Siyang

My first memory of tea goes back to when I was five years old.

My father always carried a large cup filled with jasmine tea. I remember its wonderful fragrance, but when I took a sip, all I could taste was bitterness and astringency. For a child, it was hardly enjoyable.

When I was twelve, I began experimenting with the tea leaves we had at home. I discovered that changing the water temperature or steeping time could completely transform the flavor. For the first time, tea actually tasted good to me.

As I grew older, tea became part of my everyday routine. Like coffee or any other beverage, it was simply something I drank throughout the day.

To me, tea was just water with flavor.

Some time later, I welcomed a German friend to Hangzhou and took her to experience Chinese tea.

We sat in a quiet courtyard on a hilltop, beneath a fragrant osmanthus tree, drinking West Lake Longjing green tea with carefully prepared tea snacks.

After a few cups, she looked at me and said:

"I feel like all the tea I've ever drunk before doesn't count."

She told me about her father, who loved tea. Every morning, he would throw a handful of inexpensive tea leaves into a kettle, boil them, and pour the tea into a large thermos to drink throughout the day.

She remembered tasting it as a child. Just like my father's jasmine tea, it was intensely bitter and astringent.

Listening to her, I realized that our fathers, despite living in different countries, had almost identical relationships with tea.

Tea was practical. It provided warmth, caffeine, and flavor. It was something to drink while working or going about daily life.

And there was nothing wrong with that.

But the tea we were sharing beneath the osmanthus tree was something entirely different.

We were noticing its delicate fragrance, gentle sweetness, and the subtle changes between infusions. We were enjoying the quiet surroundings, the tea, and our conversation.

Suddenly, I remembered the words of the Wuyi tea maker.

Drink tea as tea, and water as water.

This time, I understood.

We live surrounded by convenient drinks, intense flavors, and endless distractions. Our phones constantly demand attention, and meaningful conversations often happen between notifications.

I began to see tea as an opportunity to experience something different.

I started choosing my tea more carefully, exploring different growing regions, and comparing the work of individual tea makers.

I spent more time at my tea table and less time looking at my phone.

I also began inviting friends to share tea with me.

What surprised me was how many of my Chinese friends had never experienced tea this way. Even though tea is deeply rooted in our culture, many were amazed to discover how different two Chinese teas could taste.

One might be intensely floral, another fruity and sweet, while another offered deep roasted aromas and a rich, lingering finish.

Their curiosity reminded me of my own.

And I began to wonder how many more people might enjoy discovering this side of Chinese tea.