Loose Tea Chronicles and Charcoal Smoothies

The shrill whistle of the teapot sounded as I dozed off in the lounge chair with a Chuck Palahnuik novel blanketing my eyes like a macabre blindfold. After ten seconds of listening unknowingly to the harsh squeal, I bolted upright, my eyes cracked open, and I sprinted to the stovetop. I poured the boiling water into my Mickey Mouse mug, watching the steam rise and curl through the air. Lumbering tiredly to the other side of the kitchen, I opened the clandestine cupboard underneath the sink – my secret tea retreat. The fragrance of pineapple herbal infusions, the aroma of earthy oolongs, and the gentle scent of green tea permeated the room and filled my nostrils. I made my delicate selection and anxiously awaited my favorite moment of the day: waiting for the tea to steep.

The following four minutes are always pure rapture. What I end up doing during those fading seconds is far less important than how they are spent. We spend so many of our days on autopilot – we never stop to try and introspectively decode our feelings, compliment strangers, or even blow dandelions to the wind. Instead, we continue like ants on a log, chugging away at whatever mundane task demands our assistance. Waiting for tea to steep allows us a moment of pause. For those four minutes, we are able to separate ourselves from the hustle and bustle of the day and simply relax. These moments are transient and fleeting. We must grab onto them with the fervor of a toddler just beginning to walk.

I didn’t always stop to let the tea steep. There were some days when I felt like ending it all. There were some days when I downed a bottle of aspirin and haphazardly wrote suicide notes to my friends and family. I spent too many hours in hospital beds, drinking charcoal smoothies to clean the venom from my stomach. And in those moments, resting with an IV in my arm and a lump in my throat, battling against tears for my mother, my grandmother, and myself, I wish I had taken a few minutes to let my clouded mind breathe. If only I had taken the time to separate myself from my problems, maybe I never would’ve ended up in the emergency room.

For the last few months, I’ve been constantly unlearning the toxicity that I’ve been exposed to throughout my life. Making progress sometimes feels like swimming through molasses, but each day I fight. Fighting is the only option. Kicks and punches aren’t my style, but I’ll take sipping tea any day.