Notes on Matcha and Time

Lately, it feels like the world has developed a habit of rushing through things that were never meant to be hurried. Even matcha has been swept up in this fast current. It has been turned into something of modern convenience—gulped down in crowded cafes, mixed into overly sweet drinks, and ordered through glowing screens to be carried out the door in paper cups. It has become just another thing to cross off a busy daily list. It is quick, loud, and fleeting.

But when I look at how fast everything moves now, I find myself wanting to step away from the noise. I can’t quite bring myself to view matcha as a fast-paced trend, because my own relationship with it belongs to a much quieter standard.

For me, matcha is only truly itself when it is prepared by my grandmother, within the deep, unbothered quiet of our home.

In those still afternoons, making tea becomes a patient way of reclaiming time. My grandmother doesn't move with the hurried efficiency of a modern world; she moves with the grace of a heritage that has spent centuries understanding that the best things in life cannot be optimized. Watching her prepare a bowl is a lesson in pure intention. The exact temperature of the water, the soft scrape of the bamboo scoop, and the steady, rhythmic sweep of the whisk—every single gesture is grounded in a beautiful kind of restraint.

In her hands, there is no rush, no fuss, and no need to prove anything to anyone. The process asks you to simply slow down, take a deep breath, and fully exist in the room. It gently coaxes you out of the constant stress of doing, and invites you into a pure state of being.

Documenting new reflections every week often brings me back to these moments, because this quiet ritual is where the heart of AERDALIA comes alive for me. A drink swallowed in a hurry is just about having—a quick transaction to satisfy a momentary impulse. But the tea my grandmother makes is about being. It is a conscious choice to slow down, to appreciate things that are made to last, and to honor a way of living that values depth over volume.

The world around us will probably keep chasing whatever is fast and temporary, but I really believe the things that truly matter will always stay anchored in these quiet, disciplined corners of our lives. They are the quiet standards that remain, long after the noise has faded into a peaceful calm.

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