I found this porcelain cup during an unexpected trip to Vienna in April 2019 with Martina. At the time we barely knew each other—she was a close friend of one of my closest friends—but that journey quietly transformed us into lifelong companions. Today she is a Buddhist monk with a completely shaven head, a striking contrast to the long black hair she had when we wandered through Vienna together. Whenever I look at this cup, I think of that transformation and of how unpredictable the beginnings of lasting friendships can be.

We discovered it by chance in a ceramic atelier while exploring one of Vienna's design neighbourhoods. Among a collection of playful handmade objects, this cup immediately caught my attention. A flock of tiny birds emerges almost invisibly from its white porcelain surface, revealed only through delicate reliefs, small black eyes, and soft coral beaks. Despite my lifelong fear of birds, I found these quiet creatures unexpectedly peaceful. I liked the idea of holding an entire flock in the palm of my hand.

This cup has become inseparable from the memory of that journey. It reminds me that the most meaningful souvenirs are often the ones that preserve human encounters rather than places. Long after the trip ended, it continues to hold the beginning of a friendship that has accompanied us both through profoundly different lives.