Morning Mysteries: Why My Day Starts with a Cup of Matcha and Classical Music
When people talk about “starting their day right,” I always imagine sunrise yoga, green juice, and journaling in a perfectly curated room that looks like a Kinfolk magazine spread. My mornings are… less minimalist zen and more chaotic sea otter trying to crack open a clam. Still, there’s a method to the madness, and my wildly eclectic mornings have taught me a lot—not just about starting the day, but about staying balanced in life and relationships.
Let me take you through a day in my life. Warning: It includes unexpected rituals, classical music, and a kitchen appliance that accidentally became my therapist.
The Matcha Ritual: Romance in a Cup
I’ve always thought there’s something painfully poetic about the act of whisking matcha. Maybe it’s a holdover from my art history days, endlessly studying Edo period woodblock prints that romanticize the art of tea. Or maybe I’ve just watched way too many Studio Ghibli movies where food preparation looks like a sacred act. Either way, my day starts in the kitchen, bamboo whisk in hand, combining matcha powder, hot water, and just enough ceremonial flair to convince myself I’m starring in my own indie film.
Whisking matcha is therapeutic—the aroma brings me back to my suburban upbringing outside Tokyo, where my mother used to make her morning green tea with the same careful attention she gave to her floral designs. It’s become a grounding ritual for me: no phones, no emails, just the quiet swish-swish of bamboo on ceramic. It’s also, oddly enough, a lesson I apply to relationships. Starting the day with something intentional reminds me that love—whether for yourself or someone else—requires a similar presence of mind. The person who can joyfully whisk a cup of tea for you without checking their phone? They’re a keeper.
Soundtrack of Solitude: Why My Days Start with Ryuichi Sakamoto
The moment the matcha ritual winds down, Sakamoto takes over. There’s something wonderfully indulgent about putting on Aqua or Energy Flow as my kitchen fills with sunlight. Classical music, especially his, feels like an emotional reset for me. It’s melancholic but purposeful, like a beautifully flawed character in a Murakami novel.
Music is a bridge, isn’t it? Between moods, moments, and people. I blame Sakamoto’s hypnotic compositions for some of the best conversations I’ve ever had. One time, during an awkward third date, I played Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence on my phone, and suddenly, we were talking about the world’s best film scores instead of dodging shallow small talk about “where we see ourselves in five years.” (Spoiler: the date didn’t stick, but my love for Sakamoto did.)
If you’re looking for a way to ease into meaningful connections, try letting your playlist guide you. A well-chosen song can unlock conversations that simple words fail to express.
The Unexpected Couch Philosopher: Aka My Rice Cooker
Here’s where my routine gets peculiar. While my rice cooker puffs and clicks in the corner, I end up staring at it like it’s delivering a TED Talk. There’s almost a meditative quality to its soft hum, and, strangely enough, it’s during this time that I find clarity in life’s big questions.
What makes us crave connection? Why do I keep gravitating toward those star-crossed romance narratives in both books and life? Sometimes, the answers come—other times, it’s just the rice cooker reminding me that patience and timing are everything. (Quite literally.)
This quiet time in the kitchen has become a metaphor for relationships: give things space to simmer and don’t rush the process. People—just like perfectly steamed rice—need room to breathe and flourish. Yes, I know that sounds like something you’d see on a Pinterest board, but the lesson still holds.
Afternoons in Motion: Romance in Routine Errands
By mid-afternoon, I’m usually out running errands. I’m convinced grocery store aisles are where some of life’s best “meet-cute” moments should take place. There’s something oddly charming about two people reaching for the last pack of udon noodles or silently judging each other’s questionable snack choices in the checkout line. (For the record, I would 100% swipe right on someone who stacks their basket with Glico Pocky sticks.)
These moments remind me that love often exists in the unnoticed details of daily life. A croissant bought for someone as an afterthought. Helping someone reach the top shelf when you’re just a little taller than average. These micro-romances keep me endlessly entertained as I wander through life’s small errands.
So, the next time you’re out in public, try slowing down your typical rush. Smile at strangers. Compliment somebody’s inexplicable dedication to buying eight avocados at once. You might not fall in love, but you’ll walk home lighter all the same.
Evening Tango: Dancing with Dinner and Nostalgia
By evening, my kitchen transforms into a studio. Not for cooking, but for dancing. This started when I lived in Paris during a research fellowship—I found myself so unreasonably stressed trying to perfect my French pronunciation that I needed a release. A stray Spotify playlist led me to tango.
Cooking dinner now doubles as a performance. I chop vegetables to the rhythm; I sauté while imagining I’m gliding across a dimly lit Argentinian dance floor. The cat is not a fan, but she tolerates it.
Evening cooking has taught me to embrace spontaneity—a reminder that not every step in life, or love, must follow a prescribed order. Sometimes you've got to let go of the recipe, add paprika where none existed, or dance through the awkward mistakes. Isn’t that what love feels like sometimes? Improvising and hoping the end result is delicious.
Nighttime Reflection: The Murakami State of Mind
Finally, as the day winds down, I turn to my bed—with a novel, of course. Nine times out of ten, it’s something that straddles the line between heartbreakingly beautiful and existentially bizarre. Haruki Murakami is a staple, along with Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen. These novels remind me that life is always a little surreal, and that’s okay. You might not always understand why relationships unfold the way they do, but there’s an inexplicable magic to their imperfections.
Before I drift off to sleep, I think about what my day has taught me—that love is everywhere, even in the quiet moments. It’s in the hum of a rice cooker, the swish of a matcha whisk, or the rhythm of sautéed onions in a pan. We just have to slow down enough to notice.
So, here’s my takeaway for you: Let your daily rituals surprise you. Lean into the absurd details of life. Love—whether romantic or self-directed—exists in the tiny, whimsical corners you’ve been walking past this whole time.
Now, go whisk some matcha. Trust me, it’s life-changing.
