Chapel Talk (Westminster High School Student)
Good morning.
My name is Anna and I’m a Sixth Form boarder from Melrose, Massachusetts.
If you asked my friends to describe me in one word, they would probably say—before “kind” or “caring”—“grandmother.” Maybe it’s because I get into bed an hour before check-in, or because I move at the pace of a 98-year-old crossing the street. Maybe it’s the way I drive two inches from the steering wheel, or my very impressive knitting skills. But I think the main reason is the pure, inescapable joy on my face when I wrap my hands around a hot mug of tea.
While this “grandma” label makes my friends laugh, it’s also true to who I am. These habits are part of me. Letting them go would feel like letting go of myself. Along with these quirks, I’ve built rituals that give my day meaning—journaling before bed, reading, and listening to music at all times. But the ritual that has shaped me the most is drinking tea.
And when I say “drinking tea,” I don’t just mean sipping it. I mean the ritual: choosing the right mug, watching the water bubble, tying a slip knot with the tea bag string around the handle every single time, and reading the quote on the tag. I learned this from my mom. I watched the tea cabinet expand until it could barely close, and once a year be purged when she declared it “ridiculous how many mugs we own.” When I was sick as a kid, she brought me tea in my ballerina-fairy-sheet-covered bed. For me, tea represents her care. Now that I’m away from home, it has become my way of caring for myself—a quiet reminder to slow down.
Tea has marked the rhythm of my life here, season by season:
Fall — a hot chai.
After Sunday chapel, the sun still warm but the air crisp, my friends and I walk to Popovers. The week may have been filled with tests and cross-country miles, but a chai in hand reminds me to simply be present. It is my favorite moment of the week.
Winter — peppermint tea.
Snow piles two feet high. I drag on my Uggs and puffer, half-regretting ever leaving the dorm. I thaw in the Stud with a hot tea before heading to the library. The warmth in my hands lets me appreciate the snowfall instead of complain about the cold.
Spring — an iced matcha.
Sitting on the quad, matcha in hand, I watch my friends play spikeball. (No, I’m still not good enough to join…) But in that moment, I forget my worries. Maya makes the winning hit, everyone cheers, and I am simply happy.
Summer — iced black tea with lemon.
At home, my cousin Grace, my brother Gabe, and I race to the car when my grandfather, Papa Joe, honks for our post-dinner trips to Soc’s for ice cream. He hums along to “Blueberry Hill,” we laugh until we cry, and he gives me advice—from running marathons to saving money. These drives are some of the sweetest moments of my life.
To be honest, when I woke up this morning, my heart was beating a little fast thinking about giving this talk. And yes, I made tea. Tea calms me when I’m anxious and comforts me when I’m overwhelmed.
For many of us, life at Westminster can feel like one long loop—class, practice, homework, sleep, repeat. In my early years here, that routine felt dull. I missed the rhythm of home: waking up to my mom’s English breakfast tea, long car rides to school and dance, café homework sessions over macarons and chai, singing with my dad and cousin on the late-night drives home. Those days were packed, but they were filled with things I loved. The routine was mine.
When I got to Westy, I didn’t yet know how to make this place feel like mine. I did what was required of me and not much more. I played it safe, focusing on grades and staying afloat.
With time, I started creating small “tea moments” in my day—choices that brought me joy and grounded me. Dancing alone in the studio. Listening to music while getting ready with my roommate. Journaling in the mornings. Going to church on Sundays. Calling my family. Drinking tea.
These weren’t random treats; I made them part of my routine. And that changed everything.
Now, I see routine not as something forced on me, but something I craft for myself. These small rituals keep me connected to who I am.
For me, tea is less about the taste and more about the comfort it brings: the slip knot on the mug, the warmth on cold fingers, the quiet company it keeps while I read before bed.
My hope for all of you is this: find your “tea.”
Find the small moments—tiny routines—that remind you of who you are, that make this place feel a little more like home. Build a life here that feels like yours.
Thank you.