In 2025, a new simplified Chinese edition of Before the Coffee Gets Cold, a novel by Japanese author Toshikazu Kawaguchi, was released in China. Set in a small cafe in Tokyo, the story follows customers who are offered a rare chance to travel back in time — on one condition: they must return before their coffee gets cold.

I picked up Before the Coffee Gets Cold late one night. I had just finished a part-time shift, and my phone was running out of battery — and so was I. I couldn't help opening it because the title sounded so peaceful, something I hadn't felt in years.

As a girl from Wenzhou, Zhejiang province, who grew up in Guangzhou, Guangdong province, I learned how to negotiate before I even learned how to ride a bike. Efficiency wasn't a strength I was born with; it became a survival skill — especially after my parents' business went bankrupt.

While my classmates were exploring hobbies, I was trying to figure out which side hustle was closest to my dorm so I could squeeze meals and studying into a single hour. People around me often describe me as someone who "speaks well", but they never see the person quietly figuring out how to make it through one more semester. I wasn't born sarcastic. Sarcasm became my oxygen mask.

So when I opened this quiet Japanese novel, I didn't expect it to affect me so deeply. The story's premise was simple: you can go back in time, but you can't change anything. At first, I thought, "Great — even fictional characters can't fix their lives." But then a scene shifted something inside me: a woman chose to return to a miserable moment — not to save the person she had lost or rewrite destiny, but simply to sit with him.

To me, that felt like a revolutionary choice. People return to the past not to win or fix anything, but only to accept the truth. That was the first time I realized that maybe ordinary people are not as insignificant as the world has taught us to believe.

I used to think my life was too small, too chaotic, too disappointing. I moved from one side hustle to the next, sometimes ending up crying in the corner of a bathroom, wiping my face, and rushing back out again. It all felt pointless.

But this book reshaped my idea of maturity. It's not about correcting every mistake; it's about learning how to breathe in a messy world and keep going anyway. Somehow, that lesson felt more comforting — and more inspiring — than any motivational poster I'd ever seen.

So don't underestimate your ability to survive. It's quieter than heroism and less glamorous than success stories. But the most ordinary kinds of strength are often the most revolutionary.

Written by Dong Yihang, 24, a graduate of the University of Nottingham Ningbo China. She enjoys reading, singing, and observing how everyday life often teaches more than any theory ever could.