Where are you?

Hong Kong

“I feel like I see you before graduation,” said Fred.

“Really? What was that like?” Annie replied in between bites of the spicy Korean fried chicken.

"Just knowing so sure about whatever you are about to do. And spontaneous. I mean only you would go to the cornfield in the Midwest just for a bowl of matcha."

“She used to do all kinds of fun and unusual stuff,” Austin explained to his girlfriend who looked so confused about the situation.

It had been a year since the group got together due to the then-seemed-forever pandemic control. The bustling Korean restaurant with no spare tables felt unreal after all the COVID years.

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The U.S. Consulate of Hong Kong

Standing in line, Annie was nervous about many things. It had been long enough since the last time she spoke with an English native speaker though she still watched, wrote, and listened to stuff in the language. Not to mention the geopolitical tension over the years that there would be a slight chance of getting rejected for the visa application.

“What is your travel plan?” asked the officer behind the window.

“I’m going back to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign for a special tea ceremony.”

It must have been so special that the officer did not even bother to ask for more details. No potential smugglers would use such kind of reason.

In and out in less than ten minutes, she left the consulate with a visa approval that sealed the trip to the United States.

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Chicago, Illinois

The line for foreigners swirled along the makeshift hallway. The phone service was bad as usual, but people did not seem annoyed by the wait. They were excited about the adventure on the other side of the custom booths. So was she.

Nine years ago, when she came to the United States for the first time, she was in the same waiting area, hoping the customs officer would deny her entry for looking too homesick. Yet, nine years later, she could not wait to venture into the world she used to know.

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I-57

It was late March. The bare Midwest cornfield was enduring the roaring wind, spreading out toward an indefinite end from the side of I-57.

The heater inside the car felt warm enough for a nap, especially after the 17-hour long flight and a 4-hour transit in Dubai. But she wanted to remember every bit of the south-bound drive. The wind sneaked through the narrow gap of the window. A deep breath. The chilly air filled the nostrils, then the lungs, and finally the mind. It smelled like nothing but wind. Crispy with no particular odor and a hue of emotionless gray.

Like the coziness inside the car, the scenery along the way was mesmerizing like a montage with the same image from the beginning to the very end. Even with the cornfield and the darkening sky, she could not look away from the window.

The tree line gradually blurred and then disappeared as the sun set into the other side of the world. But she still investigated the darkness, trying to figure out what was out there and to remember why she was there.

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Champaign, Illinois

As the car finally took a turn on the highway and drove past blocks of buildings, she knew she was finally in town. There they are, the giant white water tower with CHAMPAIGN on the side, the empty parking lot outside of Macy’s, the spooky costume store at the street corner, and finally signs of the letter I in the color of orange.

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Green Street, Champaign, Illinois

Late at night, she took an Uber to the campus of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. The statue of Alma Mater with her arms spread out wide welcomed everyone then and years before to the campus. Walking along the Main Quad under the yellow streetlights, she tried to remember the days and nights she used to spend on this campus.

After a short campus tour, she turned left onto Green Street and walked into Mia Za’s right next to the corner for a slice of tiramisu. Though the price had nearly doubled, it was still plated on an iron plate.

She had been dreaming of this bite for five years while researching for a recipe to relive the moment until she figured that the café sourced it from Cheesecake Factory. What else could one ask for a $2.5 tiramisu?

She savored every bite of it while looking at the students walking down the street. It was a Friday night. It was for a bar crawl and whatever one might do in their late teens or early twenties. She had this tiramisu for the first time when she broke up with her first boyfriend in her sophomore year. The shop does not take cards for orders under 5 dollars. So, she would take two squares of tiramisu packed in paper boxes and bring them to her friend’s place late on random nights since they both were going through a breakup at that time. The bonding over the tiramisu and long chats made her move on from the first heartbreak.

She remembered that she introduced the tiramisu to a few other friends, along with many other exciting things to try out, making her a character that all her friends thought was unique. Those things included a gap semester to sell hot dogs at Walt Disney World, an internship at the United Nations to attempt to save the world and a bonding with Japan House at the southeastern corner of the campus.

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Japan House, Champaign, Illinois

“Hello, Annie! It is so good to finally see you. We miss you so much! So happy that you could make it!” Jennifer, the director of Japan House shouted to Annie as she opened the door and hugged her so tightly that she finally confirmed everything was not a dream.

As they pulled away from each other, she noticed the few strays of grey hair on Jennifer while Gunji Sensei, Jennifer's mom, coming to give her another hug, still looked as elegant as she always was.

In the main room, she saw a few familiar faces and exchanged big hugs and “How are you?” with some genuine answers about how they had been. Some moved to California, and some stayed in the Midwest. Some got married, some bought a house. Some went on to a PhD degree, some prepared to graduate.

I just began my third year with the company I vowed to quit half a year ago and stayed in the same city for more than three years since moving back from the United States, immediately followed by the outbreak of COVID-19.

The crowd began to quiet down as people returned to their seats.

“Welcome everybody to the 20th anniversary of Chado Urasenke Tankokai Urbana-Champaign Association,” said Jennifer, “we are so happy to welcome all the guests from all over the country and even from the other side of the world. It still feels surreal to have Annie from China to be here with us on this special day.”

She could feel the attention on her, but she did not feel nervous at all, unlike in a similar situation somewhere else.

Following the opening keynote, a Japanese tea ceremony demonstration was held. She was appointed to be the honorable guest. To make sure the ceremony went on smoothly, she even arranged a Zoom meeting with the host the week before to go over the process and recall her muscle memory from the three-year-long tea ceremony study.

Sitting in seiza, a Japanese way of kneeling in formal settings, she anxiously waited for the ceremony to commence. What if she could not sit in this way for an hour as she used to do? What if she drops the tea bowl? What if she forgets the terms in Japanese to thank the host? What if anything happens to ruin the show?

The shoji, sliding door in Japanese, opened. The entire room instantly became dead quiet as if everyone held his/her breath. The host, Charlene, one of Annie’s college friends, dressed in a kimono in pale colors, slid into the room. The friction between the fabric and the tatami mat sounded like wind sweeping up foliage. As the host arrived at her square of the mat, they both took a breath.

Just like the cheerful hug earlier at the entrance, the silence at that moment calmed the anxiety down.

She remembered her classmate once told her not to rush but to focus on one step at a time; she remembered how the four core values of the Japanese tea ceremony – harmony, purity, respect, and tranquility used to lead her through enduring times from sitting seiza for hours to tragic moments until the dreadful shut-down of COVID-19.

The assistant to the host presented her with a beautiful piece of Wagashi, Japanese traditional sweets. It was a jelly cube in light pink with a pickled cherry blossom on top. The sweet jelly and the lightly salty flower tasted like a breeze in the heated room, a blooming cherry tree like the cherry trees outside around the building would be in a few weeks.

While Annie was eating the sweet, Charlene began to whisk a bowl of matcha. She whisked the tea with a chasen, bamboo whisk, steadily and quickly. A bowl of matcha with beautiful froth was soon presented to her.

“Otemae chodai itashimasu.” (Thank you for making the tea.)

Annie picked up the bowl and placed it on her left palm. Cupping the bowl with her right hand, she slightly lifted the bowl up to thank the host, and the wait of the past years.

After turning the bowl three times to let the façade with paints facing out, she brought the bowl to her and took three sips, finishing the bowl with a slurp. She set the bowl down for the assistant to retrieve it. The remaining froth did not resemble anything she knew. Once she had a clover during one of her lowest days.

 "Dozo oshimai kudasai." (Would you please finish.)

Charlene started to finish the ceremony as requested. In the Japanese tea ceremony, the process of preparing and finishing was similar but in a reverse order of pouring water to clean the bowl, whipping the bowl, and filling up the water jar.

By the end of the ceremony, every tool should be where it was at the very beginning.

By the end of the ceremony, guests should have restored the four values to carry on after they stand up on their numb feet.

Back in her college days, Annie would come to the study session every Thursday evening rain or shine. The first heartbreaking breakup that she once deemed as the end of the world, the depressing moments that she thought would never go away, and the day of the graduation ceremony that she knew she could no longer come here every Thursday evening…and yet every time she walked through the door, the sense of harmony, purity, tranquility, and respect managed to realign on her.

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JFK Airport, January 6th, 2020

The Beijing-bound flight took off. The night of Manhattan was still so alive with the lights and hopes. Looking down from the window seat, Annie knew she would return later that year for another graduation and a wedding. She was so sure about the plan that she left some part of her inner self in the parks and shops she enjoyed going to, the conversations with friends she would easily pick up the next time they met, and the tearoom she loved so much that an eighteen-hour-long direct flight would not bother.

Soon after landing in Beijing and back home, the world was on pause. Every morning during those years, she pulled up the “On This Day” feature on Instagram to see what she did some years ago and try to relive the confident self she once was. Days went by. The remaining optimism and belief dimmed with hopelessness growing louder and more dominant. There was no end to the nationwide shutdown. There was no way back to the person she used to be. She lost her true self.

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Charlene finished the cleaning process, put all the utensils back in order, and returned to the room behind the sliding door. The room was all quiet again. She finally felt the numbing ankles as she began to relax a little bit. The feeling was so familiar that it brought back the memory of years ago yet so far away that it had been four years since the last practice.

It took time to get up on her feet and not to fall in front of everyone. But by the time she stood up and bowed to every person, familiar or not, she felt like herself again. The confident and calming self from years ago.

Fred was right.