At last, I was parking at my house’s entrance, tilting my head to the side, pursing my lips.

I watched a nearby video billboard video of an elderly couple raising their grandkids, their faces etched with determination. But then, the scene shifted abruptly — people inebriated and gambling, sharing lewd videos, mocking passersby and vandalising property. It was like society seemed blind to its own decay, “…the disordered society is full of loyal patriots…” could be heard from that.

Stepping out of my silent hydrogen ecocar, I'm embraced by the chill of the weather. The gentle hum of the car's power train fades, leaving a sigh that tugs at heart. It's inexplicable, this comfort it brings - a DNA-tuned echo vehicle of a womb's warmth. It isn't nature, but it feels like an integral part of me.

I looked at my house from here, with a remark; lived surrounded by large portholes of glass and wooden beams; hanging from a flying slung roof. The entryway had a pit designed to help us take off our shoes before entering. The door was clueless about me, so I had to shove my face into the camera for it to scan me and unlock. 

"A double-story building of concrete, wood, glass and stone," I muttered to myself. The garden was beautiful, with quaint stones and weather-worn trinkets artfully arranged in such a way that you could appreciate the rustic beauty of the imperfections found in nature.

"Welcome home, Mari," chirped the door panel as it slid open. "How was your journey outside?"

"Uneventful," I muttered. 

My vehicle automatically finished parking itself in the garage.

My house was modest and cosy, the perfect place to come back to after a long day of riding. Starting from here, it is easy to embark on a journey to the far reaches of the universe or beyond.

The air breathes of fresh soil and tree moss. Sunlight shines through the entrance with its warm and yellow tint to it.

Ada and Joanne, my caregivers, downsized to a cosy place a while back. I miss their constant presence in our once-shared home. When kids grow up, many caregivers prefer smaller nests, leaving the bigger ones for us to pursue our own families.

I went to my room, passing through the living room and glancing at the kitchen. I checked the time while sitting on my bed. Late noon.

My quarters were neater than my attire, a mechanic's life doesn't lend itself well to vanity. A plush ivory rug underfoot, walls painted a soft mint hue, and furnishings draped in deep emerald. It was my petite haven of polished wood, fragrant with a subtle aroma—akin to sunlit snowflakes or the iridescence within pearls.

On full moon nights, my bedroom windows could turn see-through with special sensors. This would light bright enough to see my bed, furniture, and clothes chair. Smaller sections of the walls were triangles of exposed brick, and its ceiling was a white-out sky with perfect stars and blue-green satellite webs. Ada and Joanne taught me to see things differently. They viewed our house as a tangram, a puzzle for the routines we could shape as we desired.

I stripped off my garments to take a shower, then after, pulled on a short-sleeved blouse and shorts, a bit too short if to receive unfamiliar folks.

“Hmmm” breaths catching in my chest. I know this city is here for me to make amends for yesterday's wrongs, but It also hinders the tomorrow. Standing at this crossroads, uncertainty fills my mind about the road ahead, yet I feel as if every step has been predetermined.

"Open the ceiling, please" I requested.

I could see birds soaring, blurring into one another as they flew across the sky. I understood that going on means going far, but also returning when necessary, greatness comes from having it all but understanding when it's time to let go and start anew. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, listening to the sound of cicadas singing outside in harmony with birds' song.

Living in this city was thrilling, a sense of belonging. Ada and Joanne, my carers, kept me. Over the years, the itch to wanderlust intensified. It felt as if stagnation threatened to consume me while I had evolved.

My caregivers are both older folks, near their 60s. They are wholly lucid and functional. Their vehicle’s AI also helps them a lot, though. They don't need me to do much around them because they live a self-sufficient lifestyle.

Both are the most independent people I know. They have been living in this ecocity for over five decades, and they haven't thought once about moving.

My caregiver, Ada, who named me, has been my rock since birth. Her kindness and patience are unmatched. The other, Joanne, is a force to be reckoned with - strong-willed and fiercely protective. Thanks to the fertilisation facility's DNA selection, I'm a mix of both: Ada's Asian traits - a thin chin, light tan skin, shorter hair and short stature; Joanne's longer legs, high cheekbones, brown hair and golden hazelnut eyes. From Ada came my love for tank tops and loose pants; from Joanne, a penchant for suit trousers.

As their cherished offspring, I grew up amidst their vertical biodynamic farm - the heart of our ecocity and my childhood haven.

My caregivers taught me the ropes of biodynamic farming. We discussed how to nurture the soil, wildlife, and crops in harmony with nature. Ada stressed the importance of Joanne's research for our farm's vitality. In this practice, we cultivated plants not only for us but also for other farms, especially beekeepers. Our diverse flora offered a wealth of nutrients and even sweet treats for those with a sweet tooth. Some said the aquatic varieties tasted like fish - not my cup of tea!

I used to grow medicinal herbs for trading and fun. In this ecocity, we planted edible and medicinal plants on everywhere. Even the trees lining the streets were pillared to create shade while they still bore some lychee, apples, dragon fruit, limes, tamarind, grape vines, mangosteens, avocados, and even oranges.

My comm buzzed, and I knew it was Ada without announcing the caller ID. Part of me wanted to ignore it, but I opted to answer.

"Mari, r'you there?" came Ada's voice from the device.

I put on a playful yawn before responding, "Mochi mochi, Ada.. sorry I was asleep."

"No, no, I'm sorry for waking you up darling. Joanne and I were having a talk and thought it was a good time for us to take a Cha Tao together."

"Sure, why not?" I replied.

"Excellent! Meet you in a few hours? Late noon?" she suggested.

"I'll stick around, take your time girls," I said, hearing her finish up talking to Joanne.

"Thanks, lov'ya," she said before hanging up.

"Love you too," I echoed as the call ended.

I quickly rose from bed, through my wardrobe for something comfortable yet presentable for the Cha Tao. Furisode and zori, but without obi, should do. Checking and rechecking my hair and makeup in the mirror. I had already begun running through the ritual in my head. Time to let the bed-gown rest awhile on my chair; I'd be back soon enough.

I slipped out of my room and made my way to the kitchen. The fridge contained the usual array of organic produce and vegan delicacies. I grabbed a fresh apple and a container of homemade almond milk, then settled down at the dining table. I've tried to find some of our old tea bowls, but they're gone, too.

Ada and Joanne, my ecocity's caregivers, safeguard our culture. They monitor resources for fair distribution and foster mental health and positive human-animal relationships. Swiftly, they or other caregivers correct any protocol breaches or suspicious acts. How could I explain my feelings of restlessness and wanderlust to them, people who stewardship lives in this city?

Without Ada and Joanne, the house feels empty, save for the whispers of our past chats. I think back to every Cha Tao we shared, learning to savour its taste. Our living room was a mini-library of books on poetry, art, and music. We'd talk about tea's influence on the arts and our shared belief that "tea should never be forgotten."

In my backyard, hibiscus, camellia, bougainvillea, and lilies bloom. The watering system also bathes the garden in a soft pink UV light, creating an atmosphere of tranquillity. A delicate scent of sweet tea fills the air. I remember green leaves bobbing in a bowl of pale liquid — a symbol of our unity that persists.

I snuffled for my cherished wamono tea ware, hand-glazed ceramic and bamboo treasures. Broken pieces were reborn with gold filament, more precious than before. I pulled out the kyusu and dobin teapots from the top cabinet, admiring their glossy clay curves. In the third drawer, I found the chasen with its soft bristles ideal for matcha sifting. The fourth held the sturdy yet soft fukusa silk fabric, while the second concealed the chashaku, a bamboo scoop with enchanting grooves perfect for handling matcha powder.

I've got a little bit of time to do some cleaning and arranging of the house before they arrive, and then, the sound of my caregiver's vehicle pulling up outside caught rubbing a hand through my not so combed hair. 

I took a deep breath and walked out to meet.