It was somewhere in during my adolescence that I developed my taste for hot tea. Sometimes, I wonder if it coincided with when I first became fascinated with the far east. Maybe it doesn't matter. Like my tastes for good coffee or wine, tea is something I have found I enjoy.
There was the girl who bought me bags of loose-leaf tea and an infuser one Christmas. I thought this was lovely, though, sadly, the only time she wanted to have tea with me was after I decided done and over in a case of too little, too late. From that I gained an appreciation for loose-leaf over pre-bagged teas. Perhaps that was just a little bit of snobbish on my part.
These days, I sometimes joke I'm a tea addict, although perhaps that description is inaccurate. I know I can go without just as easily as I can coffee or wine. In fact, the only things I really need are food, water, and oxygen. Tea, like a great deal of other things, is an indulgence of mine.
Still, if I do not have at least one cup a day, I find myself annoyed with me. Perhaps it's because of all the supposed health benefits. Even and especially the ones purported with green teas. I liken it to when I sit for my daily clearing and focusing of the mind, but don't sit for too long; that I've somehow short-changed myself.
There's something relaxing and meditative in sipping a steaming cup. Whether that's first thing in the mourning, right after sitting, or later in the afternoon whilst watch the world go by. Sometimes, whilst taking in some of that warm liquid, I feel as though I'm taking a sacrament. One, which only I know and understand.