Did I do something wrong? I stopped. Ogawa's eyes had grown large behind his glasses in surprise, then he let out a loud laugh. Sadako-san tried to hold back, but a chuckle or two escaped from between her fingers. I caught only a glimpse of her teeth, as they hid behind her hands. "Oh, oh, you're not supposed to do that," Ogawa sensei said, rubbing the top of his head. "The mound was deliberately made that way to represent a miniature landscape by Sadako-san so you can appreciate the care she took in filling up the natsume!"

What an idiot, I thought. Now I look like a fool to Sadako-san. "That's okay, though," Ogawa sensei said, in between his laughter. "You wouldn't have known. You have a true beginner's heart, after all!" Yeah, right. Except that I looked like what I was, probably. -A Nikkei who didn't know what from whatsis when it came to tea ceremony or Japanese culture.

"Well, Wayne-san, are you still interested in studying tea?" "Yes," I replied. "I think it will help me learn about Japanese aesthetics. .." And, I thought, maybe Sadako-san will serve me another bowl of tea, even if I look like an idiot. . .

Tea had become a regular part of my weekly schedule, in between preparing artwork for my master's show, writing papers, attending classes, and working part-time as a lab assistant in the art department's printmaking shop. I found the practice to be not only enlightening in terms of learning about Japanese aesthetics, but I also made friends outside of the narrow parameters of art students, and I was learning a very different way of looking at art compared to the anything-goes over-the-top art sensibilities.

I was peppering Ogawa sensei with my usual questions about classical Japanese art during our regular practice session in the Jakuan tea house, on the University of Hawai'i campus. Why only use susuki grass designs in the summer, I asked. Why not in January? What difference would it make? Because the Japanese paid lot of emphasis on the changing seasons, he replied, ever patiently. Time passing is a thing of beauty to them, and being seasonal with art motifs is part of one's ability as a chajin, a person of tea. Summer grasses, snow on barren boughs for winter. But for someone who lived in tropical Hawai'i, or who didn't grow up with the flora and fauna of Japan, how would he ever be able to be creative and true to his own culture and surroundings, rather than be artificial and do artwork of things and seasons that he knows nothing about?

Ogawa sensei smiled and finally concluded, "Wayne-san, I think you should live in Kyoto for a year. Then you will understand what I am saying. Some things I can't teach you. You have to feel it. When you feel Kyoto's seasons, you will understand what to do with your own art. For some things, you have to feel with your heart, not see with your eyes."

I had grown past thumping natsume on the tatami. I had seen with my eyes and learned from reading and talking about chanoyu. Now I had to feel it with my heart. I thought Ogawa sensei was talking about tea.

Sempai
Sempai are your seniors.

They could be the upperclassmen in your high school, the older workers in your company, the upper-level trainees in your karate club. They started training earlier than you did and are like "bigger brothers and sisters" to you in a learning environment, helping you along the way. In traditional Asian crafts and martial arts, the custom of sempai was as necessary an ingredient for learning as the sensei, or teacher, was. These "older brothers and sisters" guided you and looked after you in the dojo (martial arts training hall) or chashitsu (tea ceremony room). They took you aside after class and showed you the do's and don't's if you didn't get it during training.