It was Wednesday, again, and I tried to wake up early to catch the vendors at the morning market, who liked Wednesdays because it was the lottery draw day- more potential customers are likely to be hovering around the neighbourhood.
She sold all kinds of flower tea, and although I couldn’t smell them from behind my face mask, I knew they must taste good- they simply had to, with all the beautiful colours running through them. The dried, withered leaves in containers in the far corner on the other hand seemed to exude forgotten ancient wisdom.
A couple of flies hovered over the flowers, pretending to be bees. I wondered if they came from the meat seller’s van not too far away, craving dessert after the main course, or perhaps seeking a remedy for windy stomachs.
She kept pointing at different flowers, telling me how to mix and match them and what they’re good for. Then, she handed me a piece of paper, told me to study it carefully, and come back next week.
A cursory glance told me that linden flower tea is a “bad-tempered person’s drink” which can also help with nervousness, rosemary is good for people with scattered hair, orange blossom will calm you down, honeysuckles make you less angry, and black wolfberry is good if you want “beauty and beauty,” presumably referring to inner and outer beauty.
As I was about to leave, she gave me a free sample of roselles, osmanthuses, lavenders and some leaves which I couldn’t identify, and said “I don’t do this for everyone.” I thanked her and said I’ll come by again.
And so just like that, my Wednesday was filled with the prospect of tea made from flowers and leaves that were too beautiful to be sacrificed in almost boiling water- 80 degrees Celsius is just about right, I remembered her saying.