When I'm sad or too noisy inside, I take out my old enamel teapot. 🫖 It's ugly, with a chipped handle, but it can whisper. 💬 This teapot sees more than many people: 👀 how I once cried over a cup of green tea, how I laughed, splashing boiling water from impatience.

Sometimes I think: we are all a little bit like teapots - with scratches and strange spots, but still boiling. 🔥 The teapot hisses, and I listen as if someone is telling me: "Everything is not so scary." 🤫 Every morning I pour water in there, put a spoonful of tea - not a bag, but loose, so that the grass floats up and smells subtly of summer. 🌿

Sometimes I brew something else in there. 🌱 Mint from the garden - to drive away heaviness from the head. 💆‍♀️ Lavender - for sleep. 🌙 Honey - because someone once told me that tea without honey is empty talk. 🍯 And so it turns out: I pour a cup and have a quiet conversation with myself. 💭

How strange that the most important conversations happen when no one is listening. 🤐 The kettle is boiling, and I think about my girls. 👧👧 About what kind of day they will have. 📅 That one day they will brew their tea and, perhaps, remember how I taught them to listen to the whisper of the teapot. 👂

Sometimes you want big, bright happiness - like in the movies. 🎬 But most often, happiness smells like tea. 🍵 And it hides in old things that you can’t just throw away. ♻️ If the teapot cracks, I’ll still keep it. 💔 Because while it’s whole, I’m whole too. 💪

Sometimes I think - what would I tell myself at fifteen? 🧒 Maybe so as not to be afraid of simple things. ✨ That happiness is not loud. 🔇 That the most important words are heard when no one is around. 👤 And that a teapot that whispers is not just a dish, it’s a small universe in which there is always room for new hope. 🌌

Today I listen again to him sing his simple song. 🎶 And I understand: no matter how much fuss there is, someday I will still return to where the water quietly bubbles and smells of dried mint. 🌊 And that's enough. ❤️