W

hen
I
think

about
it

too
much,
I

wonder why I even go into
all the effort of zapping
water with waves of energy
just to soak some leaves in
it so it turns a slight shade
that water is not supposed
to be, for me to then sweeten
it with copious amounts of
honey that will only make
my sedentary body softer.

I started drinking tea in

high school. I’m not really
sure why. Probably because
tea is easier to make than
coffee. Operating a coffee
maker required a level of
commitment
I
was
not

ready for. Microwaves are
easy.

I’ve only ever made tea

using a microwave and
with every new microwave
I have to learn exactly how
long it’ll take to get the
water just right. At home,
put it in for 1 minute and
45 seconds every time. At
school, it’s 1 minute and
30 seconds if I’m using a
small mug and 2 minutes if
I’m feeling patient enough
to let it cool before I burn
my tongue. I’m a brunette
Goldilocks with a different
preference of bland food.

—
I
could
look
at
one

thousand
pictures
and

never
recall
the
same

feelings as when I inhale
the steam from a mug of
tea and the first sip touches
my tongue. The smell, the
taste, the burning I can
trace down my esophagus
sends my mind reeling back
in time.

—
I don’t know how to spell

chamomille but I know
how it smells and the smell
makes me think of my mom.

Last semester it took

three weeks before I was
diagnosed with mono and
I learned that a phone call

is not the same as a hug.
Six-hundred
miles
later,

my mom was in Ann Arbor
and not leaving until I was
better. We carried bags
of saltines and soup into
a house we rented in a
neighborhood by the train
tracks. The living room had
one lamp, lace curtains and
everything was a shade of
off-white.

I cried because I was

20 years old and with my
mother who had done the
nicest thing anyone had
ever done for me. Her hands
held me, and my hands held
mugs of tea. The tea made
me better then, but now
it makes me uneasy. If I
can’t take care of myself
when I’m sick, will I ever
feel independent? I tell
myself to swallow the tea
and remember that there is
strength in needing others.

—
Green
tea
has
the

aftertaste of the wet soil
where my sister and I hiked.

If a tree falls in the

middle of the woods and
nobody’s there to hear it, it
still makes a sound. I know
because no one was there
to hear us but our words
shook the leaves.

It was humid and we

were
both
carrying
40

pounds on our backs and we
hadn’t spent so much time
together since Christmas.

Now when I drink green

tea, I think about how
much I miss you. I want to
be home and running into
your room to jump on your
bed. I want to plan our next
trip and vow that no matter
how tired we get we will
not get tired of each other. I
want to be back on that trail
and take back the words I
said. But once a tree falls,
it is too heavy to be lifted
back up.

I drink green tea and

think about how all we
could do was keep walking
and
I
remember
that

sometimes the best way out
is through.

—

I hear the radio when I

drink English breakfast tea.

Some mornings it was

NPR, some mornings it
was the local show talking
about celebrity gossip that
no one wanted to hear at 7
a.m. My mug is a stress ball
I squeeze between my legs
as I sit in traffic. I balance a
cup of yogurt on top of the
steering wheel that I won’t

have time to finish before
the bell rings.

My mug has ridges on

the handle. I used to know
exactly how many ridges
there were. My fingers
traced them up and down,
counting 1, 2, 3… my eyes
flick up and around the
room but I don’t want
to make eye contact so I
continue to raise the mugs
to my lips even though
there is no tea left.

Eventually high school

ends. Now I have a different
travel mug with smooth
sides. With no ridges to
count, I open and close the
lid: open, close, open, close,

open, close.

—
Christmas has a smell

that is Trader Joe’s Candy
Cane Lane tea. At home,
the box of tea is still on the
same shelf in the pantry
but I can’t find my favorite
mug.

I lay on my bed as my

family moves around the
house. I haven’t been home
all semester and suddenly I
feel like a boulder dropped
into a river, with the water
continuing to rush around
me. I’m not sure if home is
home anymore and I can’t
fall asleep.

The tea still tastes the

same. Sometimes you have
to look for what stays
constant in all the change.

—
A bit behind on the food

trend scene, I recently got
into Chai. The combination
of spices make me feel
a color deeper than the
orange of fall leaves, and I
love the feeling of fullness
the milk leaves in my
stomach.

I am not sure what Chai

will teach me. I am not
sure what memories will
flood my mind when I
smell cinnamon or ginger
or cloves. Maybe I will
remember how it felt to be
20 — knowing who I am
and who I want to be, but
not really knowing how
to reconcile those. I might
remember my purple pen
and journal that I took
out at every coffee shop as
I procrastinated writing
papers that would actually
get me a grade. I hope the
taste reminds me of what it
felt like to be able to change
my mind, make mistakes,
be forgiven and pour myself
into my passions.

In the end, I am thankful

I take a couple minutes out
of every day to heat some
water.

3C
Wednesday, October 18, 2017 // The Statement

Personal Statement: Steeped in hot water

BY AMELIA CACCHIONE, MANAGING PHOTO EDITOR

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY