It’s 10pm and I’m sitting in the office tea room with Katy, a place that has somehow become woven into the fabric of our everyday lives over the past three months. We have a Mejiro Kukicha ice brew between us and a chestnut daifuku slowly disappearing piece by piece. We have our Obubu samues on the tatami next to us from the day of tours and our laptops glow softly against the dim room, words half-written across our screens while we both attempt to force coherent reflections out of brains that are probably too full from living.
What feels strange is that this room was completely unfamiliar to us just three months ago.
Trying to think back on my time at Obubu feels oddly difficult, almost like trying to hold water (or should I say, tea) in my hands. I wrote once in my journal that “days feel like months and weeks feel like days” here, and I still cannot think of a better way to describe it. So much happens in a single day that by nighttime it already feels like you have lived through several versions of yourself, yet somehow entire months disappear with alarming speed. It is probably because life here feels unusually dense, packed tightly with conversations, tea, movement, learning and people constantly passing through each other’s lives.
At Obubu, we live in a small enclosed world tucked quietly between mountains and tea fields, slightly detached from whatever is happening outside. Sometimes I describe it as an escapist capsule, though that feels too simplistic somehow. Utopia is probably closer to the truth, not because it is perfect, but because it is one of the rare places I have encountered where people seem genuinely guided by curiosity, care, education and belief in one another.
I actually came to Obubu almost completely new to Japanese tea. I did not arrive here with years of knowledge or some lifelong dream of becoming deeply involved in tea culture. I applied primarily because I wanted a different environment and different rhythm of living. I wanted community, challenge, unfamiliarity after 4 years of university, because I knew that discomfort often changes me for the better. I think I also came because I wanted to feel close to nature again and closer to myself too. So I knew coming here would likely be transformative, yet I am certain that the version of me from three months ago could not have imagined where I would be now.
I have a small journal of reflections from my time at Obubu, tiny fragments written late at night after long days, that I am now looking at to write this. I am realising how difficult it is to find a singular narrative that can hold all of it together. This whole Obubu experience itself feels too alive and sprawling for one post.
— On knowledge and learning
One thing I loved deeply about Obubu was being surrounded by nerds. I love passionate people. I love people who are utterly obsessed with something in life, whose eyes visibly light up when they begin explaining the smallest details of something they care about.
Not the performative kind, but the kind of people who are genuinely and endlessly fascinated by their own little corners of the world. Tea nerds, art nerds, herbs-and-nature nerds, music nerds… There is something deeply comforting about people who care intensely about understanding something, not because it is profitable or impressive, but simply because they love it. And what struck me even more was the gentleness and generosity that accompanied that knowledge. Everyone at Obubu shares so openly. There is very little ego attached to expertise. Curiosity is welcomed warmly here, especially if it is sincere.
I still think often about Katrina’s tea lounge that took place relatively early in our internship, where she shared about how tea had quietly guided her life across different countries and chapters of herself. I remember entering that session rather exhausted from the day, but then leaving feeling very energised, reflective, emotional in a way I could not fully explain. As dramatic as this sounds, I know something shifted in me after that night. I stopped noticing tea as merely a drink, or even just agriculture. I started to see it as a thread capable of connecting people, memory, geography, philosophy, ritual and entire ways of living. Now I know that whenever I travel somewhere new, I will look for and at tea differently.
— On people, life paths, and history
Being at Obubu quietly dismantled many of my assumptions about what it means to live a meaningful life. Coming from Singapore, I think I unconsciously absorbed a very rigid understanding of success for a long time. Stability is deeply valued. Progress is meant to look visible and measurable. There is comfort in certainty, in clear ladders, in knowing exactly where things are heading. Yet at Obubu, I met people constantly choosing paths that made very little sense on paper, except that they felt deeply aligned with who they were.
Ex-corporates, software developers, teachers, students, artists, people rebuilding their lives in foreign countries, people choosing passion over predictability again and again despite uncertainty quietly waiting ahead of them. And strangely, many of them felt more grounded than some people I know who seemed to have everything figured out.
One thing I became especially grateful for was the one-on-one time or unique connection I had with each person. First Aoimori trimming with just Miwako-san, chatting with George as he gives me a lift to Kyoto, morning tea with Maren, conversations in Mandarin with Ching at night… I usually thrive in larger groups where conversations bounce quickly and energy moves constantly, so slowing down into quieter conversations initially felt uncomfortable for me but it gave me the chance to really hear people properly and to understand the winding paths that led them here. No one would know but every single person at Obubu has touched me in some way or another, even if they do not remember when. I know that when I return home, many of these people will continue crossing my mind unexpectedly while I am doing completely ordinary things.
Obubu also carries this beautiful layered sense of history, as though the place is quietly holding onto every person who has passed through it before us. During George’s wedding week, previous interns and assistant managers returned and suddenly Obubu felt stretched across timelines. Stories surfaced everywhere, over meals, during tea, in passing conversations: who used to live in which room, old harvests, old projects, old routines, old versions of Obubu that existed long before we arrived here. It made me realise how much of this place has been built slowly through years and years of people leaving small parts of themselves behind. There is something strangely comforting about that. And now, in some small way, I am leaving a mark of myself here too.
— On curiosity, mindfulness, and the present
I think one of the best things I did while being here was approaching everything with curiosity instead of trying to optimise every experience. At first, I approached Obubu with this intense desire to contribute as much as possible, to be efficient, useful, capable. But once my footing became steadier, I learnt how to slow down. I realised I did not want to simply complete tasks; I wanted to understand how everything connected together. I wanted to understand everyone’s role in this enormous constantly moving ecosystem that somehow functions through equal parts chaos, trust, passion and care. Through this mindset, I found myself asking endless questions. About tea, farming, business, logistics, philosophy, people. And there was always someone willing to answer.
During the interview process, Obubu emphasises the ‘mundane tasks’ heavily, cleaning, washing up, repetitive labour. And as someone who has worked in service before, I understood why they needed to say that. But strangely, very little here actually feels mundane:
- Every dishwashing session at cafe and tea tour dissolves into conversations about life, relationships, cultural differences, future dreams, or moments of comfortable silence where nobody feels the need to fill the air.
- Every tea tour feels entirely different because of the guests, the weather, the energy of the day, the questions people ask. Sometimes guests ask things so unexpectedly specific that they completely destabilise my understanding before rebuilding it stronger afterwards.
- And every assistant manager brewing beside me brings something uniquely themselves into the tours too. Some are deeply technical while some are more playful. Watching how differently people communicate the same place never becomes old.
- Every farming session changes depending on the soil beneath you, the weather above you, the harvest, the people beside you. Every factory cleaning is a chance to discover the sencha machines from a unique angle. Nothing repeats itself exactly and every activity opens up another set of questions waiting quietly to be explored.
— On faith and possibilities
I remember something George said during his tea lounge that struck me deeply. He said that “Akky-san and Hiro-san are willing to start doing things before they know all the answers.”
We all thought that was incredibly beautiful. That is part of what makes Obubu work. There is a crazy amount of faith here — faith in people, in learning through doing, in figuring things out along the way rather than before beginning.
On my first farming shift, I remember feeling nervous because it was something I had looked forward to so much. I really wanted to be good at it. I remember feeling a little defeated because it took me forever just to pull the recoil starter properly to ignite the engine. I also remember asking Pau-san for feedback on my ninja walk during our first kyobancha harvest (because I was sooo shaky). Towards the end of my internship, Miwako-san offered me the chance to drive the harvesting machine, something I genuinely never imagined I would get to experience. She joked that she had actually been slightly worried about me after our first farming practice and I remember laughing because I hope I proved her wrong eventually.
Being here reminded me repeatedly that the limits of possibility are often far more self-imposed than we realise. At Obubu, I have watched absurdly ambitious ideas somehow become reality through persistence, community and collective belief, especially from Hirosan. You stop doubting people’s dreams here because eventually you realise this place itself probably sounded impossible once too.
And despite it only being three months, my memories here already feel separated into distinct little eras of life, shaped deeply by the changing seasons. We first arrived when it was nearly 0°C, huddled beneath kotatsus wearing layers upon layers, desperately buying extra thermals. And now we have reached the point where farming means UV jackets, fans, sweating under the sun and carrying cold brews everywhere.
Repeatedly, I find myself standing completely still in the middle of ordinary moments, trying to imprint them directly into my memory while they are still happening.
- Kotatsu season and cold evenings gathered in the living room, where the cold somehow became its own form of intimacy, pulling everyone together. The crazy constellations on a clear night.
- Cherry blossom season and daily walks along the river just outside Obubu, watching the trees slowly blush pink day by day, Katy and I constantly trying to decipher whether we were looking at cherry blossoms or peach blossoms (#isthispeach), petals eventually scattering themselves across the roads and floating through the wind like soft pale snow.
- The little melody that chimes across Wazuka at 8am and 5pm every day. Sitting on the wooden bench outside Obubu House as evening settled quietly over the mountains, the sunlight turning everything gold for a brief moment before disappearing.
- The mountains themselves slowly transforming into impossible shades of green during spring, almost neon at times, as though someone had blasted the saturation on a picture.
- The beginning of spring harvests. Akky-san yelling complete gibberish at me from across the tea bush and I yell random noises back. Watching the second lane of a harvested bush slowly take shape beside the first lane until together they formed the perfect curved arch. Watching the direct-contact shading ripple in the wind like waves across the sea. Sparkling sunlight filtering gently through shelf-style shading like komorebi. Impossibly intricate spiderwebs stretched delicately between bushes (as I take branch to politely tell the spider that I am about to demolish its house). The feeling of accomplishment from receiving a simple thumbs up from Akky-san afterwards. Becoming human ropes on keitora during massive harvests.
- The sound of the keitora climbing slowly towards Aoimori, trees arching overhead into a canopy. That one time we spotted a deer prancing between the trees. The wind against my face while sitting in the back with my tabis and harvesting bags beside me, staring quietly at the landscape folding in.
- The smell of fresh leaves during harvest. Laughing and dancing around while withering the oolong leaves, convinced somehow everyone’s joy would seep into the tea. Side questing with Garance to shuffle black gyokuro leaves with LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem in the background. The days I had off that I decided to spend tagging along the farming team to enjoy the field in all its beauty (my favourite way to spend a day off).
- The silence of Wazuka, in general.
I catch myself thinking very often: this moment is perfect.
Not because life is perfect, or because I suddenly understand where my future is heading, but because I have become intensely aware of how rare it is to feel this present inside one’s own life. This connected to people and this curious about the world around me.
<3
As if this post was not already unbearably long, there is still so much more I feel grateful for from this Obubu experience. First and foremost, I know none of this would have been possible without my family back home, who gave me the space and support to leap so wholeheartedly into something unfamiliar. I will always carry gratitude for being able to have this chapter at all.
And of course, my wonderful batch of spring interns: Doug, Kenji, Riikka, Ching, Laura and Katy. Despite all of us arriving from completely different corners of the world, I can see threads of similarity running through us. There was so much sincerity and softness within our batch, so much willingness to help one another, laugh together, get down in the dirt together and endlessly pour ourselves into Obubu work. I appreciated that everyone arrived with such open hearts. To our kouhais and anyone else coming to Obubu, I hope you enjoy your time as much as I have.
A special mention to my mentor Marusya, who was not only separated from me by the thinnest shoji paper wall imaginable, but who also became such a caring presence throughout this entire experience. Thank you for guiding me so patiently, for always making space for questions and for quiet encouragement. You are genuinely one of the strongest and coolest people I know.
And to all the assistant managers of 2026 — DJ, Garance, Ambre, Fiona, Maren, Tran and Trey — thank you for becoming such wonderful friends and for welcoming us with so much warmth from the very beginning. Some of my favourite memories here exist because of all of you: drives winding through the mountains, deeply fulfilling harvest days, café shifts that entered perfect flow states, conversations stretching late into the night and all the tiny in-between moments that somehow made everyday life feel incredibly full. It feels strange knowing we will soon scatter back across different countries and different versions of our lives, but I already know our paths will cross again somewhere in the world. Hopefully in Singapore someday too.
I have been told multiple times that I would not be able to stay away from Obubu for very long. Honestly, I have no doubts about that. I already cannot wait for the next time I get to return!
And finally, thank you to all the Obubu staff members — Hiro-san, Akky-san, Kayo-san, George-san, Pau-san, Miwako-san, Katrina (habibi), Araki-san and Matsu-san — for creating a place like this at all. A place where curiosity is nurtured so generously, where people are trusted deeply, where wild dreams somehow feel more possible, where laughter constantly echoes through the houses and fields and where the world feels much kinder.
ありがとうございます!
Love, Glendish / Glenda
#222.5 Mimi (Donki Kizu)
Date of Birth: 21 April 2026
I am wild cat. I am fluff cat. #fwafwa #ふわふわ
I joined Slot 1 mid-way through their internship and they have been extremely welcoming to me or Mi. My favourite activity is processing, which I did twice. I am excited for more to come. My favourite memory was going to Aoimori with Miwako-san and rolling off the keitora into straight up dirt. Although it kind of bruised me, I am now stronger and more alive than ever. I am very sad that Slot 1 is leaving — they have hugged me everyday and they have pushed me to be better, faster, stronger, fluffier every day. #fwafwa #ふわふわ
I hope I have been supporting everyone.
Tea is not only a passion. It is a life choice.
Many more adventures to come! Love everyone! Bye!
