Recently the weather in Taipei has been quite cold and rainy, and I think I’m the only person who’s enjoying it. I often feel I will soon miss the variety of weather we’ve enjoyed here (well, maybe not everyone else), but I will be happy to escape the heat of summer.
Unfortunately I think I’ve been pretty bad at recounting small every day stories of things that happen. Facebook is a pretty easy way of delivering this kind of news, but something is lost in the brevity of a post. I’ll try to include some, if I can remember.
I’m a bit startled to realize that when I think about this time last year, the memory is in Taiwan. This is a bit surreal, since I only thought I’d be here for a year, etc., but it seems easy to sit here forever. I mean, if you think about it, life is much easier here than in the States. I don’t really need a car to get around, and besides rent, the cost of living is really cheap. I don’t even pay for water or Wifi-I got a pretty sweet deal. But my apartment is old and crusty and doesn’t have a kitchen, so maybe that’s the tradeoff.
These days I’m pretty occupied with planning for the future, which is stupid, because it means I’m failing to enjoy what’s in front of me right now.
There are times in your life, when some major event happens, and fully occupies your mind, to the point that you are consumed by it. In these situations, it seems as if all goals, ideas, or thoughts you had as the person before this even are blotted out and left to die. Then, months, maybe years later, you remember what they were, and wonder, “What happened with that? Why was it forgotten, or let go?”
This is happening to me now.
As of now, I’ve made a list of things that I’d like to accomplish before I head back to California. The list is pretty ambitious, but I think if I apply myself (and maybe not spend so much time sitting around on my phone) I can probably achieve these things.
I’ve also noticed that I spend very little time actually reflecting on Taiwan, and its people. I’m not sure if it’s because I forget, or rather I’m trying to hide the enormous arrogance I feel when I make blanket judgments about a whole culture and a group of people. I’ve found it’s a bit irritating when I see other foreigners do it, so I don’t think I’m going to do that. Instead, I’m going to write down a couple of short instances of things that have happened to me. I think I’ll start with three, and maybe continue if it goes over well.
1
One day, I was walking back to work from lunch. The day was a bit cold and windy. Not too cold, but enough for people to whip out the giant down jackets, scarves, and hats. This would probably be “hoody” weather to people in California, but I’ve noticed that most people here don’t like the cold.
As I was walking, I noticed a big tin bucket, one that is used for burning money. Well, it’s not real money, of course, but paper money that you can buy and burn as an offering for the Gods. Many people do this outside their homes or businesses, and it happens regularly every other week or so. This particular bucket was placed just under the overhang, far enough away from the covered walkway not to block foot traffic, but still protected from the rain.
As mentioned, the wind was particularly strong this day. Something that is particularly prevalent when you burn paper is a lot of ash, which flurries around quite a lot when it’s burning by itself, let alone provoked by strong wind.
I noticed an elderly man walking the opposite direction. I met his eyes just as the whirlwind of paper ash entered both our eyeballs. He gave me a conspiratorially sympathetic look, and we both laughed at each other as we passed.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen that man again, but I couldn’t help feeling a brief connection with this person. We didn’t share anything-language, nationality, interests, beliefs, personality-except for that moment of escaping the ash.
Now that I’ve written it down, it seems so silly, doesn’t it? What is so special about this brief moment in life? I often wonder the same thing, but the fact is that I remember this happening, I remember the look on his face, the kindred humanity, and the idea that we are so much more connected than we realize, and that it isn’t actually a bad thing.
I wish this was something I could feel every day. I wish it was a skill I could temper, that even looking in the eyes of a person who hates me, that I could still see myself in their eyes and know that we are somehow connected. I learned a lesson from this moment, and I hope I don’t forget it. It’s a tough one to remember.
2
After a particularly tiring day of teaching, I was able to head home from work somewhat early. My boyfriend wasn’t answering his phone, so I assumed he was asleep, and planned to wait for him at home before dinner.
On the sidewalk in front of the pasta place on the first floor of my building, there are two benches. This is somewhat rare, especially on the sidewalk, but I think the restaurant placed them there for customers to sit while they wait.
I love these benches. I love to sit and watch people walk by, with their dogs and children, talking and riding bikes. You can watch the people in the park across the street, and watch cars drive by.
I decided to sit for a few minutes before heading upstairs. We had been treated to a rare day of mild weather, with a cool breeze sweetening the air. It reminded me of California, I guess. Min-Zhi, a guy who works at the pasta house, said “Hey” as he walked in to work. Yes, they know me at the pasta house. Yes, I am proud of that.
So while I was sitting there, enjoying the weather and wondering what to eat for dinner, a super old lady was inching her way along. I recognized her a little. Yo had taken a picture of her on mother’s day, sitting alone outside 7-11 with a single rose for company.
She was looking at me, and I thought she might want to sit. Her walker seemed to be dragging her down rather than helping her, so I scooted to the far end. She smiled and sat down with a lurch.
And then she started to talk. She talked, and talked and talked. She nudged my arm for emphasis, laughed when she made a joke, and I tried to laugh with her. At first I tried to respond, but she didn’t seem to worry too much, and liked that I just sat there.
So she talked and talked. Oh, by the way, this is in Mandarin. I couldn’t really understand most of what she was saying, as her accent sounded a bit different from the normal Taiwan Mandarin, and she was slurring a bit. So she kept talking and talking and talking and I didn’t know what to do. I started to sweat. I was so worried that I couldn’t respond and worried she’d be upset, but she just kept talking.
I think she said something about her family leaving China, then arriving in Taiwan. She said something about her children, maybe her son, who she was living with. I don’t know. These are just speculations.
Soon, 15 minutes went by, then 25, then 40, and as she talked to me people started to notice. It was rush hour, and people were headed home. Some people looked at us quizzically, and some people even smiled. A man asked me in Mandarin if I understood her, and I said “Yi-Dian Dian”, which means “A little”. He laughed and went on his way.
I started to panic a little. How was I going go get away? What was I going to say to her? Should I just wait for her to leave? But that could be ages from now!
Eventually I realized that I didn’t really have anywhere to be, and as a result it was okay for me to stay on that bench to listen to her talk. It’s not a big deal, is it?
So she kept going, and I just kept nodding. I laughed when she laughed, looked sympathetic when she seemed to demand it, and tried to seem like I was listening.
I’m pretty sure she knew I didn’t understand what she was saying, but she just wanted to chat and chat and chat.
Eventually, Min-Zhi seemed to notice what was going on and came out.
Min-Zhi: “What are you guys talking about?”
Me: “Um…I don’t know.”
Min-Zhi: “Just talking?”
Me: “Yeah, just talking…”
Min-Zhi: “You are good!” he laughed, giving me the thumbs up.
He walked back inside the pasta house and left me to fend for myself.
Soon, the sun was down. She had stopped talking, and seemed to absorb the surrounding twilight. She smiled at me with her single tooth, and said it was time for her to go home.
I helped her stand up, and she, leaning heavily on her walker, started the long shuffle home.
Min-Zhi came back out, smiling and lighting a cigarette in his hand. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
3
This particularly story is a bit of a saga. As I’ve mentioned, I usually take the bus to work. There are quite a variety of bus drivers. Some of them are old and grumpy, some are middle aged and flirtatious, and some are young and nervous, but most of them are kind and very welcoming.
There is one in particularly who was always memorable to me. He looks to be about 25, and is always very talkative with passengers. The first time I saw him was right before I slipped on the edge of the bus as I was boarding, and nearly cracked my teeth on it. Fortunately I was able to catch myself, but as a result, landed with both hands on the floor of the bus’s entryway. Gross. The young bus driver immediately shouted “BE CAREFUL” and delayed the bus enough for me to get on.
So I made my way to the back of the bus hoping I’d never see him or anybody else in that bus again. I already stand out, and now if anyone in the bus sees me again, they’ll remember me as the foreigner who fell onto the bus.
One day I saw him again. I was excited to show him that I could stand on the bus without falling. But when I scanned my card, it was empty of credit, and I almost died of embarrassment. He tried to wave me away-let me on without paying-but I annoyed him by asking “how much” (you can pay with change or card). He didn’t seem to realize I could understand numbers, and painstakingly raised his hands (while driving) to show 1 & 5. Ah, 15. I dropped the money in and ran away before I could distract him further and cause him to crash the bus with everyone on board.
After this, I didn’t see him for a long time. I moved to another part of the city, and didn’t take the bus anymore, but the subway. I did miss seeing him, as he was always so kind. Seeing a “familiar” face in a foreign environment is so comforting, I’d probably need a whole separate post to explain. I’d see him driving through the streets sometimes, once with a child laughing and standing beside him.
Eventually I moved back to the area I was in before (near my boyfriend’s house) and was taking the bus again. One Saturday morning, I was headed to work, and he picked me up. Now unusual friends, we waved and smiled, and my day instantly improved. I got off at my stop and said goodbye.
I worked the full day and returned to the bus stop. I waved down my bus to take me home and who was behind the wheel? The bus driver. We both squealed and high-fived, and it was probably the strangest thing ever for anyone to see. He took me home, and that was the beginning of one of the best friendships I’ve had in Taiwan. Eventually, I asked his name (Guo-Chen) and eventually, we became friends on LINE, a chatting app in Taiwan.
I see him fairly often still. After talking more, he’s actually 40, and has a 16 yr old daughter. To give you an idea of how old he actually looks, imagine Ariana Grande one day declaring she’s actually in her 40s.
I think that will do for now. I hope you enjoy these stories I have to share, as I feel they are the most valuable treasures I’ve collected since I’ve been here.