I’m going to stop doing it.
And not only because the law has changed.
I’m going to put this filthy habit to bed… if I can.
Like that petty criminal in that O. Henry story, I will reform.
My vice is tea-leaf chucking.
I’ve long thought of myself as better than other litterers. I would never have thrown the contents of an ashtray out of the window, nor plastic yoghurt pots.
I’ve thought of the tea leaves I chuck as “like the leaves of Autumn”; fresh from nature and eager to return to nature.
Indeed, the mounds of my tea at the foot of our building rarely remained there an hour; the leaves quickly dried, soon carried away by the wind. Harmless fragments among so much other foliage. On rainy days, they were pulped to similar effect.
We don’t even have a name for them, unlike fag-ends, coffee grounds or nuclear waste, because these leaves are just so innocent. Bus drivers and store owners across China are harmlessly emptying flasks of green tea as you read this sentence.
And I haven’t yet mentioned how satisfying my chucking action is. Scraping leaves out of a receptacle is an inelegant, two-handed chore. But, with just the right amount of liquid, one handy hurl can clear the whole insides of a cup or pot. Instantly.
If the leaves are too dry, they don’t hurl well. But bins don’t like too much water. So bins are unattractive for hurling. Kitchen sinks are terrible; tea leaves quickly clog sink pipes. Toilets are better, but such a hurl can cause a toilet’s water to bounce right back. Unattractive. Anyway, hurling needs more arm-swinging space than a bathroom or kitchen can offer. Hence the open balcony window.
But there’s a reason for my sudden volte face now; it’s something that happened yesterday.
In the morning rush, I neglected to check the scene below our apartment. My chuck was executed before I noticed our neighbour downstairs, finishing his morning smoke.
I’d already slammed shut the balcony’s mosquito-net frame before he even looked up. I had instantly ducked down for self-preservation, too. It’s shameful how instinctively I did all this. And I could, perhaps have got away with it.
But I had already seen his yellow T-shirt. There was a damp clump of baimudan [白牡丹] on the shoulder. He looked more dazed than violated.
This neighbour of ours is a very good guy, a heroic grandfather, actually. I ran down to apologise. And, as I ran down the steps in my flip-flops, I was already planning this life change. I must say that he was very gracious.
During last year’s lockdown months, there were increasing reports of residents using windows to chuck waste and even, in one case, dead pets. This behaviour has actually forced a change in the law, although it is difficult to see how it can be policed without inhumane technology, snitching schemes or patchy scapegoating.
What chastened me in this instance was being confronted directly with the results of my selfish action. And that’s the most powerful mechanism for change.
Perhaps one day I will find myself a mountain where I can chuck tea leaves to my heart’s content.
Until then, I am determined to be civilised.
