Watching Tea Leaves
I woke up in a strange land, with a dream of a willow tree swiftly fading, and a vague feeling of nostalgia or despair. But I’ll feel fine soon, I said to my cup of tea, because I’ve grown accustomed to my new life, and every day here is an adventure and a challenge, and I love adventure and challenge. Because I can speak the language, I can communicate, and when I see the willow trees green beside the canal, I can tell a stranger about the one my father planted in the backyard, how it grew as I grew. Because I can sit in a tea house and listen to the soothing sound of the guzheng while I sip my tea. Because I know how to use chopsticks, I like to eat dumplings dipped in vinegar, and I like to watch slender green tea leaves slowly floating, one leaf at a time, to the bottom of tall glass. Slowly dropping, like my life, which I have wasted. And the tea leaves said: exile is not a place, but a habit of feeling homeless.