I know now that there are many different sorts of tea. Yes, there's the earl grey and ceylon and all the lovely flavoured rose or th� pommes, even darjeeling. i know how they come in little mini crates for sale, and how a whole bunch of them were thrown overboard in the famous 'boston tea party' (oh how the sea must have tasted that day), protesting a rise in taxes or import tariffs.

thanks to you, i know now that there's osmanthus, jasmine, teas made of flowers, peony, tie guan yin, long jing (dragon's well?), green tea with all the specimens neatly dried and pressed and cured, like little strips of tobacco. there's tea from yunnan which comes in a sphere. ok it's not what you have with bak kut teh. served from red sea earthenware teapots and teacups, which you have to see a sea to understand. understand, then, that you shouldn't use scalding hot water, perhaps 85 degrees would do, we don't want to bleach the tea leaves of all their flavour. rinse it once, pour it out, soak the leaves again, pour out the first round. you can go ahead to appreciate it all, smell it, as you do wine. but what remains, the consumption, is besides the point. in this teahouse on duxton road, in a refurbished shophouse next to a narrow street, where a fire would possibly consume thousands of dollars of tea leaves.

if, like the japanese, the art of making tea demands an entire life of servitude, well, then shouldn't you be proud of yourself. even if you stumbled upon it, i guess it's great that you're spreading this word to all that don't have it.

wouldn't it be great, if we could divine our lives through reading tea leaves. or how the sweep of a hand speaks peace, the rising vapour the ascension of the soul onto a higher plane. as if in the details sins are forgiven, cleansed by liquid. friendships forged, or learning how to be alone. all that, from a humble little beverage?