Millennials are tired.
Not the I stayed up watching one episode too many kind of tired. No. Our knees are tired. Our backs crack when we stand and our minds are buffering mid sentence (even I, the famous storyteller of years back, now find myself struggling to tell a story or even gossip past two sentences) Is it that I don’t have the energy, or I simply do not care? I am yet to find out. Also, maybe I am exaggerating a bit on the back cracking bit, but you get the drift… And our pockets? Well, constantly filing complaints. Life has become a series of small battles we did not sign up for, and by the time evening rolls around, all we really want is silence, a soft seat and a crime documentary explaining how someone else made worse decisions than us.
As if that is not exhausting enough, in come the visitors.
It is not that we do not like people. Let us be clear. We love our friends and value community. But lately, visits feel demanding. There is only so much “so what’s new?” a person can answer before realizing nothing is new. Have you ever asked yourself, without alcohol, how many of your friendships will hold? Will you even be able to sustain a conversation for thirty minutes? (Food for thought). Most of us millennials are just rotating between work stress, existential dread and trying to remember if we switched off the gas or unplugged the iron box before leaving the house. Small talk has become a full time job, and frankly, we are underqualified and underpaid.
What we want now is peace and solitude. The kind of quiet where you can hear your own thoughts… or at least hear the narrator on a crime documentary without pausing every five minutes to say, Eh, that’s crazy.
Which is why millennials, in their quiet genius, have started developing subtle but effective ways to guard their space fiercely.
Enter green tea.
A boundary with steam rising from it. Because the moment you serve green tea to a visitor, the entire mood shifts. This is no longer a place of indulgence. There will be no frying sounds coming from the kitchen or sudden appearance of snacks that encourage people to get comfortable. No. This is a reflective space. A place where conversations are short, intentional and if you may, slightly awkward.
Green tea confuses people. They try to enjoy it, but something in their spirit knows this is not a house where you settle in for hours. This is a house where you visit… and then you go. And let us not even get started on the financial wisdom. In an era where milk feels like a luxury and sugar requires budgeting, green tea is a masterclass in restraint. There will be no second round enthusiasm, thank you very much. One tea bag, hot water and a strong sense of purpose.
Somehow, it also makes you look like you have your life together. There is something about green tea that suggests discipline. Now, you look like you have your shit together, like a morning routine that includes stretching and possibly journaling. Visitors will sit there quietly, reassessing you. “This one has changed,” they will think. They will not know you are simply tired and trying to survive the month.
But the true beauty of green tea lies in what happens after. People do not linger. They cannot, because the body refuses. Within minutes, they begin to remember other things they need to do. And as they leave, something even more powerful begins to unfold.
They do not come back. Or at least, not as often.
And when they do speak about you, it is with a certain caution. A quiet warning passed from one person to another.
Ukienda kwake… ni green tea tu.
And just like that, your home becomes what you always wanted it to be. Predictable and peaceful. A place where you can watch your crime documentaries and exist without performing for anyone.
Because in the end, this is not about avoiding people. What it is though, is choosing yourself….and your milk.
