“We have teacups for green tea,” Mother told me.
“Thanks, but I’m fine drinking green tea from a mug.”
I have been doing so for a while.
In chapter one of my life, I did take my green tea in a little porcelain teacup with no handle. That is what the people around me always did, and I did the same.
Outside my tiny world, however, I noticed that people enjoyed their green tea in various ways. I bought a mug cup once I left home, and it accompanied me across oceans to different continents. A cup of green tea always assured me when I wondered about the unknown. On days I felt dread from my own ineptitude, I sipped herbal tea. Strong Darjeeling validated me at every feat, and the aroma and sweetness of hot chocolate soothed me when the fear of being left alone immobilized me. The cup was my companion, comrade, and confidante, providing caffeine, sugar, or whatever I needed then. Chapter two of my life ended when I finally, after over three decades, threw it in the trash.
In the third chapter, I prefer to drink my hot green tea from a nondescript, large cup with a handle.