It’s cold here in Santos, Brazil, now, in June. Not cold but the standards I grew up in, in England, or Toronto, Canada, where in 2014 Artur was born and I experienced cold on a new level. But everything is relative and waking up at 4.19AM in 18ﾟC is/was unpleasant. It feels so much colder than that and I really don’t understand it.
I don’t understand much at all. This isn’t some kind of introduction to a kind of stand-up routine, or some falsely-modest attempt at self-deprecation. I just don’t understand much.
For reasons that I cannot begin to imagine as I lay in bed considering how cold it was and how I know it’s not really cold but it feels like it is, so it obviously is cold, my half-asleep mind started to go through all the things I don’t understand about kettles and tea.
I have a feeling where this came from. The other day I was messaging a friend about confusion and how it builds up ‘like limescale in a kettle over the years.’ So, it’s easy to imagine that my meandering imaginings about kettles in the dark hours were related to that. I mean, I don’t even drink tea these days and haven’t had an electric kettle that furs up because of hard water for about 30 years.
I was half-dreaming about how I don’t know anything about electricity or how it heats an element in a kettle or how an automatic electric cattle turns itself off. Then I started to think about tea.
It was then that I realized there are people in the world who will put honey and lemon juice in a cup or mug and pour hot water on it and call it ‘tea.’
It’s hardly a surprise that I understand so little when so many things make no sense at all.