Of Bone China and Fantasy

When my mom passed, she left behind a set of beautiful china from Royal Albert that I have gifted her over the years. She was in love with them, but never had the heart to use it. So all these years, the pot and teacups and plates just sat in the cupboard in the boxes they came with.

Being the only female and member in the family who bothers with these stuff, naturally these things fall into my possession. They add to my collection of tea sets perfectly, next to the matcha bowls from Kyoto and tea pots from Iran; I can't help but to feel the melancholy attachment to this collection of English china. Ironically, I am also allergic to caffeine despite owning quite a large collection of tea from around the world. Sure, there are floral tea and white tea that's without caffeine, but who are we kidding, the best teas are always black tea blends (or red/green tea).

While I still enjoy my camomile every once in a while, it is a very different experience to being entitled to a wide variety of tea selection, the joy of picking a tea flavour according to your mood out of the wooden tea box, or scooping that exquisite tea blends from a luxurious tea tin while you fill your senses in the aroma as you pour hot water into the pot.

These are the experiences she never get to enjoy in her lifetime, always saving up for that special occasion. That occasion never came. And I will never have the memories of sitting down to have an afternoon cuppa with her. I try not to have regrets in life, but this, the sight of those china filled me with sorrow beyond my own comprehension. The moments I never had and will never get to have. The beautiful fantasy I crafted in my mind, how her laughter filled the air, jokes exchanged, the usual gossips, the appreciation of exotic teas in one single afternoon. I have replayed this fictional moment in my mind far more than I care to admit.

I broke down last night, in my room in London, thousand of miles away from home but I might as well be back in my childhood house and it wouldn't have been any different. It doesn't happen as frequent now, the tears and the pain, but when it does, the loneliness is insufferable. And breathing becomes an impossible task.

8 months.
It's been 8 months.

It still feels like yesterday.


1 kissed Nicole