Yesterday I had a taste for Sen Cha, so I went out to what would be my balcony if I did not live on the first floor of a five-story building, and I brewed some in my favorite red teapot from Tokoname, Japan.
As I sat and drank the tea I let my thoughts wander.
I started to think about all the things that happened since the last time I drank Sen Cha. It has been awhile, so many things have happened. Some good, some bad, mostly just… things. Neither particularly good nor bad.
And yet here I am. A “self” that is the product of so many moments. My self. (Or is that myself? I’m really not sure. Feel free to correct me if I’ve slipped up with the grammar.)
I wonder what it would have been like to be someone in Japan drinking Sen Cha for the first time after the Tsunami and subsequent nuclear disaster. It’s a strange mental moment consisting of imagination, assumption, and conjecture.
The voice in my head asks, “How many cups of Sen Cha in the sun do we get in this life time?”
I smile, say too few.
“This could be the last one for you, eh?” says the voice.
Too true.
I take another sip deep green from my cup.
