Hagintha Woods

I’ve recently come to the realisation that my tea is hurting my sleep.

The revelation is new, but in truth, its been a long time coming. When I look back now, there have been more than a few nights spent staring up at the ceiling, muscles tired but twitching, eyebags heavy. However, no matter how often I close my eyes, my mind whirls within the inert container of my body, knocking on bones and panicking over the myriad of things we might have forgotten or have to do tomorrow.

Damningly, when I cast my memory back to those nights, those long hours of midnight wakefulness, when saliva builds in the back of my mouth along the bottom of my tongue, it carries the taste of tea, like a fingerprint at a crime scene.

I love my tea.

I started young, drinking tea in chinese restaurants, and I never really stopped. My drug of choice is chinese tea, (though I have a sweet spot for matcha and hojicha as well) and my cupboard is always well-stocked with pleasant longjing, aromatic oolong and light bai yin zhen.

My current favourite: a large tea cake of gu shu pu erh I managed to find in taiwan and have been slowly chipping away pieces of over two years.

I love how tea engages the senses, the way the smell curls into your nose, the heat of it warms your fingers and then your body from the inside. I love the way the tastes play on the tongue, evolving as the leaves unfurl with each brew, slightly different each time. I love how sensitive it is, the way your emotions translate into the speed and strength of your pour, and the way the flavour shifts.

There is presence in the making of tea, and I love the way it invites you to enter the moment, the way it reflects your mentality within its taste and consistency.

Now, I’m not a tea sommelier by any means. I like tea, and I buy what I try and like, but I am not skilled enough to intuit notes in a brew or know the exact right amount of time to brew a cup. But I love the experience, and I love inviting my friends to join in it with me.

As such, this truth is a hard one to swallow.

I had a fair amount of denial at first, thinking back to days when I was younger and could drink cups of the stuff before passing out and sleeping for the next 12 hours. Even when I think on that, however, I know it is with the stubborn denial of a man reminiscing about how much alcohol he drank during his wild party days. My body is maturing with the years, along with my mind, and with it, there are changes I have to accept.

All the same, I love what I love. All the same, I also love my sleep. So I do the science, and the math. Now that I acknowledge the effects, I experiment.

After some trial and error, I tend to be able to sleep as long as I stop drinking before 3pm. I still feel a little annoyed about it, and occasionally try to push it a little later, and re-suffer the known consequences. Each batch of leaves can often be used multiple times, and it feels like such a waste to stop after 2 or 3 brews.

One of the workarounds I’ve found is to brew a little extra that I can put into a thermos and drink the next day.

And as I do this, I feel a little rush of pride at being able to find a healthier way of enjoying what I love. Of finding a way of balancing the rhythms of my life and my pleasure in a way where I am happy. I stay open to discovery, work with the answer, and move forward.

It is navigating myself and my habits within the world, and just learning my body and how it wishes to fit into the reality around me. As time goes on, I feel myself doing this more often, measuring myself against spaces meant for me, or spaces whereby I’d like to go.

Within this process, I’ve learned to call these small, minute readjustments what they are: self-prioritisation and crafting one’s own ideal lived experience as much as you can.

Previously, if you asked me what was self-prioritisation, or being yourself, I would have told you that it would be standing up for yourself when no one would. It would mean holding fast to what you want, breaking things and refusing to sit down and behave until others agreed to listen. It meant banding together with likeminded individuals, being unafraid to start fights and staying true to yourself. I would have described it most like a burst of anger, a flash of sadness, and a feeling of indignation.

But as time passes, situations grow more complex.

Previously, those boundaries I pushed back against, the split-second decisions I made, I do not regret. In a world that prefers to make snap judgements and then move on, these actions afforded me space and freedom. They gave me the chance to expand rather than contract, and within said space, I was able to find my voice. They were the shattering of illusions, the strength to break one’s chains and run out into the woods, to be in the company of the creatures with the sharp teeth.

But now that I have a clearer idea on what I sound like, about who I am, (I don’t think you ever really finish crafting an identity, though you can make a solid foundation) staying true to myself is now often something quieter.

It is the discernment between knowing when someone else’s misstep is accidental or malicious, and if that even changes the verdict. It lives within having multiple tasks that are good for you in certain ways and bad for you in others, and deciding what you want to do today.

Breaking myself out of the black and white mindset meant that I did not escape a world of black to find myself in a reality of white. Instead, I discovered a world of colour, one where which colours are good for myself was a question that only I could answer.

Now, self-prioritisation has shifted into finding a way to exist in my own truth as much as possible.

After all, I live in a community where I have my own responsibilities (as it should be) but I am also an adult and can choose what I want to do in a way that balances that- that is not righteous self-importance nor a minimizing of the self. It is being true to my wants and desires, but also my reality and responsibilities, my imperatives to be a moral person that contributes to my community and does not cause harm. I am no longer someone that stays quiet till I can no longer, that then is overpowered by and lashes out with my own all-consuming rage.

I am someone who modulates my existence, not because I need to be toned down but because I want to balance out all the things I want to do with my life. I am someone who now has the bandwidth to see my surroundings more clearly, and walk away from the trap before I have to hear the snap of metal.

For example, I could be sending out job resumes right now. Whilst I enjoy the free time my unemployment has given me, it is not a situation I can stay in long term, for I require money to live in my society. That is why I pre-emptively saved up whilst I was working, to be able to support myself, but if it goes on too long and my finances run out, I will be leaning on the people that care about me financially, no matter what I choose to do. I do not want this, so I updated my resumes, and am filling out applications regularly.

I could also be sleeping, or eating some chocolate on the couch. I know that would rest my physical body, give me some pleasurable endorphins for a little while. I had some exercise in the morning, and have another bout later in the evening, so my body would probably appreciate that.

But I am writing this, because I am proud of the adjustments I have made. Because this helps me concretise what I learn into tangible lessons that I can more easily take with me. Because I know that this is both work and play, that this will take effort to craft, but at the end of it, the pleasure and satisfaction is one that my soul can drink from for longer. Because I am proud of this, and I’d like to share it with others.

And these choices happen every day, sometimes every moment, and each is different. My current choice is based on the fact that I have sent out applications yesterday, I’ve had a full, nutritionally balanced lunch, (and am not superbly craving a sweet treat, though I would not be opposed to one) and I can do a quick stretch before I head out. The context and choices shift with the tides, not necessarily bad or good, and I am shifting with them accordingly, keeping my balance upon the shifting sands. Most importantly, there are numerous choices. I can always choose again.

What I associated with strength was breaking out of cages, of tearing down walls and reinventing who I was. And I was right. But sometimes, strength is more peaceable.

Sometimes, strength is knowing not to step into a cage, knowing not to hand the key to someone who would turn it just to see me struggle. Sometimes, strength is the courage to look at something without bias, and to accept the conclusion that rises up to meet me. Sometimes, it is protecting the new identity I’ve forged in the fire, living it and no longer letting it erode to the point where I have to keep remaking it over and over again.

Sometimes, it is as simple as knowing to build my sandcastle further up from the water, so it won’t destroyed by every incoming wave.

Letting my self-concept grow, to breathe and have growing pains, respecting it enough to not allow just anyone access whilst it is still forming. Knowing the difference between hurt and harm, need and what others would like me to need.

Believing I’m worth it, taking steps to live that truth, and trusting that there will be people who will see it too, who won’t ask me to beg or lower myself. It is something I have needed to learn and practice, that comes in both the large and the small.

So I look at the clock, and when I see that it is 2.30pm, I brew one more serving for tomorrow. I drain my current cup, appreciate how the dregs of the leaves look a little like a sandbar I saw on the beach once.

I throw the tea leaves away, wash the dishes and place them on the drying rack as I hum a little song. I do a little stretch as I leave my abode, and as I hear the click of the key, I know that as long as I know and can trust myself, I’ll be just fine.