Sweet Tea

Every morning is the same —

black tea bag dropped into the chipped mug,

kettle whistling while I twist around the kitchen,

hot water swirling,

clear water dark.

Three spoons of sugar, always.

Whenever I’d visit old friends who offered me a drink, I’d ask for tea.

And avid coffee drinkers would give me a mug of stale, green tea,

while connoisseurs would make me a fresh cup from loose leaves.

And when I asked for three sugars, it was as if I had, instead, grown three eyes.

I continued, complacent to such criticism.

But, how can a girl so sweet be so wrong, they wondered, and how is she alive?

Her blood must taste like candy.

It’s just sugar — every morning,

and I hardly pay a price to smile.

My friends were victims to artificial sweeteners,

poor things,

not knowing the difference between a smile and a frown,

or of a feeling of warmth filling your chest and the feeling of bitter brewing hatred.

They never tasted sugar since a youth full of red-40 gummies and snack cakes,

never tasted sugar since it went out of style,

since goodness of any kind went out of style.

They don’t make it so bad, anymore, I say, and there are just so many types.

Granulated, powdered, white, brown.

But my happiness isn’t disrupted — only stirred,

as daily spoons of sugar dissolve in the mug.

Hanna Masudi ‘26

Traditions and norms are often overlooked for modern-day versions that don't live up to the original. Everyone has a preference in every aspect of life — like with their tea. At the end of the day, however, Splenda is sweet, but sugar is sweeter.