@i12v: وصفتي على البارد من اربع سنين ماغيرتها #explore #ايس_دريب #coffee

Saad Alotaibi

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Region: SA

Sunday 14 June 2026 18:33:16 GMT

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ᴷᴴ :

وصفة المعيوف وبس🌷

2026-06-15 00:27:44

25

Different📿. :

أنا دايماً أحط 23 بن والصبات 50 و 50 و 50 والثلج 150 واستمتعو بأحلى قهوه وإيحاءات واضحححه

2026-06-16 20:18:19

3

️ :

يا ولد انا طول حياتي اشرب ١٥ و اذا خليتها ١٨ احس اني مسرف

2026-06-15 17:11:47

32

SH :

كنت كل مره اصفر الميزان وابدأ الرقم من جديد 😍 مادريت إلا تو

2026-06-15 09:27:59

32

BADER :

افضل وصفه بدون فلسفه بُن 20 .. الصبات 50 .. 50 .. 50 الثلج 150

2026-06-16 18:40:58

1

🐈 :

ابغى وصفة للحار

2026-06-15 21:18:33

2

🕯️ :

الذ وصفه هي ١٥ج بن و الثلج ١٥٠ج والصبات ٥٠ ، ٥٠ ، ٥٠

2026-06-15 23:31:39

6

محمد العتيبي👨🏻‍🎓 :

من وين الثلج كيف شفاف

2026-06-16 18:08:31

2

مجيد :

جربوا 30 جرام والصبات 707070 و 210 ثلج

2026-06-15 02:42:09

11

R :

ابغى متجر محاصيل سعره حلو

2026-06-15 19:26:46

1

SA :

حلو بكذا سويت نفط

2026-06-15 00:24:45

7

F :

20 البن و الصبات 50 و 50 و 50 والثلج 150 ♥️

2026-06-15 23:38:10

2

. :

طيب جربو البن ٣٠ والصبات ٦٠ ٦٠ ٦٠

2026-06-16 02:05:25

0

heem :

دايم الي يقولون وصفات مايذكرون درجة الطحن ترا تفرق بالطعم

2026-06-15 12:38:52

0

kinan :

ودي اجرب بس خلاص الوصفات ام ٢٠ جرام صار قلبي ما يتحملها خفقان 😂😭

2026-06-15 05:43:46

9

Ⓜ️ MAJED | ماجد :

اقترحوا لي مطحنه جيدة وبسعر مناسب وباي موقع علموووني

2026-06-15 16:34:37

0

فهد الحربي :

الميزان وش اسمه؟

2026-06-15 06:14:05

0

R :

كيف الثلج شفاف؟ آله ؟ اذا آله ابي اسمها

2026-06-15 18:12:03

1

Al-Qahtani🐆. :

جربو هالوصفه اذا تبون كميه راهيه قسم بالله ادمان 150 ثلج و الصبات 6 كل صبه 30 ملي والانتظار 30 ثانيه بين كل صبه ينتهي الاستخلاص ب 3 دقايق والبن 20 قرام

2026-06-15 15:21:47

0

RiYADH :

كم تحط درجة الطحنه للبارد وكم للحار ( نفس المطحنه )

2026-06-16 17:08:31

2

احمد :

القهوه البارده و السنتوب وجهين لعمله واحدة

2026-06-15 14:17:07

1

ccccrderrr123 :

😂😂😂 انا اسويها بالبركة وتطلع مضبوطة

2026-06-16 09:47:36

3

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Everything has become repetitive. The days repeat themselves, the conversations repeat themselves, the same thoughts circle endlessly in my mind, and even pain no longer feels new. There was a time when suffering arrived like a storm, violent enough to shake the foundations of my world. Now it comes and goes like an old visitor whose footsteps I can recognize long before they reach the door. The tragedy is not that life hurts; it is that the hurt has become familiar. I have watched disappointment wear different faces while carrying the same meaning. I have seen hope rise and collapse so many times that even optimism feels like a script I already know by heart. Nothing surprises me anymore—not failure, not loneliness, not the quiet realization that tomorrow will probably resemble yesterday. The weight of suffering has not disappeared; it has simply settled into the background, becoming another ordinary part of existence. Perhaps the cruelest thing about repetition is that it slowly drains meaning from everything it touches. Even grief loses its sharp edges. Even sadness becomes predictable. You stop asking why things happen and begin expecting them to happen. The soul does not break in a single moment; it erodes gradually, worn down by the endless return of the same struggles, the same emptiness, the same unanswered questions. And so I continue forward, not because I believe something extraordinary awaits me, but because movement is all that remains when standing still becomes unbearable. Somewhere between hope and resignation, between longing and indifference, I find myself existing rather than living—watching the same story unfold again and again, wondering whether the repetition itself is the true burden, or whether the burden is realizing that I can no longer remember what novelty felt like in the first place. #yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #ترافيس #نوستالجيا #هواجيس #العدم

Everything has become repetitive. The days repeat themselves, the conversations repeat themselves, the same thoughts circle endlessly in my mind, and even pain no longer feels new. There was a time when suffering arrived like a storm, violent enough to shake the foundations of my world. Now it comes and goes like an old visitor whose footsteps I can recognize long before they reach the door. The tragedy is not that life hurts; it is that the hurt has become familiar. I have watched disappointment wear different faces while carrying the same meaning. I have seen hope rise and collapse so many times that even optimism feels like a script I already know by heart. Nothing surprises me anymore—not failure, not loneliness, not the quiet realization that tomorrow will probably resemble yesterday. The weight of suffering has not disappeared; it has simply settled into the background, becoming another ordinary part of existence. Perhaps the cruelest thing about repetition is that it slowly drains meaning from everything it touches. Even grief loses its sharp edges. Even sadness becomes predictable. You stop asking why things happen and begin expecting them to happen. The soul does not break in a single moment; it erodes gradually, worn down by the endless return of the same struggles, the same emptiness, the same unanswered questions. And so I continue forward, not because I believe something extraordinary awaits me, but because movement is all that remains when standing still becomes unbearable. Somewhere between hope and resignation, between longing and indifference, I find myself existing rather than living—watching the same story unfold again and again, wondering whether the repetition itself is the true burden, or whether the burden is realizing that I can no longer remember what novelty felt like in the first place. #yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #ترافيس #نوستالجيا #هواجيس #العدم

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