Years ago, I visited One 2 Tea House in Tainan for a friend’s birthday. The teahouse only serves one group of guests at a time. The group is limited to a certain size and has to make a reservation prior to their visit. The three-storey teahouse is actually near my apartment. Everytime I walked by, I could see, through the glass door, the light of the pendant lamp glowing in darkness. It was about noon when I pushed open the door to the teahouse. The interior is furnished with dark tones; but why did it feel so warm?
The service area of the teahouse is actually on the first floor; and the so-called first floor is in fact more like an attic. The stairs are a big surprise. They are very, very steep, with each step being only half the size of a foot. We took our shoes off and walked up about 20 steps to get to the first floor. The wooden floor is waxed. The dark tones of the interior made it difficult for me to get a sense of space. For a moment, I felt like I was hanging in the air. My eyes eventually adjusted to the surroundings, and what came into view right away was the big tree. Its shadow came through the window and the refraction made it look like an intrinsic part of the room.
There is a lightwell on the top floor, and right next to it is a big window. The two allow for some much needed sunlight inside as well as a stunning view that struck us completely. We sat on the ground near the lightwell. From there, we could see the tree leaves and branches dancing in the wind. The sun shone through them. It was a fragile but free-spirited tree, growing recklessly and aimlessly, on the other side of the window. Sylvia, the tea master, brought over the menu and told us regretfully, “Today is the last day you’ll see this tree. It will be gone tomorrow. The neighbor has called someone to take it down.”
It was at that moment the “tree” turned into the subject of discussion. Sylvia was so eager to tell us about the tree, “It has always been there, even before I moved in. It’s like a neighbor and also a gift of coincidence.” We could probably spend the entire day talking about trees, and of course it’d be nice to sip on a cup of tea as we speak.
Sylvia calls herself a “tea boy”. What a humble and cute way to address herself, I thought. She works alone in the teahouse. The tea cakes she serves are made by her friend. I wasn’t expecting that the English muffins would go so well with Taiwanese tea. But wait, wasn’t it I always had English tea with muffins when having English-style afternoon tea back in Hong Kong? This tea boy showed amazing ingenuity in breaking the stereotypes of traditional Taiwanese teahouses. She served us the very first brew. I don’t know much about tea, but she is such a gentle teacher. “Making tea with a small pot requires more utensils and takes more time. The surroundings also play a big part. It’s more work to brew a small cup than a big mug. But it’s the little, trivial things that calm our mind and lead us to our soul.” If it’s true that the little, trivial things are meant to calm us down and lead us step by step towards the goal, then maybe, maybe the other things that we thought were troubling us are actually meant to calm us down as well?
For how many times and for how long the tea should be brewed is not simple mathematics; it’s the accumulation of experience. The tea leaves change every time they are soaked in hot water. The color would change and the fragrance would change. “Gong dao bei (fairness cup) is actually a fairly new invention of the modern world. It came upon mainly for reasons such as tea ceremonies and fair distribution of tea.” Sylvia answered all my questions about tea as she served us our cuppa. Out of my expectation, drinking tea is not all about rules and formality. Maybe it’s the tree nearby that made me feel at ease. I got more and more comfortable sipping the tea. After the demonstration, Sylvia went to prepare the refreshments, and we were left alone to brew, to serve, and to drink our tea.
It is possible that all fears and worries are sprouted by unknowns. It’s not easy for us humans to deal with the unknown for we only have very limited knowledge about our surroundings. But as I watched the steam swirling up from the kettle, the tea leaves dancing in the boiling water, and the clear, brown liquid turning into a cup of tea, fears and worries slowly transformed into happy memories.
I recently heard from Sylvia. “That tree has always been there, even before I moved in. It’s like a neighbor and also a gift of coincidence. Taking down the tree is like parting. We all have to say goodbye one day, whether it’s to the happiness or unhappiness in life. I love having the tree outside my window; but now that it’s gone, all I can do is to put on some sheer curtains to make the space feel more complete. Unexpectedly, without the shade of the tree, the light that comes through to the first floor (ground floor) is now a little silvery blue. It is very refreshing, and at the same time, very sacred.” Sylvia is still making tea everyday like she used to, but the new scenery in the teahouse has inspired her to look at things from new perspectives. “Every brew of tea is unique. Just like flowers blossom, no one blooming is the same. We, and the tea, should all live in the moment.”