Today, while drinking tea, I suddenly realized—am I really drinking tea, or have I stopped myself for a while? In between work, in a rush of thoughts, or out of some unknown fatigue, we often say, “A cup of tea would be nice.” No one says, “I need some rest,” or “My mind is very heavy.” When we are behind the tea, we want to sit with ourselves for a while. That cup of tea is no longer just tea—it becomes our silent companion.
The life of a cup of tea begins very simply. In a corner of the kitchen. Water is poured into the pot—absolutely clean, carefree. Just like our early days. There was no pressure then, no expectations. But as soon as the fire starts, everything changes. The water starts boiling, it becomes restless. Life is like that too. At some point, the fire starts—of responsibility, of reality, of people's words. We slowly start to change.
Then the tea leaves fall. Small leaves, ordinary in appearance. But they change the color of the water. Some people come into our lives just like that. They don't talk much, they don't even discuss much—but they change our insides. A friend, a colleague, a stranger—one thing about whom lingers in our minds for a long time.
Sugar is added. Some give more, some less. Some don't give it on purpose. Happiness in life is like that too. Not everyone's life is equally sweet. Some are satisfied with a little, some are empty even with a lot. But just as tea is difficult without sugar, life becomes equally difficult without happiness.
Milk comes slowly. Milk softens the tea, brings balance. There are people in life like milk—whose presence allows us to be strong, but not hard. Mother, someone dear, or someone who just feels peaceful when they are by our side. Tea is fine without milk, but with milk, tea becomes our own. Tea starts to boil. It takes time. If you rush, the taste is lost. Life doesn't like rushing either. We want to grow up quickly, succeed quickly, understand everything quickly. But no—some things boil over time. If you have too much, it burns, if you have too little, it remains raw.
At one time, the tea is poured. Away from the fire. It seems that this is the end, but in fact, that is when the tea finds its place—in the cup. The cups are different. Some are shiny, some are old, some are broken. But the taste of tea does not depend on the cup. Human life is the same—even if the external conditions are different, the inner feelings are almost the same.
The first sip is careful. It is very hot. Then there is less talk, more feeling. The beginning of life is like this. We understand less, feel more. The fear of getting burned if we are a little careless.
The middle sips are comfortable. Then the tea listens. Some talk at this time, some are silent. The middle period of life is also like this—we learn to speak our minds then, and we also learn to keep many things secret.
Towards the end, the tea gets cold. Many people are no longer interested. Some keep it, some throw it away. But the tea has not cooled down through their fault—time has cooled it down. People are like this towards the end of their lives too. Time takes away their warmth, their importance decreases. But that is when experience is at its greatest.
When a cup of tea is finished, the cup remains empty. A little stain, a little color remains at the bottom. Even when life ends, people leave something behind—memory, words, influence.
The life of a cup of tea is very short. But within that short life, we find ourselves again and again. Maybe that is why we look for tea again and again. Because through tea, we understand our own life, even for a short time—silently, silently, like humans. ☕
