Ice-istential Creamisis

I have transformed into a bulbous being with a soft, furry skin and insides that are delightfully fresh and icy. I am certain that I am a mochi. Green tea, to be precise. I must find a mirror to confirm the results, but there isn’t one. Doubt clouds my delicious brain. What if I am not in fact, a mochi? What if I am just a peach? Or a tennis ball? This existential crisis is unbearable. But wait! I know in the core of my ice cream heart that I want to dance. And only mochi know the mochi dance.