Tea For Me, and Tea For You
Monica Bederman (The Brearley School)
As we hang up our coats in the closet, I can already imagine myself doing something embarrassing—
spilling the tea, for instance, or knocking into a piece of furniture as I try to stand up. I’ve been practicing
sitting in seiza style for a week, and still haven’t mastered the fine art of not letting my legs go numb. I also
may have forgotten how to form honorific verbs—and on second thought, perhaps I should have dressed
more casually, for I’d misinterpreted Haruka’s “no jeans” warning as a request for formal wear. I try to cast
my nervous thoughts away; the day I have dreamed of since the beginning of high school has come at last
in my eleventh-grade year.

Although I had begun to study Japanese in eighth grade, I only developed an interest in the tea
ceremony a year later, after I read The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. The novel’s main
character, a concierge named Renée, uses tea as a way of reconciling herself with the chaotic, somewhat
absurd world around her. She explains that “when tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our
ability to see greatness in small things”. Soon after, I read Okakura Kakuzo’s The Book of Tea, which
Renée cites. The Book of Tea, written in 1906 for an English-speaking audience, outlines the influences of
Taoism, Zen Buddhism, and what Okakura refers to as “Teaism” on the Japanese culture. Okakura explains
Teaism as “a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence”,
but makes it clear that aesthetics are not its sole preoccupation. Teaism makes all of its followers, rich and
poor alike, “aristocrats in taste”, and permeates every aspect of human existence, from hygiene to
economics to morality.

Okakura had given me a lovely introduction to the history and philosophy of tea. Yet as I stand on
the unfamiliar carpet in my white socks, it isn’t his lovely prose that runs through my mind, but rather a
fear of inadvertently breaking an important etiquette rule, of destroying the fragile harmony of the room’s
atmosphere with a clumsy move, or of failing to attain the proper state of selflessness and spiritual
enlightenment. Haruka’s teacher, Mitani-sensei, produces three small folding stools seemingly out of nowhere; she
explains that they are seiza stools that remove pressure from the sitters’ feet. “So we can cheat a little,” she
says with a twinkle in her eye. Haruka and I giggle.

As expected, I stop feeling my legs about fifteen minutes into the ceremony. I don’t know what to say
after bowing, or what part of the tea bowl to drink from, but Mitani-sensei explains every step gently and
patiently, and I feel grateful that I can follow her lead. The silence that fills the small room has a sort of
refinement about it, and the warm, bitter tea a calming aroma. As I sit and admire the tea bowl, my mind
begins to wander.

I remember having met Haruka only a few months ago, when I was assigned to give her family a tour
of my school. I learned that she was originally from Tokyo, but had been living in Manhattan for five years.

She grew very excited when she found out that I was studying Japanese, and we discovered many shared
interests—international cuisine, fashion, comedy, manga, and, of course, tea. Overall, the tour was a
delight; yet at the time, I hadn’t thought that we would meet again and become close friends. Usually, I
only receive a short thank-you email from the prospective applicant; I was surprised and quite moved
when, a few days after the tour, Haruka suggested over email that we attend a tea ceremony together.

After exchanging phone numbers, we began to text regularly in Japanese and in English. I knew since the
beginning that she would always correct my language errors with sincerity and humor, but never judge me
for them—and she knew the same was true for me. Okakura characterizes Teaism as “a worship of the
Imperfect… [and] a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as
life”. I close my eyes, take a sip of tea, and wonder if friendship can be defined similarly.

A year later—when Haruka has moved back to Tokyo, and we still talk nearly every day despite the
time difference—I think it can…
Bibliography Barbery, Muriel. The Elegance of the Hedgehog. New York: Europa Editions, 2008.

Okakura, Kakuzo. The Book of Tea. Vermont: Tuttle Publishing, 1956.

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Two Fateful Days
Dillon Wu (Stuyvesant High School)
On August 6, 1945 the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. 80,000 people died in the
immediacy of the impact and 110,000 died from the fallout. Three days later, a second atomic bomb was
dropped on Nagasaki and 45,000 more people died.

I had learned about World War II from previous history classes. My teachers had all lectured about the
bombing of Pearl Harbor, about Japanese internment camps, the political structure at the time, and the
battles fought. We had also learned about the Manhattan Project, about Little Boy, the bomb dropped on
Hiroshima, and Fat Man, the bomb dropped on Nagasaki.

However, to me, all this information never amounted to anything more than apathy. I learned and
memorized facts about the war, but in the end, they were just that: facts. I believed that history happened
and it could not have happened any other way. I believed that the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and
Nagasaki was justified because they put a speedy end to the war. I never thought about the people who
were affected because I didn’t consider them to be people; they were history.

It was in Japanese class when my sensei showed the movie Barefoot Gen that I realized what the
atomic bomb really was, what it truly meant. The movie started out nice and slow, with a portrait of Gen’s
life with his family. Although he was impoverished and hungry, he was a happy child; he had a little brother
who was also his best friend and a family that cared for him. The lack of food in the family was evident, but
still, he and his family were able to pull through with hard work and they were relatively happy.

The moment the bomb dropped in the movie, when the clock froze at 8:15:45 and there was nothing
but a harsh whistle, was the moment I realized what the atomic bomb was. I watched a young girl holding a
red balloon melt. I watched her face twist in fear and her body burn away until there was nothing left but an
unrecognizable corpse. I watched the old man and the young woman and the baby shrivel up and all I heard
was the sound of the movie but it felt like it was the sound of people screaming. I was horrified; I didn’t
want to watch it. I wanted to turn away and pretend like it never happened, but at the same time, I couldn’t
stop looking.

I realized afterward that the most horrible part was that what I had seen was just a movie.

After watching Barefoot Gen, I decided to do some research on my own and found that the movie was
based off the manga, which was drawn by Keiji Nakazawa. Nakazawa-sensei is a hibakusha, which is the
name given to the surviving victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Even after the war, the hibakusha
suffered: people like Nakazawa-sensei were discriminated against and harassed. He told, in an interview, of
a girl who hung herself because of the discrimination and abuse she faced. Many victims also suffered from
diseases like leukemia and other forms of cancer, while physical growth defects, mental disabilities, and
malformation plagued young children and children who had not been born yet.

However, I also learned that peace movements and anti-nuclear movements arose as well. The
Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, for example, was built in honor of the victims and is a manifestation of
people’s desire for world peace. Moreover, there were people like Sadako who brought about hope and
change by folding 1,000 cranes and giving it to other bomb victims.

Watching Barefoot Gen and learning about the bombing changed me. I am no longer apathetic about
the effects of war. I believe that now, more than ever, should be a time for demilitarization and peace. Death
like those shown in the movie should be a thing of the past. Nobody should ever have to experience
something so horrifying. Nobody should ever have to watch their family die before their very eyes. I
believe that as people, we should set out to make sure that there is no third Hiroshima or Nagasaki. They
are the moments in history which we must always remember, but never repeat. The people that died in
Hiroshima and Nagasaki on those two fateful days must serve not only as a reminder of the war, but more
importantly as beacons of hope that may guide our choices in the future.

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