My friend’s husband, whom we call “The Universe,” quietly came up to the second floor. With a shy smile, he placed a big thermos full of hot water in the room and silently went back downstairs. We call his wife “Paengjoo,” a word that means someone who prepares and shares tea with great care.
Rain began to hit the windows, as if trying to wash away all the stickiness left behind from the summer. Inside the cozy room, I sat and watched the rain dance in the wind. Paengjoo poured tea into my cup. “What more could I want for?” I thought. All the worries of the world faded away.
When Paengjoo pours the tea, we hold the cup with both hands and drink it in three small sips. When the cup is empty, she gently pours more. She also served coconut macaroons, which were absolutely delicious.
On a rainy day, there’s nothing better than curling up like a cat in a warm corner, sipping tea and wine. That’s exactly my style.
To be honest, I didn’t even know what “Paengjoo” meant before. I can’t bake coconut macaroons either. I’m just a laid-back woman who enjoys the moment. There’s a Korean saying: “If you have no money, you’re just a drifter. But if you do, you’re a free spirit.” It’s funny, but kind of true.
Today’s gathering was with a few close friends for our writing group called “Mulpool”—which means “Water and Grass.” Just like the name, we let our words flow gently like water, or brush softly like grass in the wind. We read what we’ve written freely, and chat with no pressure. The tea tastes even better in this kind of mood.
I was feeling anxious—was I chasing time or being chased by it? But when I held the warm cup Paengjoo gave me, and smelled the tea, I felt like I had gone back in time.
Paengjoo reminded me of a young monk from an old temple, full of wisdom and calm. She gently looked at the empty cup and refilled it with care. As the tea touched my nose, mouth, and throat, I felt like all the things I had been clinging to just fell away. Why was I so obsessed with such meaningless things?
“What if it’s like this? What if it’s like that?
Let the vines twist around Man-su Mountain—so what?”
(An old Korean folk poem)
Next time, we’re having pu-erh tea. The Universe will bring the big thermos upstairs again, and Paengjoo will pour the tea into our cups with her graceful hands. Next time, I’ll pay more attention to the art of tea.
Even if I don’t understand tea ceremony well,
Even if I can’t write perfect stories—so what?
I’ll just lean against the old village wall,
Twisting together like vines on Man-su Mountain,
Sharing pu-erh tea with my dear friends.