Avelino and The Olive Trees in Monsaraz, Portugal

August 9, 2018 Silviana Khurniawan

The gust of wind from the opened car windows blew the last hope I had of retaining any volume in my hair. The scorching sun penetrated my skin, the leather upholstery of the car seat absorbing and distributing the heat faster than I could adjust my sitting position.

The highway was empty except for the occasional one or two other cars we passed by. I felt a strange sense of solidarity rising up with those cars, it was as if we were in the impossible race against the sun together.

I was sitting at the back seat of an older model of Mercedes-Benz taxi. Avelino, the driver, a Portuguese man in his 60s with a considerably thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair, was behind the wheels. We were heading to Monsaraz, a village I had no prior knowledge about, 2 hours away from Lisbon.

Tea & Company

June 15, 2017 Silviana Khurniawan

Dear cousin,

You invited me over to your house for an evening cup of oolong tea. I was expecting a cup of excellent tea, prepared with meticulous precision, to accompany my last night in Taipei. I certainly wasn’t prepared for what was in store.

You see, what you might not have realized, when you explained to me so passionately how different the process of preparing oolong tea from black tea turns out to be, is that you taught me so much more than how to brew tea; you taught me about life. You taught me that passion, just like brewing tea, always has to be accompanied by patience. Like your clay teapot that gradually shines as you use it over and over, we don’t get to be brilliant without persistence and determination. We don’t master something overnight but who's to say we can’t sit back, relax and enjoy a soothing cup of tea in the process?

Paris: An Unrequited Love Story?

February 16, 2017 Silviana Khurniawan

When someone asks me, "Do you like living in Paris?", this is what I usually do. Firstly, I take a deep breath to mentally prepare myself to answer the question as flashes of images of Paris fill my head.

The warm baguette tradition and its orgasmic crust. The nonchalant waiters and waitresses who never seem to look my way in restaurants. The beautiful gleam of golden light on the surface of the Seine river at night. The gloomy faces of commuters on the cramped metro.

How do I answer this question without telling my life story?