Narrative ~ Written by Michelle Lin
SATURDAY: GREEN TEA WITH ESPRESSO
Illustrations by Michelle Lin
I woke up today tired again. Tired from lack of sleep. Tired of the same surroundings. Tired of existing. But I continue, as I do every morning. As I feel my spirits start to sink, I turn on the stove and place my tiny kettle above the flames. The steam starts to rise, and the smell of my green tea rises with it. I am calmed by the familiar scent. Waiting for my kettle to whistle, I open the freezer and crack out a few ice cubes. It is summer after all. Placing them in my favorite glass with some honey, I hear the whistle behind me. Click, drag, hiss.
The hot tea makes contact with the ice, melting the top ones. They had a good life while it lasted. Staring at the glass of green tea, I realize I’m going to need more than just this to make it through today. Turning away once more, I make a shot of espresso, and pour it over the remaining ice. This should be enough to help me crawl through the day.
SUNDAY: CINNAMON LATTE
I fell asleep last night on a zoom call at 3 in the morning. Feeling safe and loved, my body didn’t feel weird snoozing away in front of those who I’ve come to love. It was sweet waking up in the morning with texts of “we screamed your name so many times, you were out like a light.” Once the morning came however, I again fell into the sadness of not seeing them in person. But that time will just have to be reserved for the future.
Gliding to the kitchen with the sound of birds chirping outside, I reach for my espresso maker. Filling it with ground coffee beans and cold water, I set it on the stove and stand in silence. As I wait for my shot of happiness to finish brewing, I remember when I used to sip on a cinnamon latte at age 16 to soothe my nerves and warm myself up. I would’ve liked to share that drink with the friends I don’t get to see. So as I wait, I pull the jar of cinnamon down from the cupboard, open it up, and take a whiff of the scent. Memories in a bottle.
Sprinkling the cinnamon in my mug, I pour my espresso over it, watching the swirl of powder dance. Finishing off with frothed fake milk and a sad attempt at latte art, I sit with my mug in front of the window. I hope the sun will warm me up, because I don’t think even this cinnamon latte will this morning.
MONDAY: STRAWBERRY MILK
Monday mornings are the only mornings where I wake before noon. Nowadays with no schedule it’s hard to get myself out of bed. But every Monday I crawl out of bed at 8 am to take a chemistry quiz that drains my soul. These mornings I long for the simplicity of childhood, when the looming thoughts of adulthood were non-existent. Submitting my quiz that I hope I at least got some points on, I lean back in my chair in the dining room. Adorning the walls are photos of me and my brothers as children, pulling each other’s hair and covered in dirt. I really do miss those days.
So as I get up and start breakfast, I decide to make a drink that reminds me of summer days as a child. The drink we’d have after visiting the park, sweaty and smelling like playground equipment. We’ve changed a lot since then. Setting a pan on the stove, I drop in chopped strawberries and sugar, watching the red fruit turn into a syrup. I’d eat this by the spoonfuls if I could. Grabbing the most ridiculous cup I can find in the cupboard, I spoon the strawberry syrup in.
Once I've decided how large I want my sugar rush to be, I pull the almond milk out from the fridge and give it a shake. Pouring the milk in and giving the glass a stir, the strawberry milk looks the same as it did when I was a kid. I even make one for my brother for old times sake. And as we sit at the kitchen counter sipping away, I can’t help but think that we didn’t change that much after all.
TUESDAY: MANGO SMOOTHIE
I am experiencing an intense feeling of pride this morning. Even as I’ve woken up at 12 pm, I feel proud of myself because last night I accomplished something I’ve never done before. I stood up to someone for myself and didn’t feel an immense wave of guilt after. This will come as a surprise, but I tend not to confront those whom I love. But today, I feel like a new me.
I float to the kitchen like I’m on a cloud, still ecstatic about the little feat I have achieved. Spotting the ripening mangoes on the counter, I decide this morning that I deserve a delight in the form of a mango smoothie. Setting the blender down and grabbing a handful of ice, I relish in the feeling of the cold cubes in my hand. Clink, clink, clink. Cutting the mango in half and scooping out the yellow flesh, I add it in with a splash of almond milk and some mint.
The noise of the blender spreads around the house, and I watch as everything gets mixed together. I am tempted to dance around the kitchen as I wait, but as my family walks in I’m reminded that I don’t want to get roasted this morning. I opt for a light hum instead as I pour out my smoothie. Holding it up and taking a sip, I feel happy in this long summer of unknowns and wishful thinking.
WEDNESDAY: BLACK SESAME LATTE
With a day of studying only half done, I stare out the window in silence. Wondering if this is all worth it, if any of this is even real. Welcome to existential crisis time with Michelle. Feeling hungry but not wanting to cook today, I run through the recipes in my head. Too difficult, too lengthy, requires too much brain power. I finally stumble upon a drink recipe that’ll take minutes to make and will fill me up.
Pulling the shaker from the cabinet, I pour in a tablespoon of soy heavy whipping cream, almond milk, sugar, and, last but not least, 2 tablespoons of black sesame powder. Tapping the cap on and preparing myself for the cold, I start shaking. The rhythm of the shaker calms my head, as the only thing I can focus on is the frigid feeling in my hands. I welcome the distraction from my thoughts. Feeling the liquid inside thicken, I open the shaker up and pour it over half a glass of almond milk.
The result is a handsome drink that reminds me of cafe visits in China. I wonder how my favorite spots are doing. Walking outside, I sit down with my latte on the porch swing. Taking a sip, I feel the breeze run through my hair and I let out a sigh. One deserves a break once in a while, even if it feels unearned.
THURSDAY: WARM MILK AND HONEY
The shadows of the night sky peeking in through my curtains remind me that I can’t stay up forever. Checking my clock, my eyes scan over the display. 1:37 am. With a 8:30 wake up call waiting for me (and an exam waiting on the line), I decide it’s time to call it quits. Pulling at my pj’s, I stand up and stretch my body. It aches from a day of sitting down, hunched over a desk. My brain is clouded with information, but I still manage to remember the one thing I need to do before bed.
Shuffling down the stairs I try to remember when this routine started, but I draw a blank. Sometime in high school I started drinking warm milk with honey before bed. For some reason it helped my eyelids close faster and dreams approach quicker. This soothing cure was only reserved for big exam nights though, a good luck charm of sorts for my snoozing. As my body falls into the familiar rhythm of warming up milk, I take a peek outside. The moon is but a crescent tonight.
Stirring my mug of sleep remedy, I take a seat on the kitchen floor next to the glass door. Leaning my head against the cold panel, I drink milk and feel the warmth spreading through me. Peering up at the moon again, I make a silent wish to it. Even if it can’t hear me, a silent companion makes a lonely night less lonesome.
