The first day

©️Heesum Tea room

New Year’s here.

Seoul is 19°F today. It’s brick.

I’m at the tea room. Even in a space this small, there are things that need to be done every day. They show up no matter what. I don’t want to rush through them, and I don’t want to push them off, not even a little.

After a few really cold nights, the honey in the tea room hardened. This morning, when I woke up, I knew that today I would melt it gently in a water bath and move it into a proper honey jar. Every morning starts like this. Thinking about what needs to be done once I get up. It feels a bit like a quiet prayer. Waiting to see what the day is asking of me.

I took the hardened honey out, cut it into small pieces like slicing a big radish, put it into a glass jar, and let it melt slowly. As it softened and started to flow, I thought about that old phrase, honey flows, honey water flows. Something like a soft floral scent. Things that are wet, sweet, and soft are comforting. They settle you.

I heard that during the COVID years, a lot of diners in New York shut down. Places that had been around for ten years, sometimes for generations, just couldn’t make it. It’s scary and it stayed with me.

The first day of the year slipped by melting honey. After splitting it between a traditional Baekja honey jar and a few glass jars, I went out late to eat seolleongtang. You know those places where you walk in and they don’t ask what you want, just how many bowls. One bowl? That kind of place.

I was cold, tired, worn down. I sat there for a long time without even taking my coat off, leaning forward with my face in my hands while waiting for the soup. Around me, people were meeting old friends, drinking soju with plates of boiled beef in front of them. They said the place was old. It was packed. A place like this will probably be fine, right? It feels like it will last.

I mixed the noodles into the broth, added a lot of green onions, topped it with kkakdugi, and ate. I asked for noodles again and mixed them in once more. I hooked my right thumb under the edge of the hot bowl, wrapped my hand around it, and drank the broth.

I once told the tea master that I hope the line of Korean tea ceremony never breaks. It doesn’t matter if someone is Korean, foreign, or from outside of our galaxy. When they sit across from us, smile, learn the ceremony, drink tea, and eat tea sweets, during that time, the tea tradition stays alive. That’s why we decided to share tea ceremony as accurately as we possibly can.

If there are people who enjoy it, whoever they are, that tradition stays alive. Still, so many places disappear. So many cultures fade out. I’ve seen places like that soup restaurant, places that take orders by number instead of menus, close their doors too. I’ve heard those stories. I wish they didn’t have to end that way.

Last year, we met a lot of people. We met with care. We laughed, talked, and then they went back to their homes. We remember their names for a long time. Even if they don’t remember ours, that’s fine. I’m sure that sometimes they think of us quietly and feel a little happy. We do the same. Being gently remembered by someone is enough.

Riding my bike back to the tea room, I thought this might be why I keep this place. To really actually care about people. To listen. To let them drink plenty of tea. To send them home with something beautiful left inside them. I told the tea master this too. If I didn’t hold onto even that small meaning while running this place, I think I would feel empty and alone. I probably wouldn’t be able to get out of the bed in the morning.

This year, too, I will protect the tea room. So that I can meet beautiful people with care and send them off with a beautiful heart. I will ward off all the harsh, coarse, and vulgar things of the world and ensure that the tea water never stops boiling, not for a single day. On days when no one comes to find us, the Tea Master and I will sit across from each other and make the tea steam rise in soft, rolling clouds.

Melted honey today then ate seolleongtang. It’s brick today. Many things disappear. We’ll make sure they stay.

That’s all we’re thinking about.