I soon discovered that even though this place wasn’t my physical home, I could at least exist in solitude without feeling trapped or as though I needed to perform for anyone.
The space acted as a cocoon for me as I was processing and healing the events on campus, and as much as it offered me the space to be myself, Sugarhouse Coffee quickly grew old. The same familiarity that appealed to me began to feel suffocating. I would consistently only see high school students. During this transitional period, I was still seeking connection and friendship, and I couldn’t find it in a place separated from campus and still too close to my home. Without the presence of college students, I felt isolated and far away from the groups formulating around me. Sugarhouse grew foreign and strange to me. I realized that I needed to put a strong effort to find my own people. I was having passionate conversations about my own interests in social justice online, and I needed to discover the same energy in real life. On campus, I began to make friends with students in the Asian American Student Association (AASA), many of whom detailed to me the exclusionary history of Student Government on campus. They invited me to events, workshops, and parties, and I found myself feeling embraced and nurtured. At the end of the year, after meetings, I started to get off at the bus stop nearest home.
Coffee Break
When I returned the next year for a fresh outlook on campus life, I had a fire in my belly. Being mistreated by Student Government catapulted me in the opposite direction, and I was prepared to meet other students who wanted to create change. I found myself in an anarchist-communist-leftist-fuck everything bubbles outside of campus. I attended protests on the weekends. I gave myself temporary frost-nip for a week after marching for one of Salt Lake City’s first Black Lives Matter rallies on New Year’s Eve. The country was reeling from the recent accounts of police brutality towards Black communities, and many organizations were aligning to remember the names of Michael Brown, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, and countless other unjust deaths. I marched with a small group of strangers and ended up making friends with a few. The protests grew month after month due to their organizing powers. I attended poetry readings, one where Malcolm Jamal Warner recited Langston Hughes poetry. I began to educate myself on international politics and critical theory through Angela Davis, Bell Hooks, Edward Said, Sarah Ahmed, and Grace Lee Boggs. I joined socialist groups which organized meetups. Often, these would be held in the infamous Coffee Break downtown. I would take the train down from campus in the evening and join in. I made sure to always wear my slightly worn black boots when I attended.
Coffee Break represents everything the counterculture, under-dog population of Salt Lake City has to offer. Monthly, the bathrooms are painted over because people will graffiti and write Tumblr URLs, nihilistic messages, and personal phone numbers all over the walls. The interior is decorated in traditional Palestinian artwork. I remember feeling happy when I heard international students walking in and audibly speaking in Arabic, understanding sentences here and there, sometimes starting conversations with them. It is the only coffee shop in the city which sells cigarettes, lighters, and falafels. Open until 3 am, Coffee Break draws in the most unpredictable and diverse crowd one could imagine in Utah. It is a kaleidoscope of unlawfulness.
My time in Coffee Break slowly tapered to an end when I realized I was spending more time discussing politics than I was attending to my own homework. Additionally, as a woman of color, I began to understand the toxic and masculine dynamics of certain organizations. I discovered troubling details about how women were treated in these groups. There wasn’t room to question the political opinions of the lead members. I expanded my social circle after declaring a major in Gender Studies and learned about feminist histories of community building without hierarchy. Within student groups, I began having conversations which allowed people with different levels of knowledge to feel welcome and to voice their thoughts. As I discovered less male dominant spaces within my classes and student groups where I could still have many similar, and often more sustainable discussions, I began to invest my time and energy elsewhere.
Nostalgia Café
My last years of college were a whirlwind, I pressed a button one day and activated crunch mode. I discovered research as my academic forte. I had a lot of passion to express through writing. While studying Urban Planning, I learned about preserving historic structures. I wanted to write about how the Civil Rights movement impacts public transportation today, how urban sprawl scattered the Japanese and Latino communities of Salt Lake City, and the beauty and health community gardens can bring to neglected neighborhoods.
Nostalgia is open until midnight and has a perfect atmosphere to be productive. Sprawling communal tables and plenty of outlets drew in serious college students swamped with homework. As a student social justice facilitator, I spent late nights at one of these tables, designing flyers for community workshops I organized. I held interviews for one of my research projects, sitting at one table for a half a day while my interviewees walked in and out, one by one. Other times I would stay until the shop closed, writing papers and reading theory, sniffling away in a poorly heated corner. Many evenings my friends would join me, and I would find myself in an electric bubble of laughter, making memes and Snapchats of each other during our breaks, then sitting in silence for an hour when we realized how much work we actually needed to finish. Often, we bounced ideas off of each other for research projects, read each other's writing, and found inspiration in our shared knowledge. In these moments spent with friends and chosen family, we deepened our passions for politics, theory, and community organizing, and spent time mapping out how we planned to change the world around us after college.
Nostalgia stays true to its name. Even though it reminds me of the sleep deprived nights every college student goes through, I hold a deep fondness for it.
Publik Coffee (The Avenues) On a late Sunday morning, you may discover me here sipping on an oat milk latte, reading my favorite poetry and novels and working on zines. I’m in a post-graduate stage, preparing for my new career in urban planning. I don’t recognize many people here, however the environment consistently feels sunny, cozy, and warm. I feel energized surrounded by people quietly reading or working, having conversations with their friends, and simply enjoying themselves. I usually arrive alone, but occasionally bump into a friend and have a chat. Through the windows, I can admire the historic architecture of this dynamic neighborhood. As I transition into a new phase of life, this tucked away coffee shop is where I find myself drawn to weekend after weekend. If the weather is nice enough, I walk to the nearest park and listen to music while taking pictures and dipping my toes in the nearby stream. I swim between loneliness and solitude, and watch others go about their afternoons. Leisurely walks in this neighborhood lead me to observe parents with their children, young couples wrapped up in infatuation, dog owners allowing their companions to lead them onto off-beaten paths and mud.
After such hectic years in school, I am exploring a world of growth and movement, and allowing myself to imagine possibilities outside of systems I conformed to and challenged for several years. In this fluctuation of life, among stagnancy, weakness, and hope, I join others in the journey towards contentment.
