For a long time, I thought I was looking for the perfect tea.
I imagined there would be a moment when I found the one. The tea that made every other tea feel unnecessary. The tea I would recommend to everyone. The tea that would finally make me understand what true appreciation was supposed to feel like.
So I kept searching.
I tried different origins. Different varieties. Different brewing methods. I read descriptions, listened to recommendations, and followed the advice of people who seemed to know far more about tea than I did.
And yet, something strange happened.
The closer I got to finding the “perfect” tea, the more I realised I was enjoying the search less.
Because perfection creates pressure.
A tea arrives with a beautiful story, a rare origin, and a reputation for being exceptional. Suddenly, you feel like you should love it. You look for the reasons it is special. You try to understand what everyone else seems to notice.
Sometimes, you forget to simply ask yourself a simpler question.
Do I actually enjoy this?
I think many tea lovers experience this at some point.
We become so interested in learning that we forget to listen to our own preferences.
There is nothing wrong with exploring tea. In fact, that is one of the most exciting parts of it. Every tea has a story, and every cup offers something new to discover.
But over time, I have started to appreciate something different.
The teas I return to are not always the most impressive ones.
They are the ones that fit into my life.
The tea I make when I wake up early.
The tea I drink while thinking through a difficult day.
The tea I share when someone comes over and we end up talking longer than expected.
These teas may not be perfect.
But they are familiar.
And perhaps familiarity is something we underestimate.
A perfect tea sounds like a destination. Something we find once and never need to search again.
But tea has never really worked that way.
Our tastes change. Our routines change. The moments we need tea for change.
The tea that feels perfect today may not be the tea we reach for next year.
And maybe that is not a problem.
Maybe the beauty of tea is that it grows with us.
So I no longer search for the perfect tea.
I look for the tea that feels right in that particular moment.
And honestly, that has been a much more enjoyable journey.
— Maria Tan
On tea, culture, and everyday rituals.
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Milk Tea Isn’t “Ruining” Tea—But Some Milk Tea Is Ruining Milk Tea
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Silk Tea Bar Review: A Quiet Climb Worth Making on Sago Street
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“Artisan” Doesn’t Mean Ethical: The Supply Chain Questions We Avoid
I have always been drawn to the word “artisan.” Maybe because it creates a certain image in my mind. Someone carefully working with their hands. Someone who knows their craft deeply. Someone preserving a tradition that has existed long before the rest of us discovered it. When I see “artisan tea” on a label, I…
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A Quiet Afternoon at A Beautiful Day Café
The rain had just started when I stepped in off Paya Lebar Road. Not heavy. Just enough to soften the light and slow everyone down. Inside, someone was pouring tea, and the sound of it carried further than it should have. A small room can do that. It can make a pour feel like a…
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The Problem With “Single-Origin” Tea Obsession
There was a time when knowing where a tea came from was enough. Now, it sometimes feels as though we need to know everything. The mountain. The village. The garden. The harvest date. The particular plot where the leaves were grown. Single-origin tea has become a mark of quality in modern tea culture. The idea…
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Where Singapore’s Tea Traditions Still Steep: Pek Sin Choon
The first thing I noticed was the smell. Not perfume, not incense. Something warmer and older than both. Roasted tea leaves, drifting out onto Mosque Street before I even reached the door. It’s the kind of smell that makes you slow your steps without knowing why. Pek Sin Choon has been on this corner of…
