Seven Years Becomes Eight,
but the Song Remains the Same
A retrospective
It is a Wednesday afternoon in Bangkok. I sit upon my couch listening to Johann Sebastian Bach.
The blue Japanese teapot I got in Yokohama rests upon the coffee table. I had made a pot of Herbal Rose Tea last night, and had forgotten to clean it out.
It smiles at me. “You look awfully tired,” it says.
“Well yes I am,” I say to it. “But its only a passing feeling.”
The teapot stretches, and remembers a time more exciting, when it floated in between the Earth and Mars. Then it lets out a sigh, steam spewing from its spout.
“You know,” it says, “I feel rather hungover.”
“Rose Tea seems to do that to you.” I say, with a smile. “Shall I make some more?”
“Please do,” says the addict pot, “But not now. I need to rest.”
Flutes flutter in the air behind the strings. Outside, the air quality is horrendous.
We wear masks to protect ourselves from the PM levels and to upset the liberal and conservative tourists alike.
The sun is bright, the sky is blue but tinged with the grey of smog. The toxic qualities are beautiful, just as they are in people when you learn how to squeeze them out into a cistern and force them to be confronted head on—much to the horror of the toxic host.
What was that business about a little bit of poison, ruining a glass of water? It’s possible to build up a tolerance to almost anything. A little bit at a time.
I bought the Rose Tea in Beijing. The woman called me over in a candy shop. There were five big barrels of tea. I tried each one and bought the Berry Tea and the Rose Tea. Of course, I later found the same teas in Chinatown here in Bangkok, but I had to go to Beijing to learn about them in the first place.
My teas are all lined up in caddies that are either too big or too small for most of them, because when I bought the caddies, I didn’t bother to read the size measurements on Lazada.
I had the same problem with towels during covid lockdown. I ordered bath towels but they turned out to be dishtowels.
Size related purchases are the most difficult on Lazada. I once ordered a Hamsa thinking that it would be of a large size only to find it no bigger than my pinky nail. Still, its the thought that counts. That Hamsa does its job where I put it.
The Waltz of the Flowers by Tchaikovsky just came on. The light in here is dim, due to some unseen cloud-cover. The apartment is a bit messy, but I’m in no mood to clean. There are two oranges waiting to be eaten, and a bottled Thai tea in the fridge. It is 1:01 PM. What more can be said of this afternoon?
I look to the teapot.
“Anything more to say today?” I ask
“Yes of course!” Says the teapot, motioning to the red jacket upon my chair.
“Ah yes!” And I turn to the camera, and smile. “Happy Chinese New Year.
Welcome to the Year of the Snake.”
The rattling tails echo, the hissing cobras sway, the pythons lounge quietly upon the branches. The mice scurry around and about.
The soft rain of the jungle falls.
The Waltz of the Flowers reaches its crescendo, and I make another pot of tea, as the day pleasantly progresses.
Somewhere outside, the sun becomes visible through the clouds.
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