December 17th, 2012
There’s a set of small tea cups my father favours at home in Japan. They are always placed neatly and carefully on the top of the dining kitchen shelf. They’re white, simple, light, smooth and delicate. Every single night, after dinner, my father chooses the white small tea cup and serves his green tea. He takes his tea seriously and likes to drink it out of his favourite cup. I have the same habit. I don’t drink green tea every night like my father, but I do have my favourite cups to drink coffee or tea out of daily. Something about the cup’s texture, colour or its size, it’s such a small detail but it makes my daily routine a little more special. Clearly it was my father who taught me how to appreciate things like that in daily life.
My father had an opportunity to visit the pottery master in Mashiko (Tochigi), Japan, who made his favourite tea cups. So I followed.
In the middle of nowhere, deeper in the mountain, far away from other houses, there was an old house standing quietly and peacefully.
The master’s words were not too many. When I saw his aged hands, the story was there.