Gestern noch.


Erst Gestern noch im Parc de l’hermitage gelegen und von Spatzen, Blüten und Balkongeländern zum Lesen gezwungen worden. Erst vor einigen Tagen, sagt das Gefühl, hast du Angst und Blut geschwitzt, um deinen Bachelor zu beenden. Ja. Und ich dachte, das schaffe ich nie rechtzeitig. Und falls doch, dann wird der ganze Schwachsinn nicht rechtzeitig korrigiert. Das Gefühl nickt. Die Bestätigung kam dann einen Tag, bevor ich meinen Master in einer anderen Stadt anfing. Zum Glück. Das Gefühl schaut fragend. Ja, das war dann einige Wochen lang meine Geschichte. Also das kurze Anekdötchen, welches man Fremden hinwirft, wenn man eigentlich nichts zu sagen hat. Hach ja, das war ein Stress! Gestern die Bachelor Bestätigung und heute schon den Master anfangen! Aber eigentlich hat genau dies, die Flicken zusammen gehalten. Weil du keine Zeit zum Nachdenken hattest, sagt das Gefühl. Ich nicke. So ist es. Und Gestern ist jetzt einen Monat her. Mal wieder betrogen von der Zeit, denke ich. Oder von dir selbst, weil du diese nicht genutzt hast. Ich hebe die Augenbrauen, aber das Gefühl weiss, dass es recht hat. Und jetzt, da du dich an den Stress gewöhnt hast, schaltet die Zeit einen Gang runter und das Hamsterrad im Kopf wird wieder in Betrieb genommen. Wir nicken. So ist es. In meinem Kopf sieht es schlimmer aus, als im Keller meiner Eltern. Im Keller stehen die Objekte der letzten vier Jahre in Kisten verpackt. Teilweise auch in Tüten. Aber man kann noch so knapp hin und her laufen. In meinem Kopf sind die Gedanken der letzten vier Jahre quer über den Boden des Alltags verstreut. Einige hängen von der Decke. Andere sitzen zwischen Erinnerungen und Schädelwand in den Lücken. Was für ein Saustall, sagt das Gefühl. Ich nicke. Es wird Zeit, dass ich aufräume. Es wird vor allem Zeit, dass du ausmistest, sagt das Gefühl. So ist es. Die kleinen Kisten zuerst, ja?

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tea classism


The last time my boyfriend and I were in Belgium we had the pleasure to be invited by a whole bunch of friends for various meals, thus not only enjoying their company but also shamelessly being fed by different people everyday. I love eating. And I love being in other people’s homes. The fact that 3 out of 4 them also had dogs and were readily preparing vegan dishes for us (or letting us cook vegan for everyone) only made it better.

However there was one thing that struck us and ended up making me feel uncomfortable: tea. To be honest I’m not a huge expert on tea, so much by way of introduction. The only reason I know many types of tea is me having worked as a waitress in a restaurant with a ridiculously large tea selection. Which we had to know by heart in order to rain it down on unsuspecting customers, in case they would dare to ask what types of tea we had.
Apart from that we accumulated many teas in our flat ever since I made tea advent calendars for my friends and family, after which we got stuck ourselves with a ridiculously large tea selection (which then stayed there for ages, because it turns out we are not terribly experimental in that area).

But you might have already guessed it: when I talk about teas, I mean teas in fairly cheap little tea bags. No leaves here. No intricate, flavor-containing packaging. And so it came to be that I ended up feeling a bit out of space when one of our friends offered to make everyone a cup, upon which she spread a sizable collection of nicely packed organic teas on the table for us to choose. Monsieur and I shyly took one each, but as we both struggled to stuff the leaves into the infuser we looked at each other and realized we were thinking the same thing: at home we heat water in the microwave and then throw in a bag labelled peppermint. Which is fairly unromantic compared to bohemian raspberry and lemon vanilla tisane. And no, I wish I was making this shit up but I’m not. Recently we found a chocolate herbal tisane in the office cafeteria. Nothing can surprise me anymore in the tea kingdom. But while some of those names are just as silly is having 30 different packs of dried leafs in your cupboard (whether bagged or not), the situation still made me feel bad.

And then I realized why. The tea had become a metaphor to me. Not only the tea itself but having a proper teapot, a modern kettle, the cute sugar bowl and the ritual down to a science somehow seemed to mean that you had your life together. Surely someone who had matching Japanese tea cups was not hoarding dirty laundry behind the sofa. In fact, someone who is in possession of said cups is probably quite well organized, gets up at 6am and always has the spare time solve the crossword puzzle in the paper. Or so it made me feel.


When we were in Scotland a month ago I bought myself those fancy looking tea bags. The name of this one is perfect peppermint, which on a compensational level is the equivalent of a man in his 40s owning a Ferrari. I liked the package and I liked the fact that I had bought them in a small take away restaurant on the Isle of Skye, where we – I kid you not – got custom vegan salads with seaweed. Which I guess comes close to the damn Ferrari having fancy rims or something. In the meantime my mother passed down her kettle to me. And well, I guess the metaphor still stands, but I feel a bit better, the water stays hot longer and I got my ridiculous little teabags looking nice in the Ikea cup. That’s one small step in the tea realm, but a leap for students getting their shit together.


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