Tea Stained Lives

The first cup of tea is always the hardest.

After setting up the shining kettle and pulling out those small, dry-frozen packets of tea from the freezer, the wait for the boiling pot can only be subsidized through minor distractions of other foods. A watched pot boils alright, albeit slower in my mind’s eye than usual. Listening to the bubbling that is liquid water turning to gaseous water at the very bottom of the kettle, and erupting forwards out through the spout in a hand-burning, high energy containing steam, the process fascinates me even through the wait.

After the water is finally ready, pouring the hot water into the teapot slowly is rather important. You don’t want another boba incident, where my mom spilled half a pot worth of boiling water onto my hand, or that incident where you weren’t paying attention to where you were pouring and nearly end up drowning your precious, precious APUSH notes. No, there is impatience, but it must last through this.

Even after the tea is steeping, you still have to wait more. Drinking it directly is essentially the same as drinking down a big gulp of boiling water artificially colored by a false agent. There’s no point in getting a cup of this putrid liquid; you have to wait for those wonderful deoxidants to be released from those dried leaves.

Still, after all of this, the first cup is still hard to take down. Even as I settle into the routine of life, that cup is still bland and tasteless, and serves more to warm my body than my soul. Not warm, no, but scald my very heart and guts with a kind of fury, embracing a hunger for more.

It’s after this that you slowly fall into a pattern of pouring one drink after another into that nicely decorated Starbucks holiday mug that you TOTALLY jacked from your parents. It’s in that unconcious pour of a cup after yet another that starts creates stains.

My wonderful light-blue mug, decorated lightly with fat white snowflakes and an oversized handle, has gotten a paint job on the inside. Each cup of late night tea, of APUSH focusing tea, of bored and hungry tea, leaves another gentle coat onto the cup.

Eventually, as the evening fades into the twilight, transitioning into the blackness of night, the ritual slows to a stop. No more does the kettle buzz, and no more does the bubble of tea excite anymore. It’s only a matter of finishing whatever is left in that pile of homework; nothing else matters.

And in that narrow minded focus, the tea slowly cools.

Perhaps you could model the cooling rate with a differential function, and integrate to find the temperature after 90 minutes of neglect. Perhaps you could write a chemical reaction for the deposition of the chemicals upon the sides of the cup. Perhaps you could track the specific heat of the water, and what kind of conduction or induction allows the transfer of heat away.
Maybe you could write an analogy for how the tea’s cooling has represented your own mental slowing, as the night drags on. Maybe you would see an analogy in this tea for revolutionary times of virtual representation, of free-trade agreements and of imperialism for resources. Maybe you would look at the Chinese culture behind the imported green tea, or maybe you would ponder what it is about the tea that seems to be so romanticized to you.

But in the end it doesn’t matter. What does is that this tea has stained into your life, your soul, your very being. Cycle after cycle, time after time again, your return to tea has been a return to familiarity, a call back to a home that isn’t a physical place, but a certain state of mind.

And you know that in this state of mind, the tea slowly changes you. In whatever kind of subtle layering, the tea washes over you and rinses anew your soul. Slowly, cup by cup, you see the world through a new lens, and the world sees you differently.

Inspired by Alice.

Listening to Hawthorne Tree Forever (山楂树之恋)

Starry Night

Staring, mesmerized by the night sky
Gazing as the twinkling stars go by when
Suddenly a pinprick turns into a blazing hole and I
Fall up
And up
And up into the abyss
Of a new beginning.

 

Waking up on stranger tides
To the sound of birds chirping
To the feel of hands pulling
To the push of minds begging
To start an adventure into a brave new world
And to begin anew.

 

Pulled through the cosmos of time and space
To a land fresh and new
Untainted by the clawing sin
Unremembered with those bitter, bittersweet memories
Of how life as we knew it was changing.

 

Leaving behind an overwhelming cup
That pushed and spilled into all those around it
Leaving behind only spilled milk and
Heartache for everyone.

 

Divorced from those distant earthly events
And finally piercing the fog of mind
To see the pains of those who have seen it coming,
Seen it coming for the longest time
And yet immobilized by fear
To use the past to change the future

 

But now the divorce
Of once lovers but now just guardians
Was underway and inevitable
So what could one do but escape
Into a land of mystery and adventure?

 

But life ain’t a fairy tale
And even if you escape the thoughts, no, the memories
Will be with me
Forever
So what can I do
But to pick up the pieces
Scattered like the stars in the sky
And move on
On past the roaring tides
On past the stardust in the heavens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay before anyone worries NO my parents are not getting divorced thank goodness. The poem was influenced by some other things I’ve seen in my larger group of friends and family. I am very much lucky to live with a living mom and a caring dad, regardless of how distinction all our relationship can become at times.

on another note I’ve been feeling really emotionally drained lately. It’s been going on for a while, and even though intellectually or even materialistic ally I’ve been doing fine, really some part inside me is sorta screaming with he faintest shout. Not entirely sure what to do.

hope this week will end better.

Reunion

Stepping through the threshold
brushing off the gently fallen dew of heaven
setting down the world-weary, weathered briefcase
looking towards the quiet room and the crackling fire before
rushing into the arms of loved ones.
Father is home once more.

in other news my dad is home from another multinational business trip! and i managed to bake a cake! i’ve never baked a cake before! i’m not sure what i should be more excited about!

Community

when i was a young kid
we would always learn to play
with those around
us
who weren’t the same
who thought differently
and because we were young
and foolish and naive
we intermingled and laughed and fought
only when we disagreed over what color was better
or what cartoon was more captivating

but as we grew older we saw
less
and
less
of each other
like two continents drifting
or
two like charges repelling
keeping each other apart
by the hobbies we have.

why do we form these
hateful cliques
excluding outsiders and
accepting only those like minded
into our little circle of trust
when really
all things are connected
in one direction
or another?

why are online communities
separated
by such harsh defining lines
to keep poets away from the learned,
the geeks away from the thoughtful?

can’t we just all be together as one,
facing the perils of the world
In joined hands rather than
On our own?

——————-
Oh my gosh a early poem yay and in other news I’ve been sleeping like 3/4ths of everyday I swear I’m becoming like Paul or Jade argh.
Not that they aren’t like the coolest real world/homestuck land people’s ever.

Extro and Intro

Inspired by a certain midnight conversation before that monster of a DBQ :P

People put on their displays
Of grandeur and of power
As if to prove to the world
(and themselves)
One does not need to fear
And one easily overcomes the oceans.

Accidental extroverts
Roaming the Earth twice over
Remove their real selves
From the scene of the crime
Creating a persona, an alter ego,
From an introverted shell

because isn’t it easier,
not just for me but for you
if we just all closed our eyes
and pretended
that we were all supermen in our own special way
Swooping down and saving the world?

Even heroes have a right to dream.

Even people have a right to be
Their old, shameful, confused
but
beautiful, sensitive, caring
introverted selves
because who knows?

All it takes is a simple intro
To make an introvert
Into a real, not just faking
extrovert.

——————–
somehow I fell asleep and then woke up at 5 to finish the poem. man, reminds you of those great days in school where you had to do that with homework, right?
haha, good thing *I* never, ever do that … *shifts around eyes nervously*

Ego

A bit tongue in cheek; first time i’ve actually had people reading my works. Especially strangers. Gotta be wary!

Please don’t feed my ego;
It is quite a delicate beast.
the way that it churns and billows
is nothing to say the least

It starts off as a young bud
fed by the comments and likes of peers
Until it triggers a flood
and grows with a nasty sneer

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Baggage

So I’m really bad at this concept of time but apparently quite decent at the concept of time manipulation, where you just say “oh yeah i totally finished this homework 2 days ago”. So who cares if it’s actually 1:04 in the morning, it’s still April First somewhere in the world.

huddled masses walking around with destinations
of spectacular getaways and shining beaches
because what else would you be thinking
when we carry our emotions
to every place life takes us?

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