The teapot appears ordinary, with a round, smooth, white porcelain body, a flat base, a handle and a square knob that tapers down as it connects to the lid. The knob has a small hole through it, perhaps the width of a thread, that I never figured out the use of.

The teacup is Chinese in style, about the size of my palm and made out of the same smooth white porcelain as the pot. The sole decoration that adorns it is the image of a blue carp, whiskers trailing, as it leaps into the air (perhaps a carp about to jump over the dragon gate, or a K’un about to transform into a Peng, but most likely just an ordinary fish).

Signs of use are evident upon these two items: the cup’s formerly smooth base has been slightly chipped, the inside of the pot has been stained slightly yellow, and the lid has a few scratches from when I accidentally banged it against a table.

To me, it is a faithful companion that has accompanied me through many late night study sessions, countless essay revisions and innumerable times where I just wanted to sleep but there was that one piece of homework left.

During those stressful times, the sound of that stream of steaming hot tea pouring into the cup has always comforted me, and the taste of it has calmed me. Even when I am swamped in work, the comforting familiarity of these simple vessels has sharpened my focus and quelled my anxieties.

And now, I just can’t imagine doing all-nighters without this pot and cup.