My throat has developed something of a raspy tinge from talking all weekend. I’ve never had particularly strong vocal chords. I told myself I’d speak as little as possible today; we’ll see how long that lasts. Maybe I can drink some honey tea instead.

It wasn’t so much that I overbooked myself as plans going on for much longer than expected. Which pretty much means I didn’t get any work done, so I won’t be going to Toronto next weekend so I can catch up. Not that I really want to anymore, as the last two days have left me feeling overstimulated and satisfied. Anyway, Dan took a quick look at my chart for this month (on his own initiative) and told me not to do anything big on the 15th and 16th because it’s “risky”. I never let my horoscope determine what I do, but maybe this is the way the universe tells me to stay home.

I didn’t even have time to do my weekly grocery shopping. I’m eating stale bread and canned soups today.

The best part of the weekend was having an excuse to use the Numi Dancing Leaves teabuds and teapot that Louise bought me last Christmas, something I’d been saving for special occasions. Amazingly, I got three full steeps — which translates into six cups — out of one Golden Jasmine bud.

Those things I had been trying to forget got lost somewhere in the before I even realized it. Isn’t that what forgetting is about?

Sometimes I need these weekends. They recharge me, they give me hope, when hope is so fleeting.

I’m trying to ride that feeling, and let it carry me forward.

I just found a staple — a used, bent staple — in my loose leaf Mao Feng tea from Nihao Tea House. I don’t know if I can trust Nihao anymore, which is unfortunate, as it’s the only tea house in the vicinity.

The girl who works there is somewhat of an anomaly; a Canadian-born Chinese, I’d say only a few years younger than me, wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt. My generation of CBCs usually adapt to the Canadian way of life, eschewing the cutesy culture of Hello Kitty, designer stationary, and stuffed car ornaments. An impostor, by banana¹ standards, like a rogue staple among some tea leaves.

1. yellow on the outside, hollow on the inside [↑]

I had Darren over from Toronto for the weekend. We were going to do a movie marathon at the theatre — three in a day — but the movies all sucked. Disturbia? Georgia Rule? Please. Instead, I bought the first season of Six Feet Under, and we finished the roughly 11 hour season over two days. Now I can re-watch it with Bronwen and lend it to Pat. To be honest, I’d seen up to the second season before, but I was too stoned to remember most of it.

Darren also gave me a nice tea container. It’s rather large, since I buy my tea 50mg at a time, but better too big than too small. He also got me some chai tea, considered a wellness blend. When I asked him what for, he couldn’t give me a reason. I love gifts for no reason.

We shared our tattoo ideas, and his was the Chinese character for love on his back. Darren and Bronwen are the some of the few people I can talk openly with about love. We’re such hopeless romantics. We tell each other that we’ll never be married, not to be self-depracating, but to be honest with ourselves. We have our ideals, and we’ll never settle for anything less. It’s comforting to know that we’re not alone in our quixotic beliefs.

So I wasn’t being completely honest when I said no more tea. I’d simply switched from black to orange tea. Even that didn’t work though, and a mild panic attack had me down to even lighter, Chinese tea.

A warm, relaxing mug can be rather addicting.

The great thing about tea is that it doesn’t just taste good, it serves a purpose. Cleanses the palette. Aids digestion. Combats the Yang of greasy foods with Yin. Green tea in the morning serves to awaken the senses. Longjing calms the mind at night.

The steeping process is beautiful. Green tea is especially prone to scorching, so the water can’t be too hot, or the tea will turn bitter. Not hot enough, and the leaves won’t fully release their flavour.

All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes.

—George Orwell

On Saturday mornings I wake up a little past seven, no matter how late I was up on Friday. Get dressed, check the mail, read the news, go upstairs to cook breakfast in a pan of grease. Everything is timed perfectly. The toast is started two minutes before the eggs are broken into the pan, but only after the bacon is done. The tea starts steeping two minutes before that. Everything is ready and warm within 25 minutes.

Dolly gets a treat on the weekend mornings: a bit of Fancy Feast, or half-and-half mixed with water. Cats are lactose intolerant, so they can’t drink straight milk, but they’re drawn the fat that their noses can smell.

Bacon, bread, egg, bacon, bread, egg. I eat my breakfast in order, going clockwise around the plate, but I always save a few sips of tea for the end. Even though I’ve given up the Hong Kong style milk tea, Orange Pekeoe is an appropriate black leaf substitute, rounding out the meal.

It’s a little ritual that keeps me sane. At the end of breakfast, satisfied and full, I can reflect and recharge, down to the dregs.

Every year, as I grow older, I find that I let my tea steep a little longer. Maybe life has gotten a little too complicated, and I need the tea as a distraction, or perhaps life has become too simple, and I need the companionship of a rich mug to stimulate me.

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company.

And I’ve never needed this more than I do now.

Walking in, the first thing to notice is the aromatic smell of freshly brewed tea that permeates the air.

They wait on us using Cantonese with various accents, an assortment of dialects from minor provinces. They rudely throw the dishes on the table, and tell me that I can’t take pictures of the menu. My parents complain to me about the service, about their mainland manners, and say that they’ll never come here again.

I slowly sip my tea, and leave before it’s half finished. Even on a full stomach, I can feel myself getting uneasy.

It’s been six months since I’ve had a glass of authentic Hong Kong style milk tea. No more, I’ve decided.

Saturday mornings won’t be the same.

So…

I just finished my graphics presentation. I presented to a group of nosy people in the class, instead of only my prof and TA’s. The people who watched were quite amazed, it seemed, at what I was able to accomplish on my own. It made my proud that I was able to write the code from scratch in two days. I admit that I had one of the more interesting ideas out of the class, being dynamic as well as mathematically stimulating, as opposed to some of the static animations or cheap games that other projects consisted of. I think I had one of the lesser ambitious ideas though, since making a game look nice would be much harder than a simple simulation such as the game of life. The TA’s congratulated me afterwards, and the prof, who’s infamous for being so soft-spoken that people mistake him as coming out of a funeral, actually clapped at the end. It made me fairly proud of my presentation, although the praise of Charity, the resident CS eye candy in a faculty of the aesthetically challenged, made me even more content. It’s as if physical attractiveness gives someones opinion even more weight. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

A Griffin Powermate is glowing seductively next to my keyboard, a purchase I made over the weekend. I’m currently using it as a volume knob, and I have yet to set it as a zoom function for Photoshop, Acrobat, Word, or Ghostscript viewer. It’s so sexy that I almost put it down my pants.

After having one of the best brands of Hong Kong milk tea for a few months, I’ve switched back to the leaves provided to me by the medicine shop in Chinatown. I can taste a very distinct difference now; the latter seems to have a more fruity, earthy taste to it, and a weaker body.

I believe that I have a place for the next year. Nick and I went to look at the apartment complex across from mine, and we were extremely impressed. It’s 200 square feet bigger than the one I’m currently in, yet $50 cheaper. I will even have my own bathroom. It lacks a balcony, but a balcony is something I’m willing to sacrifice for a larger living room. We have the arrangements made, and we will try to sign something on Wednesday, to reserve an apartment on the penthouse for July. I’m a little worried that there may be some problems that only pop up after inhabiting the same living space, but I’m sure that it will be nothing I can’t deal with. I can’t even imagine leaving this city now, because of all the great friends I have here.

I should be receiving a $1500 tax return with the next two weeks. No plans have been made yet.

Fucking right. I’m having another mug of savory Hong Kong style milk tea. I wish they just made this stuff in cans, instead of having to go to make it every time. Of course, I bet that too much of this would be deleterious in some way or another.

John broke up with Julia today. Quite the big news. The incident closest to this in scale within the last year for both of us would have to be him winning in the SAC elections. At one point, Julia actually called me, and wanted to know what I knew. It felt a little awkward. Omertà.

I’ve been neglecting Moby Dick lately, and I always feel guilty about neglecting my literature. Sometimes I feel like it’s the only productive thing that I can do with my life, since it’s one of the only things that I actively do to improve myself. It’s something that I just forget about sometimes, when I’m caught in the midst of mid-terms and assignments.

I’ve even been neglecting a lot of games. I haven’t played any Supermario Sunshine, Eternal Darkness, or even Neverwinter Nights lately. The most game time I’ve been getting has been in class with my GBA. I’ve lost touch with my gaming roots. It’s like I need a new gateway game to suck me right back in again. I really enjoy SMS and Warcraft 3, to be sure, but nothing that really captures my attention for more than an hour at a time.