matcha, a short story

'How much energy do I need today?' I mused thoughtfully, grabbing the tin of ceremonial matcha powder that was gifted to me by a friend.

It's 2 PM and I need some energy after a morning of admin and lunch.

I placed my bowl, sieve, and whisk in front of me, hearing the kettle hum its promise. I twisted the lid to reveal the contents in all their glory. The vivid green welcomed my eyes as I took my 'Chasaku', my trusty bamboo spoon, and carefully scooped two teaspoons into the sieve.

Like the first sign of spring, I pressed the bamboo against the mesh, creating a fine yet vibrant green powder.

'Let's not rush~' I reminded myself as I carefully swirled the water into the bowl and took my whisk. The motion of the whisk became a dance of soft yet swift movements, a transformation from powder to silky liquid, finishing with a foamy crown. It's ready.

I twisted open another jar, this time yuzu preserve—a sweet yet tart concoction with an aroma that was exotically zesty and bright. I picked up a teaspoon and added a dollop to the liquid, stirring as the golden preserve dissolved and ribbons of citrus peel swirled through the green like wildflowers in a grassy meadow.

I gently heated the oat milk and gave it a foamy whisk. I swirled the milk into the matcha, watching a cloudy green come to life. The cup of possibility was ready.

The grassy notes hit first, then a lingering sweet citrusy tang streamed across my taste buds, before a feeling of warmth and comfort washed over my body like a warm hug.

Unlike coffee, which jolts you awake, it welcomes you gently with open arms, and a calm but focused alertness spreads through you from head to toe like soft light.

This is dreamy. It has awakened my slumbering senses. I am not rushing; I am being productive; I am here.

I am here in this present moment.