After the fast-paced, constant socializing in the first week of college, I was completely drained of my ability to make small talk. I was sick of conversations that trailed off after exchanging names and majors– interactions barely dipping past surface-level before we were whisked into the next event. I came from a small high school with an even smaller friend group, and the sheer volume of new people I met within the span of a few days was unimaginably exhausting. At my wit’s end and daunted by the prospect of starting college classes, I turned to something that’s always brought me comfort: my tea collection.
The only items that passed the ruthless move-in elimination process were my metal tins, air-tight canisters, and paper boxes of tea bags and loose leaf. Though tea-drinking was never a practice in my family, it was always customary to have some on hand at parties to wind down after hours of the card game zhao pengyou and the occasional shot of strong baijiu, or to collect different regional specialties, such as orchid tea from my parents’ hometown in Anhui, China, or high mountain baozhong tea from Maokong, Taiwan.
Some of the teas brought me back to late nights spent poring over final projects, a cup of caffeinated rose black tea keeping me company; others reminded me of quiet hours on the weekend, reading a book with a chipped mug of white tea in hand. Since I’d compromised on stuffed animals, books, and decor, tea became my oasis in an unfamiliar and busy environment. At the same time, tea was a hallmark of community; it shared a table between my mom and I in the evening, and crossed the ocean with my dad when he went to visit our family in China. It felt right, then, to bring that sense of togetherness to this new community of mine.
Alongside two friends that lived on my floor, I put out a story on Instagram: Tea party at 7:30 in Willard! Bring your own mug! I brought my teetering tray of teas to the kitchen on my floor, along with a kettle I borrowed from a friend, and the two individual strainers I had. I didn’t expect to need any more than that– I wasn’t even sure if anyone would come at all.
But as I set the kettle on heat and laid out my tea collection, my phone started lighting up with direct messages. People were thrilled to hear that there was a slower-paced opportunity for socializing; many asked if they could bring friends, and some even offered to bring teas and snacks of their own.
When the clock struck 7:30, I found myself manning the elevator, guiding groups of people into the dorm and directing them to the kitchen. The small space quickly filled up with first-year students, some with mugs, others with water bottles and paper cups scrounged from the dining halls. I let people choose their tea bags; I gave recommendations and introduced some of the favorites in my collection. Conversation flowed as naturally as the pouring of tea. Even though I had to deliver the same name-major-hometown spiel several times, I didn’t feel like a wind-up toy, parroting the same phrases over and over. Instead, this spiel became a gateway to tentative and genuine friendships, warmed by the steam that rose from the mugs and tumblers. I wasn’t socializing for the sake of socializing–with tea in hand,it felt more natural to ease into conversations. And I wasn’t the only one that felt that way; a few of the partygoers thanked me for organizing the event. One friend agreed that it didn’t feel as tiring as the welcome week programming—rather, it felt like recharging. Another told me that it had helped them get to know people in our dorm better. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in my struggle to adjust to the scope of the college community.
The transition into college is certainly exciting, but can also be extremely exhausting. The “speed-dating” setup of welcome week leaves little room for people to explore their new relationships and connections at their own pace, which could be why first-week friend groups tend to be somewhat short-lived. However, finding the time to start friendships on my own terms was foundational to the rest of my freshman year. I made so many lasting friendships during that tea party and often received requests to host more. While the number of guests at each party dwindled as people broke off into their own circles, the warm, relaxing atmosphere at each gathering never faded. Through these tea parties, I learned I wasn’t bound to the one path laid out for me. There will always be people willing to match my pace— and to share a cup of tea with me.