Matcha with Stardust

By Ivy Chang, aged 15

Prologue

In Tokyo, he drank hot Matcha for the first time.

It was nearly December, and she was already planning for Christmas.

The Matcha didn’t taste familiar, the bitterness was like a dancer under spotlight, twirling on his tongue.

Where should they visit this time, should she invite him to Tokyo again?

The bitterness faded rather quickly: he found Matcha enjoyable too.

Tokyo on the day of Christmas, “White Tokyo”, how the Japanese commonly called it, was all a loving pair needed.

Japanese tea tasted quite different, still.

Though, in December, Tokyo has usually been enveloped by clouds, which made it even “whiter”.

He thought, I guess all we need is the thermos. Crazy things don’t come along with tea.

She thought, I guess we won’t be able to see the big dipper, but we’ll still be able to see the stars.

I

You know how things happen unplanned, so suddenly, and so frankly? He was sitting on the seat by the window, and she was sitting opposite.

The window was a mere camera, and trees and birds and telegraph poles played continually, continually. She was watching, though, the same picture for about twenty minutes.

Just as she turned away, the man in front of her dropped a photo in between them. They both reached forward, both stopped, both waited for an instant, and both reached out again. The corner of his mouth flashed a smile, as they entered the tunnel. When sun struck again in the cabin, that arc around the mouth was still there. Startled for an instant, she picked the photo up for him.

She was wearing a black coat that day, so at the crowded terminal, he was still able to trace her silhouette under the sunset. He bore one last glance at her and headed off to Yoshiko’s, where he temporarily belonged for business in Tokyo.

The window was a mere camera, and trees and birds and telegraph poles played continually, continually. He was watching, though, the same picture for about two hours.

Just as the taxi driver left him at the front door of Yoshiko’s, before he could even reach for the bell, she opened the gate. She gracefully smiled, with her two crescent-moon eyes. And those eyes became full moons before he even realized. Startled for an instant, she welcomed him in.

II

When things happened unplanned, you face it frankly and confidently. She felt it in his eyes, but he felt it in his heart first. So, on a starry midnight, he proposed a drink. She declined, and instead proposed tea. He thought, I guess all we need is the thermos, crazy things don’t come along with tea. Indeed, crazy things didn’t happen, things were not even a little crazy. So, he kept his thoughts and feelings in his heart, and told them to keep on waiting.

He wished her a marvellous night with the full moon and some dim-sum, and left a creaking of the timber door before her. Moonlight lit her vacant, empty room. She thought, he was a careful man, a gentle man, but he was a stranger, and a passenger after all. Feelings fade if you don’t build them up day by day, but he was fine, more than fine, so he was maybe worth a try. When sun crept in the gap of the timber door, she woke and felt something different in her heart, a new but strong feeling. Scenes of photos, doorbells, and Matcha and moonlight played through her mind and the feeling clutched even tighter at her heart. She was even more certain, after she brushed her hair in front of the mirror, because the reflection of her eyes was brighter than ever and she saw the same eyes as his. They were filled with anxiety, eagerness, and hope.

She knew that there were moments in this world that were not justifiable, and there were actions which were done without a proper cause. Just like she used to hesitate whether she should volunteer to make a speech, or act in a piece of theatre work, but pushed herself to go for it all of a sudden. That sudden moment was thoughtless, and the considerations made before were all useless. She always needed that moment, of when her mind dragged her body up from the seat, made her move forward, and led to the podium. She sensed that this was also one of these moments, these reckless moments. Her mind took her body, when she rushed out her room with her shoes half-on. Knocks struck his wooden door, and echoed in the vacant space inside. There was no reply. Anyhow, she spoke up and proposed a drink after dinner. All she received was silence, and a few cricket chirps. She dragged the door open, and found no one.

Colours in her eyes spilled out, along with hope. Anxiety took her over. She rushed through every corner of the maze-like streets of countryside Tokyo, came back to her rented room, and found a note.

“I wish you marvelous nights with moonlight and Matcha.”

III

The camera recorded more of that identical-looking trees, sun rays, telegraph poles, and some of that unfamiliarly-looking mountains. This time, she was on the road towards a city far, far away from Tokyo. It was a journey, a planned journey, with a backpack, an umbrella, a thermos, and some Matcha tea bags.

Sun rays had hidden their faces behind their mother, who embraces all beings that shuttle in this busy world, but before they had completely vanished so that their shiny, diamond-like brothers could take over this land, they made all beings remember they exist by painting their mother in a mixture of yellow, pink, red, and violet. Her eyes were stained by flamboyant colours. At one moment, she realized that supper was waiting for her, so she headed for the dining cart, with her thermos. At the dining cart, she ordered sushi and ramen.

She held her plate through the crowded dining cart, and staggered back and forth to find a seat. There was a seat by the window. She stared at the empty seat, and just as she paced towards it, a black-coated man sat down. Before frustration took her over, her mouth opened as round as a lightbulb, and her eyes shone like two suns.

Her plate dropped onto the table beside her, the chopsticks flew up into the air, accompanied by a splash of ramen soup. The glow of sunset stroke through the tips of her hair, and she broke through all obstacles, like a mad dancer.

Her dress flickered in lights of yellow, red and rose. He saw her. Startled, he stood up. He ran to her. Their time had finally overlapped. She hugged him. He hugged her. They both were not surprised, as if they were old lovers. Then he made the joke, that joke that has been kept under his heart for over one year. It wasn’t a joke to be honest, it was rather cheesy. He rubbed his hair, and he told her,

“Hey. You know, Every atom in your body comes from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand have probably come from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: we are all stardust.”

This time, things went crazy. This time, she faced it frankly, and recklessly.