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We Should've Just Ordered Take Out

I don't even know why I was crying. All I remember was sitting at that dinner table, having a good time. I remember silently chuckling from some joke my father made; the same joke he cracked about once a week. I remember when our food came out, and my plate being placed in front of me. With every piece of beef I threw into my mouth, my teeth gnawed down on the meat. I remember feeling like my taste buds were synchronizing with my food; like my taste buds were jump roping with each piece of meat in perfect harmony. And I wasn't keeping count of how long it took, or how many bites I had taken, but it all came to me at once. I stood up from my seat and ran straight to the bathroom. I remember thinking that my parents thought I had gotten sick or really needed to take a piss. I kept my head down the whole walk to the bathroom. I remember locking the door and looking in the mirror. My face had gotten red. And I don't mean tomato red. I mean red like the tongues I used to color in when I was a kid, because I thought my tongue resembled the color of blood and balloons. I fell to the floor and heard the tears hitting every tile on the floor like they were playing a game of hopscotch. I remember feeling tears rolling down my cheeks and tasting salty water, but I don't remember feeling any certain way. I just remember thinking that I was really in the mood for some Mexican food and wondering why I had chosen Korean barbecue. I thought that maybe pointless questions would take away the numbness I was feeling (which writing it now, seems pretty ironic).

When we had gotten home, my parents asked me why I had been crying. I'm not really sure how they knew, but I figured they wondered what was taking me so long, and observed me as I took tiny, slow bites of the cake that had arrived after I came back to the table. I assumed that they had thought that I had trouble with a friend or maybe that my boyfriend had broken up with me. Honestly, I wish I had a reason why I was crying; a breakup or fight or even a fucking death. I wondered how many years I wasted with my desire to live, before I finally realized that I had been created to die.

Matcha and the Art of Noticing

On Samovar

This morning, while sipping whisked matcha from my favorite tea bowl, I noticed the frothy, milky consistency of the tea. The slightly astringent, grassy, warm-cream taste. I could feel its buttery body across my lips, swirl the deliciousness in my mouth, and then gingerly swallow it, savoring the delicateness of this shade grown, exotic green tea.

Sitting there in the simple present moment, I noticed the tea.

The ability to notice more of life, the little things specifically, correlates directly to how good you feel about yourself, other people, the situation you’re in, and the state of the world. There are so many distractions pulling on our attention, that’s the stress of it all is even said to make us a bit crazy. And that’s why noticing is so important.

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