It was December of 2014.
I went to go visit my older sister in her last year of college in New Jersey. My sister has never been a natural caretaker, and we were never even that close growing up. On top of that, she was writing her thesis to graduate, so she had no spare time nor willingness to play with her little sister. She left me to be babysat by one friend after another the whole week.
But this isn’t a rant about my sister! Although the circumstances were unfortunate, this time remains as one of the first and biggest opportunities I had to be pushed out of my comfort zone and still be able to find comfort in it.
Up until this point, I was way too sheltered. I had a dad who was beyond overprotective, controlling who I was friends with and when I could hang out with them for how long. (Mind you, I was a high schooler – not in elementary school) I was never allowed to sleep over anywhere, and he was also my main source of transportation, meaning I couldn’t go anywhere without his permission and ride. I also grew up in LA where I was always protected by the warm sun as well.
Going to New Jersey was a first for me in every way. It was my first time on a plane alone, first time in the east coast, first time experiencing the cold winter, first time without my dad, first time with no curfew, and first time being completely free to make my own choices. I went there depending on my sister to take care of me, but her outright rejection of that role actually did more for me (look at how positive I am 😏).
So there I was, without a key to any of her school buildings and creepily following people from behind to get in anywhere. And there I was, sheepishly asking my sister’s friends to hang out with me and trying hard to be the cool – not the weird – little sister. And again, there I was, shivering at every gust of the wind, cursing this dang weather and wondering how anyone lived in a place that wasn’t LA.
I was actually having fun living this little adventure of mine, watching the Christmas lights and the carol singing choir while I ran to take refuge in the warm hoagie shop and binged on a foot long hoagie stuffed with fried chicken, french fries, fried mozzarella sticks, and a tub of sauce (aka the Sanchez at Hoagie Haven – this is not a sponsorship.. though I would like that). All this I was doing alone, imagining the small town as my newly discovered treasure map.
On Christmas Eve – my last night there – my sister introduced me to one of her school friends who was sort of the black sheep in her community. We’ll call her Steph. Steph was a sweet sweet girl, but she had gone through a hell of a few years in school. I don’t want to reveal too much of her story, but she was drugged, held against her will by an upperclassman, had her tuition stolen, escaped, put in a psychiatric ward, lost a lot of her memories, etc, and now was starting school again as a freshman though she should have been graduating with my sister.
I remember meeting her and feeling an instant camaraderie. It was an especially cold night, and Steph, my sister, and I took off to Starbucks to get some warm drinks. I got myself a hot matcha latte for the first time, and we all went back to school into the basement community room below the dorms. It was dark and cozy and empty. We made ourselves at home on the couches, and that’s when Steph told me all about herself. I told her all about myself too – the prison at home and my dad’s.. ‘mistreatment’ of us. My sister moved out before my dad got worse, so she hadn’t been aware of my dad’s new developments. It was the first time I felt like I was taking off the chains that were holding me back, and I was coming into light, revealed for others to see exactly who I was. It’s a curious thing to feel so naked and raw in front of your own family member. But I had never had a conversation about my dad with my sister before, so there was finally a mutual understanding between us. Steph and I were revealing our darkest stories on our first meeting, and we could feel our stories being swallowed by the dark basement and our hearts weighing lighter.
I drank my matcha latte, and the bittersweetness and warmth of the night blended perfectly with the bittersweetness and warmth of my drink. That night was an escape from reality, a comfort within discomfort, a taste of relief, a fortress from the crisp winter, and a deep sense of intimacy and solidarity.
That’s what a matcha latte has brought me since then. It has completely intertwined with the sensations from the night of Christmas Eve. When my mind is chaotic or stressed, I seek out a matcha latte. When it’s cold out, I automatically think of holding a hot cup of matcha and warming my soul with it. And when I’m having a slow day, I treat myself to a matcha. Every time I take my first sip, it calms the world around me. It blurs reality, and for a brief moment, I feel protected in a remote place of my consciousness. Though I don’t actively think of the basement couches nor the conversation I had, I feel the way I did then whenever I have my drink. It is warmth and it is freedom.
Leave a Reply