I ordered a hibiscus tea and found a place to sit. It is a small table by the window, with a spotlight spewing white light on it. I can see my reflection on the window surface, mingling with the world outside, my eyes shaded, the light catching my forehead and cheekbones, creating a strange collage of face and street. I take a sip, and it tastes like paint mixed with glue. I stretch, and try to push my shoulders back.
I seem to find myself in cafés a lot lately, and I mean his literally: I sit down, unwind slowly, and at the process, get myself back to me; find myself or at least the part of it I lost in the day, the part I did not hear, or neglect, or simply ignore even if that meant not pay attention to my own needs. I remember seeing a Twinings where this animated woman goes through land and see just to find a mirror image of herself; the two join into one, and through a few sips of Twinings, she is back to herself.
Now, I don’t know if it is the tea that has this effect, or the fact that I am sitting down and flat out refusing to think of anything else but this moment that has this effect for me. But when I find it, I get this tingling sensation, a very similar sensation to the one you get when you watch a person do something with great attention and focus; when they are folding laundry with a slow, choreographed way, taking great care of it. I feel this sensation spreading over my shoulders to my limbs, flowing down towards the ground like a discarded layer. In the laundry analogy, it is almost as if I am folding my day, taking great care of it; taking great care of myself.
The reflection is clearing out, and the street is not as prominent anymore. I raise my head towards the spotlight, and I can see the parts that were shadowed before. I look outside; I look ahead.