Inday and her matcha cup

I used to frequent surplus shops for many reasons, one being a seeker of objects that lived through time. Once I considered buying vintage finds to sell them online, but the idea didn’t sit well with me. Primarily because I used to shop in these small dusty corners because I could trade my humble salary for objects with stories. I didn’t have much, but these were adventures I could afford.

A dear friend told me that she refused to sell her medicinal honey for branded prices because how would Inday and her 5 sickly children have access to it at a time of pandemic? The parallels struck me. At some point in time, I was Inday, only that I was a college student cycling to school because I only had meal stubs and some loose change. My surplus trips were therapy and made me feel infinite because I could choose widely even without much money. Bit by bit, I filled my room with reflections of a life I knew I deserved.

But soon quirky, wabi-sabi things lit many people up. It was nice they they discovered the joy of it, but their hoarding hurt Indays like me. They bought in bulk only to sell them online for up to 400% markups. That’s way more than double the price. They emptied the shops and had bidding systems online. Some surplus shops followed suit, closing their doors on me, a small mindful shopper.

I used to build my life slowly in 10–30 peso little things. There is a lump in my throat because I never took too much, only what I needed. But now even those small, little adventures were very limited, if not entirely gone. Sold at 250, 300, 400+ pesos online for items cleaned and polished, with nice backdrops for aesthetic. Seems reasonable, it forces you to discern which sets of ceramics to buy.

Only that, I came from an experience where most of them found me, glimmering under heaps of dusty sweet nothings. Or they found my lover, who visits the shops whenever he has a good feeling. He always has a good feeling.

Maybe it’s just me, but I always wish I could thank the potter who made such a piece of matcha cup. I always feel like at the receiving end of these great masters and their crafts, and I probably cannot afford their creations at original prices. So never mind the heat and dust that collects on my shoulder as I traverse the store full of wonders. It is my right of passage, the price I pay for witnessing now.

Some days I don’t dwell on this too much, grateful instead for moments that made me treasure yesterday’s abundance. Like when lover came home with a long-been-prayed-for matcha set, greeted by my tears of disbelief because it found me just when I was feeling like an Inday in shambles.

A small woven basket houses the unique set, merged with a red-orange cloth ornamented with swirly cloud patterns like you see in old Japanese paintings.

Inside it is pretty much magic. I’m savoring this for my eyes only for now. My own little adventure.

Instead, in this photo is a similar cup but I’ve been waiting to find me. All in due time.

photo via @mvb on Instagram