The next day, the air around KopiKopi was electric. We stood gathered in front of the café, every detail perfectly polished—the pastries lined the display shelves like edible works of art, the air conditioners hummed softly, and the comfort rooms were pristine, down to the gleaming mirrors.
Before us towered a three-story sanctuary of warmth and welcome, the largest cafe—KopiKopi in the Philippines, nestled right in the heart of the bustling city.
The employees lined up in neat rows, each one wearing brown aprons with their names proudly embroidered above their hearts. Their anticipation mirrored the glow of the KopiKopi LED signage, which lit up the street with its gentle golden hue, exuding the same warmth the café had always promised.
The crowd outside was unlike anything I'd ever seen—thousands of eager faces, a line stretching so far it caused traffic to grind to a halt. The murmur of excitement rose like a symphony, echoing the old charm of KopiKopi—the kind of café where people didn't just grab coffee but created memories.
"Ofcourse, the KopiKopi snake," Jazz chuckles, and we realized and grinned, the usual long, winding, and proof of how much this place meant to people.
At the front, Veloz and Eugene held the thick red ribbon stretched taut, with Potato balancing a comically large pair of scissors. The employees bunched together, smiling for photo ops, their faces glowing with pride and excitement. Cameras flashed and clicked as the moment was immortalized.
Well, almost everyone smiled.
I stood at the corner of the group photo in an oversized Jollibee costume.
"Wow! Jollibee x KopiKopi collab!" someone shouted from the crowd, earning a round of laughter.
Potato dramatically cut the ribbon with a theatrical flourish, and applause erupted like fireworks. "As your manager," Potato announced to the crowd with exaggerated pride.
"I'm so honored to say this—KopiKopi is finally back!"
Cheers rolled through the street as Veloz and Tabayoyong opened the café doors. The employees flowed inside, taking their places behind the counters, at the doors, and across the floors, ready to serve. The first customers entered with audible gasps of amazement, their eyes drinking in the welcoming glow of the space.
Meanwhile, I shuffled down the line of waiting customers, waving enthusiastically at kids and giving out high-fives. Their delighted giggles were music to my ears, and their parents looked at me with fond smiles.
The sight of those happy faces made me feel like this ridiculous mascot costume was worth it—or so I thought until I reached the next block.
The line didn't end.
I paused, my gloved hands resting on my sides. "Tangina, ang init sa costume na 'to," I muttered under my breath, already drenched in sweat. It felt like I'd been walking for hours, waving, posing, and spreading joy.
Yet, as I turned the corner, I saw the line stretch even further—an endless stream of people who had come to see, to taste, and to feel KopiKopi once more.
I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The warmth radiating from the café wasn't just from the fairy lights or the golden glow of the signage. It was from the people—the laughter, the excitement, the shared anticipation.
This wasn't just a café. KopiKopi was home.
Naglakad ako pabalik sa KopiKopi at pinagpapalo ng mga bata ang buntot ko, pero hindi ko na ito ininda, pinipicturan pa ako ng mga tao at sabay nililipat sa KopiKopi, hangganga sa makabalik ako sa entrance, where Veloz and Tabayoyong opened the doors for me.
