There’s no other time like tea-time. The sincere act of putting the kettle on, hand-picking the flavour and finding a cup is a three-step mission to soothing senses and mending the mind. Be it in the morning, afternoon or evening, the medicine for centuries is a magical healer. I believe tea is the power of positivity. A cup of tea cures me. That feeling of instant cosiness rushing through the body, warming your cogs, bringing a sensation of home and hope. The feeling of home: Somewhere you are accepted for who you are, through and through you are you. And hope? The knowledge that tomorrow will be okay. You see, when sipping on tea, you accept the moment simultaneously.
Yes, and that was it.
The moment I had been dreading- the phone call from my dad.
Somehow the studio today made me stew in grief.
“Your grandmother passed”, my dad declared in disbelief.
He hung up. I looked up.
I knew it all along, this feeling was not new but bewildering to my creative senses. That blackbird, that dark day, something was bound to lead my hope astray. That was it. My vision of being big had dissipated, disappeared in front of my eyes.
“I am in front of your eyes”, I heard a whisper in my ear, sending sudden shivers down my spine.
The blackbird wasn’t to be seen, but my piece of the delicately constructed woman in front of me was all that it could be. I looked up at the tall woman with the rat and realised it was her. Who? My grandmother hadn’t left me, she was here. The hope relit my soul, but I had to howl like the wind outside, matching the melancholy, miserable mid-summer day.
I picked up the phone and called my dad back.
It went straight to voicemail.
“I’m sorry dad, but I’m here and so is grandma. Yes, and the creative spirit that she always provided me lives on in front of me. Do not fret, she is gone but she is in our hearts.”
I believed these words of encouragement would bring a sense of hope to my dad, just like my thin figure in front of me did for me.
Grandma hasn’t gone, she’s right here.