Final Thoughts on Taiwan
There's an atomosphere of dreadful anticipation hanging about. We're sitting here in my Grandma/Uncle's place and we've all divided up amongst the small apartment doing our own thing, each one fully aware that this is the last day that me and my parents are going to be in Taiwan for this trip. Grandma, in particular, knows that at 90 years old, there aren't going to be very many more visits in her future.
I don't know what it is about Taiwan that I've grown to love so much in the last several years. Perhaps it's the quaintness of my Uncle's apartment. A family of four (with my older younger cousin in America going to school/working) fits into a 3 bedroom, 1.5 bath, living room, kitchen, and not-much-else apartment filled to the brim with mementos and memories of the past 70 years.
Perhaps it's the proximity to relatives and family friends nearby. Every place we go to seem to be dinner dates and lunch meetings that act as miniature family reunions, talking with people who time seems to have left behind. There's always laughter and usually tears that accompany attempts of instilling stories of youths lost and wars fought into generations to come by parents and grandparents. I sat wide-eyed this last trip listening to story after story from my dad and Grandpa Wong who told of their harrowing escape from Beijing to Taipei.
Perhaps it's the sense of self that's acheived in a land where you have no social pressures. It's ok to sit on the couch and watch TV, it's ok to not be understandable or to not be sociable, and it's ok to just sit and listen to stories because you represent the colonial escapees, off to search for a better life, willing to give you time and energy to come back to the old country. The language is difficult but rewarding and the relationships are unconditional.
Perhaps it's the atomosphere of the city. Shrouded in a blanket of smog, a result of hurried industrial progress, the cramped streets and sidewalks are filled with people. Food stands litter the roadside spaces and street markets are found down alleyways. For less money than it takes to scratch your nose in America, you can eat a three-course breakfast with a bowl of soy bean soup.
Ultimately though, it's probably because all these things provide a sense of safe comfort. Like a knowledge passed down through strands of DNA, my father and mother's old home; my grandmother's old home; my family's old home; Taiwan trips seem the inherent homecoming to a place that seems easier than home. And this time, like the time before this and the time before that, I leave Taiwan with a sense of melancholy acceptance. Home is America but I could live here.
I don't know what it is about Taiwan that I've grown to love so much in the last several years. Perhaps it's the quaintness of my Uncle's apartment. A family of four (with my older younger cousin in America going to school/working) fits into a 3 bedroom, 1.5 bath, living room, kitchen, and not-much-else apartment filled to the brim with mementos and memories of the past 70 years.
Perhaps it's the proximity to relatives and family friends nearby. Every place we go to seem to be dinner dates and lunch meetings that act as miniature family reunions, talking with people who time seems to have left behind. There's always laughter and usually tears that accompany attempts of instilling stories of youths lost and wars fought into generations to come by parents and grandparents. I sat wide-eyed this last trip listening to story after story from my dad and Grandpa Wong who told of their harrowing escape from Beijing to Taipei.
Perhaps it's the sense of self that's acheived in a land where you have no social pressures. It's ok to sit on the couch and watch TV, it's ok to not be understandable or to not be sociable, and it's ok to just sit and listen to stories because you represent the colonial escapees, off to search for a better life, willing to give you time and energy to come back to the old country. The language is difficult but rewarding and the relationships are unconditional.
Perhaps it's the atomosphere of the city. Shrouded in a blanket of smog, a result of hurried industrial progress, the cramped streets and sidewalks are filled with people. Food stands litter the roadside spaces and street markets are found down alleyways. For less money than it takes to scratch your nose in America, you can eat a three-course breakfast with a bowl of soy bean soup.
Ultimately though, it's probably because all these things provide a sense of safe comfort. Like a knowledge passed down through strands of DNA, my father and mother's old home; my grandmother's old home; my family's old home; Taiwan trips seem the inherent homecoming to a place that seems easier than home. And this time, like the time before this and the time before that, I leave Taiwan with a sense of melancholy acceptance. Home is America but I could live here.
posted by Chris "Krang" Yang | 4:32 PM
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