I could just see it through the opening between the parking garage pillars of the HSR: streaks of orange and magenta transforming the Kaohsiung sky into a bowl of rainbow sherbet. Though I knew that time was of the essence, and that we needed to get downstairs and get my bags taken care of, I couldn't help but pause: this would be my last Kaohsiung sunset.
As I write this, it's still July 11th, and it's still sunset--but I am now waiting for my final flight in SeaTac airport after an 11-hour flight, and it's almost 9pm, not just before 7. Time zones and day-length differences strike again.
I teared up twice on my journey: once, just a few minutes after I saw the sunset in Kaohsiung, as I said goodbye to the world's best host family; and once, about an hour ago, as I caught my first glimpse of American soil. And that pretty much sums it up: tears on both ends, for both reasons. Happy and sad. Good and bad. C'est la vie.
As I am, now, officially in America for good, I am no longer 百合, and so this blog has come to an end. Going forward, I will still blog, but less frequently, and on subjects which have yet to be determined. Nonetheless, though it's empty now, here's a link to my new blog, for whenever I begin posting about my more-mundane life Stateside.
I'll cherish forever my time in Taiwan; I truly cannot imagine where I would be had I not gone; I don't want to think about a version of my life in which I hadn't met all the amazing people and had all the amazing experiences that I have met and had over the past year. But all good things must end; even the most perfect day has a sunset, followed by darkness.
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Substitutions
I opened my mouth, and shut it again. Recalibrated. Opened it again. "Careful!"
It happened first with the ubiquitous "mmn"; then "thank you," I think, and spread quickly to "really?" and "yeah!": in my mind, they existed first and foremost in Chinese. Someone gives me something? 謝謝 (Xie xie)! Someone says something unbelievable? 真的嗎 (Zhen de ma)? I need to confirm that something is correct? "mmn" or 對阿 (dui aa) will do the job just fine.
小心 (xiao xin) as my go-to word is new for me, though, and it has the advantage (?) over the others of concerning situations in which you really don't have time to translate before speaking. If you're telling someone to be careful, you usually need to do so immediately--and, really, that's the reason why 小心 made its way into my vocabulary in the first place: being an elementary school teacher gives you ample times when you need to caution people quickly, and be sure that they understand you.
We talked in our Fulbright sessions earlier this year about the tenets of language learning; one of the goals towards which we strive as English teachers is for English words to come naturally. This is referred to in the language teaching community as automaticity. And yes, automaticity is great, and yes, I'm more than a little excited that, for some words at least, Chinese has supplanted English in my mind.
But when, as happened in Australia, I found myself about to caution someone in Chinese, I started wondering about the dangers of these substitutions. No wonder second (or third, or whatever) languages are lost so easily if you don't use them! Seems to me like a natural defense mechanism: if you hold a rarely-used language at the forefront of your mind, you run the risk of not being able to communicate with those around you at a moment's notice--and that is, after all, the main purpose for which language was developed.
I'd just like to take this moment to apologize in advance to all my friends in America, for the moments when Chinese will almost certainly slip from my mouth instead of English. Just give me a few months and, I'm sure, I'll recalibrate.
It happened first with the ubiquitous "mmn"; then "thank you," I think, and spread quickly to "really?" and "yeah!": in my mind, they existed first and foremost in Chinese. Someone gives me something? 謝謝 (Xie xie)! Someone says something unbelievable? 真的嗎 (Zhen de ma)? I need to confirm that something is correct? "mmn" or 對阿 (dui aa) will do the job just fine.
小心 (xiao xin) as my go-to word is new for me, though, and it has the advantage (?) over the others of concerning situations in which you really don't have time to translate before speaking. If you're telling someone to be careful, you usually need to do so immediately--and, really, that's the reason why 小心 made its way into my vocabulary in the first place: being an elementary school teacher gives you ample times when you need to caution people quickly, and be sure that they understand you.
We talked in our Fulbright sessions earlier this year about the tenets of language learning; one of the goals towards which we strive as English teachers is for English words to come naturally. This is referred to in the language teaching community as automaticity. And yes, automaticity is great, and yes, I'm more than a little excited that, for some words at least, Chinese has supplanted English in my mind.
But when, as happened in Australia, I found myself about to caution someone in Chinese, I started wondering about the dangers of these substitutions. No wonder second (or third, or whatever) languages are lost so easily if you don't use them! Seems to me like a natural defense mechanism: if you hold a rarely-used language at the forefront of your mind, you run the risk of not being able to communicate with those around you at a moment's notice--and that is, after all, the main purpose for which language was developed.
I'd just like to take this moment to apologize in advance to all my friends in America, for the moments when Chinese will almost certainly slip from my mouth instead of English. Just give me a few months and, I'm sure, I'll recalibrate.
Monday, July 2, 2012
An Experiment in Single Travel
Bus bay 6 was empty. You've got to be kidding me. My plane had landed an hour earlier, at 5:35am, and I had scheduled a pick up--had they left without me? Sleep deprived from my 14 hours of travel, I couldn't bring myself to ask someone when I didn't even know the name of the shuttle--why hadn't I written that down??--so I ponied up and paid to use the Wifi in the lobby, only to discover that, yep, I'd put the the time down right, and nope, this shuttle bus--unimaginatively named Cairns Airport Shuttle--had no one in the lobby or the bus bay. Time to make the call.
But as I awaited my driver, having been assured over the phone that he would be there in 10 minutes (oddly enough, the same amount of time it takes to get to the airport from the heart of Cairns...), I felt my frustrations slipping away as I looked around and realized: I was in Australia. It was dawn, and as I stood waiting I heard a chorus of songbirds, all calling to each other in trills and tralls I'd never heard before; one, landing in the deserted bay beside me, began a complicated dance, its white-tipped tail swinging from side to side as if unhinged from its black body as it hopped about the concrete, eying me with benign curiosity. The sky was turning orange, turning my bird friends to idealized silhouettes, as the bus finally pulled up and I set off to my hostel.
A bit of a rough start to my first-ever solo vacation, maybe, but the morning proved beautiful, though strange. I couldn't check in right away--it was 7am, after all--so I set off toward the Cairns waterfront, where the sun had just risen to reveal a beautiful bay, flanked by a "Caution: salt-water crocodiles" sign and a surprisingly well-used (for 7am) wooden promenade, where I alternately strolled and sat, just soaking up the view. After 14 hours in transit, it was a lot to handle.
So, somewhat surprisingly, were the people. Having lived in Taiwan for the past 11 months, I had laughingly referred to my resultant uneasiness in large groups of "foreigners," but I didn't really anticipate it actually having a serious impact on me once I was back in a Western country. But it did.
The best way I can describe it is that I felt as I imagine autistic people feel when viewing the world: completely overstimulated to the point that I was slightly freaked out even to talk to the people around me. The very thing I'd most mourned being able to do in my time abroad, share a (potentially meaningless) little conversation with someone, now seemed impossibly difficult.
And then there were the accents. I've always been a lover of foreign accents, be they British, Australian, Kiwi, South African--I'm not picky; as long as it doesn't sound like mine, every accent is fantastic. I've never had much trouble understanding them, either--seemed pretty straightforward. But now, dumped in Australia, I felt myself straining to understand the people I spoke with--we were speaking the same language, I knew, but then why was it taking my brain so long to process? Another instance of my Taiwanese experience conspiring against me: I'd become an expert in understanding "Taiwanese English," but at the apparent cost of understanding every other native English dialect beside my own.
At the end of the promenade, I ate alone at a little cafe from which I could just catch a glimpse of the ocean, sitting with my Kindle version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (yes, that is my holiday reading of choice at the moment) as I munched on an overpriced ham-and-cheese croissant and pondered how it would be, a week of meals alone with my inner monologue and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
As it turned out, not all that solitary. By 10:30, I was checked into my room, a gorgeous girls-only dorm with eight beds built into the walls so that there was a dividing wall between two sets of four; mine lay in the back bottom corner, and was a cozy cave double. Absolutely fantastic. So, too, were my roommates. Over the course of the day, I met them all: Kim, a Brit who was living and working in Cairns; Melanie, a Dutch girl finishing her Masters in Adelaide; Heidi, a Swiss girl (yes, really) who had just finished a study abroad; Johanna, a German girl living in Australia; Kat and Laura, two Brits from Liverpool here on holiday; and Katherine, a fellow American who had recently moved to Australia from, of all places, Portland, Oregon.
For all of its solo ventures (meals, grocery shopping, finalizing my dive school registration), my first day was a day with a surprisingly large amount of companionship.
And that, once I got past my reverse culture shock and airplane exhaustion, has been the best story of my so-called solo journey: surprising and wonderful companionship with strangers. The girls in my dorm, the people in my dive class (Michael, a Belgian; Ellen, a Swede; Jeroen, a Dutchman; two Germans, Natalie and Lars; Anja, a German Kiwi; and Amber, an Aussie (13 years old!))--we all got to just chat, even about inconsequential things, and it's been lovely. So far, at least, my experiment in single travel has not been altogether single--and that suits me just fine.
But as I awaited my driver, having been assured over the phone that he would be there in 10 minutes (oddly enough, the same amount of time it takes to get to the airport from the heart of Cairns...), I felt my frustrations slipping away as I looked around and realized: I was in Australia. It was dawn, and as I stood waiting I heard a chorus of songbirds, all calling to each other in trills and tralls I'd never heard before; one, landing in the deserted bay beside me, began a complicated dance, its white-tipped tail swinging from side to side as if unhinged from its black body as it hopped about the concrete, eying me with benign curiosity. The sky was turning orange, turning my bird friends to idealized silhouettes, as the bus finally pulled up and I set off to my hostel.
A bit of a rough start to my first-ever solo vacation, maybe, but the morning proved beautiful, though strange. I couldn't check in right away--it was 7am, after all--so I set off toward the Cairns waterfront, where the sun had just risen to reveal a beautiful bay, flanked by a "Caution: salt-water crocodiles" sign and a surprisingly well-used (for 7am) wooden promenade, where I alternately strolled and sat, just soaking up the view. After 14 hours in transit, it was a lot to handle.
So, somewhat surprisingly, were the people. Having lived in Taiwan for the past 11 months, I had laughingly referred to my resultant uneasiness in large groups of "foreigners," but I didn't really anticipate it actually having a serious impact on me once I was back in a Western country. But it did.
The best way I can describe it is that I felt as I imagine autistic people feel when viewing the world: completely overstimulated to the point that I was slightly freaked out even to talk to the people around me. The very thing I'd most mourned being able to do in my time abroad, share a (potentially meaningless) little conversation with someone, now seemed impossibly difficult.
And then there were the accents. I've always been a lover of foreign accents, be they British, Australian, Kiwi, South African--I'm not picky; as long as it doesn't sound like mine, every accent is fantastic. I've never had much trouble understanding them, either--seemed pretty straightforward. But now, dumped in Australia, I felt myself straining to understand the people I spoke with--we were speaking the same language, I knew, but then why was it taking my brain so long to process? Another instance of my Taiwanese experience conspiring against me: I'd become an expert in understanding "Taiwanese English," but at the apparent cost of understanding every other native English dialect beside my own.
At the end of the promenade, I ate alone at a little cafe from which I could just catch a glimpse of the ocean, sitting with my Kindle version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (yes, that is my holiday reading of choice at the moment) as I munched on an overpriced ham-and-cheese croissant and pondered how it would be, a week of meals alone with my inner monologue and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
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| Pictured: A WESTERN MEAL! Not pictured (behind the sun flare): the ocean |
For all of its solo ventures (meals, grocery shopping, finalizing my dive school registration), my first day was a day with a surprisingly large amount of companionship.
And that, once I got past my reverse culture shock and airplane exhaustion, has been the best story of my so-called solo journey: surprising and wonderful companionship with strangers. The girls in my dorm, the people in my dive class (Michael, a Belgian; Ellen, a Swede; Jeroen, a Dutchman; two Germans, Natalie and Lars; Anja, a German Kiwi; and Amber, an Aussie (13 years old!))--we all got to just chat, even about inconsequential things, and it's been lovely. So far, at least, my experiment in single travel has not been altogether single--and that suits me just fine.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Boxes and Bags
I've been putting it off, but don't think it hasn't been on my mind. Every time I look around my room, my brain goes into analysis mode, mentally categorizing every item my eyes alight on for one simple thing: is it coming home? If so, where and how?
Packing. It's the end of the year now, really and truly, and very soon all the things I've arranged so carefully around my room and apartment, the things that make a room my room, will be jammed back into their casings, ready to fly home with me. If, that is, they make the short list.
When I flew here, I paid atrocious amounts of baggage fees. Then, I flew home in August with an all-but-empty suitcase and brought back more stuff. Then, there were gifts. And souvenirs. And more gifts. And I do not want to pay more to leave here than I did to come.
Some stuff, of course, can't make the journey: the gifts I brought to give, the coffee I brought to drink, the shampoos and conditioners and whatnot I brought to use. Whenever I think of another thing I've used up here, I get excited. So, too, do I get excited when I realize I can part with something else--those books I brought and read but am not too attached to, those shoes that got ruined from too much use, those clothes which have dwindled thanks to a harsh washing machine and, again, overuse, or which will prove otherwise useless in my home climate.
And, I was at least able to send a few things back with visitors when they came, so that's something. But still, my packing plans call for throwing out as much as I possibly can to avoid a third bag and overweight charges.
Today, I began filling my theoretical third bag with stuff--stuff which will come home, but which I definitely will not need between now and July 11. And so, my mental preparations have become physical. No turning back now--from here on out, it's all boxes and bags.
Packing. It's the end of the year now, really and truly, and very soon all the things I've arranged so carefully around my room and apartment, the things that make a room my room, will be jammed back into their casings, ready to fly home with me. If, that is, they make the short list.
When I flew here, I paid atrocious amounts of baggage fees. Then, I flew home in August with an all-but-empty suitcase and brought back more stuff. Then, there were gifts. And souvenirs. And more gifts. And I do not want to pay more to leave here than I did to come.
Some stuff, of course, can't make the journey: the gifts I brought to give, the coffee I brought to drink, the shampoos and conditioners and whatnot I brought to use. Whenever I think of another thing I've used up here, I get excited. So, too, do I get excited when I realize I can part with something else--those books I brought and read but am not too attached to, those shoes that got ruined from too much use, those clothes which have dwindled thanks to a harsh washing machine and, again, overuse, or which will prove otherwise useless in my home climate.
And, I was at least able to send a few things back with visitors when they came, so that's something. But still, my packing plans call for throwing out as much as I possibly can to avoid a third bag and overweight charges.
Today, I began filling my theoretical third bag with stuff--stuff which will come home, but which I definitely will not need between now and July 11. And so, my mental preparations have become physical. No turning back now--from here on out, it's all boxes and bags.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Thai Food and Mental Floss
Mostly, today consisted of me telling myself how much I needed to get done, and then failing to actually do it. But I'll spare you the details.
Tonight, Rachel, Chialing, Ariel (an ETA from last year who spent this year studying in Taipei) and I went to an absolutely adorable Thai restaurant down by the Banana Pier, where we gorged ourselves on green curry (my favorite), some sort of pork mash (Chialing's favorite, which we teased her for), coconut milk-seafood soup (Ariel's favorite, maybe?), pickled cucumbers (Rachel's perennial favorite), stewed cabbage, and empty heart vegetable (EVERYONE's favorite). Afterwards, we all agreed we were stuffed.
So, naturally, we all then set out to get ice cream. Not right away, of course; we made a little detour to the Love River to walk, sit, chat, and let our food digest. BUT THEN! Ice cream. And waffles. Obviously.
Question for my American readers: do we have ice cream with waffles in the States? I can't remember ordering it, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's not a thing there. Is it? It DEFINITELY is here, as is ice cream inside "toast," aka a loaf of hollowed-out bread.
Anyway, at a great little place just a block off one of my main routes but which I'd never seen before (also discovered on the back roads: another Smokey Joe's!), we got two waffle/ice cream combos, one chocolate banana and the other blueberry, and enjoyed them while smacking at mosquitoes and getting excited about how cold our metal chairs were (summer is here, for sure).
In all, a great night.
But where does the "mental floss" of the title come in, you wonder? Well. That would be via Sporcle.com, my latest easy-to-justify waste of time. Their website includes lots of things that I haven't yet explored; what I have explored, repeatedly, is their geography quizzes. Surprise surprise: I, like most Americans, have unfortunately never had a proper geography education, and therefore when I began quizzing myself I sucked.
However, as of about a half hour ago, I had a breakthrough: all 48 countries in Asia named in less than a minute. (Now, if only I could get the East coast of Africa straight in my mind...) So now I'm challenging you: how are you at geography? Click here and let me know how you do.
Beware of the Middle East, tiny countries and the hard-to-spell "stans"...
Tonight, Rachel, Chialing, Ariel (an ETA from last year who spent this year studying in Taipei) and I went to an absolutely adorable Thai restaurant down by the Banana Pier, where we gorged ourselves on green curry (my favorite), some sort of pork mash (Chialing's favorite, which we teased her for), coconut milk-seafood soup (Ariel's favorite, maybe?), pickled cucumbers (Rachel's perennial favorite), stewed cabbage, and empty heart vegetable (EVERYONE's favorite). Afterwards, we all agreed we were stuffed.
So, naturally, we all then set out to get ice cream. Not right away, of course; we made a little detour to the Love River to walk, sit, chat, and let our food digest. BUT THEN! Ice cream. And waffles. Obviously.
Question for my American readers: do we have ice cream with waffles in the States? I can't remember ordering it, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's not a thing there. Is it? It DEFINITELY is here, as is ice cream inside "toast," aka a loaf of hollowed-out bread.
Anyway, at a great little place just a block off one of my main routes but which I'd never seen before (also discovered on the back roads: another Smokey Joe's!), we got two waffle/ice cream combos, one chocolate banana and the other blueberry, and enjoyed them while smacking at mosquitoes and getting excited about how cold our metal chairs were (summer is here, for sure).
In all, a great night.
But where does the "mental floss" of the title come in, you wonder? Well. That would be via Sporcle.com, my latest easy-to-justify waste of time. Their website includes lots of things that I haven't yet explored; what I have explored, repeatedly, is their geography quizzes. Surprise surprise: I, like most Americans, have unfortunately never had a proper geography education, and therefore when I began quizzing myself I sucked.
However, as of about a half hour ago, I had a breakthrough: all 48 countries in Asia named in less than a minute. (Now, if only I could get the East coast of Africa straight in my mind...) So now I'm challenging you: how are you at geography? Click here and let me know how you do.
Beware of the Middle East, tiny countries and the hard-to-spell "stans"...
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Lasts
Today after school, I got my scooter oil changed, filled up my gas tank, grabbed Subway for lunch, and stopped by my bank to transfer rent money into Rachel's account. Why am I telling you all this? Well because, as I stood in line at the ATM at the bank, I realized: I was paying June's rent. June's rent. As in, the last regular rent I'll pay in Taiwan.
And so, the march of the lasts continues. Retrospectively, I can say, too, that I've had my last oil change, and had my last payday. From here on out, in fact, I'll have to be vigilant if I don't want to miss them: lasts will keep on flying at me, whether I notice them or not, as the countdown to America begins. (41 days, by the way.)
And lasts are usually sad. Though those today weren't--last time I have to shell out for new oil or my living space? Hooray!--you can pretty well expect this blog to get more nostalgic as we move forward, though always complemented with stifled excitement for things like my car, American food, and the ability to communicate. (And, you know, my family and friends and stuff, but that goes without saying. :) )
But before we get to that, I thought I'd share a nice little video from one of my favorite YouTube-ers that I found today, a video with which I quite identify. For all the introverts reading this, enjoy the similarities and validation. For all the extroverts, watch and learn!
And so, the march of the lasts continues. Retrospectively, I can say, too, that I've had my last oil change, and had my last payday. From here on out, in fact, I'll have to be vigilant if I don't want to miss them: lasts will keep on flying at me, whether I notice them or not, as the countdown to America begins. (41 days, by the way.)
And lasts are usually sad. Though those today weren't--last time I have to shell out for new oil or my living space? Hooray!--you can pretty well expect this blog to get more nostalgic as we move forward, though always complemented with stifled excitement for things like my car, American food, and the ability to communicate. (And, you know, my family and friends and stuff, but that goes without saying. :) )
But before we get to that, I thought I'd share a nice little video from one of my favorite YouTube-ers that I found today, a video with which I quite identify. For all the introverts reading this, enjoy the similarities and validation. For all the extroverts, watch and learn!
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Birthday
What a lovely day. Really, truly lovely, populated by wonderful people, foods, and times. Nothing exciting, but that's okay with me; oddly, my experience here has done nothing so much as reinforce me in the belief that being alone sometimes is not only okay, but great. So today was a fantastic mixture of being alone and being in company: perfection.
The morning existed in the best possible way for Saturday mornings to exist: sleep.
Then I got to chat with my mom and dad (though my dad fell asleep while I did...hardly an inspiring reason to come home, Dad! ;) ) via Skype, and open the fabulous presents they got me which had been staring at me since they arrived with Alex and Melanie more than a month ago.
Then I got free Starbucks and (as odd as it may sound for a voluntary activity on a Saturday which was also my birthday) got some stuff done. I finished editing the current chapter of the thesis I'm working on for a local grad student, made good headway writing a piece I'm working on for one of my university's publications, got some reading in courtesy of the wonderful Flannery O'Connor, and was inspired for a potential music video parody about foreigners abroad. (Stay tuned on the writing and music video projects; they will hopefully come to fruition soon.)
By then, it was time for dinner, a great and fabulously Western affair at Foster Hewitt's, a Canadian place in Zuoying where I joined my host sister Emily, Karina, and Analicia for a delicious 5-cheese hamburger and potato wedges (POTATOES!!!!), washed down with fresh strawberry-lime soda and followed by a brownie sundae which was, thanks to Analicia's efforts, garnished with a lit sprinkler. Thankfully, the owner respected my wish that they NOT sing to me. (After all, when you've had several choruses of adorable students serenade you all week, sometimes trilingually, there's just no going back to half-hearted restaurant employees.) Analicia and Emily had great gifts of chocolate and a teddy bear and sweet-smelling soap for me, just to round out the amazingness. :)
At home again, I got in some more reading and TV-watching, which was absolutely wonderful. And so ends my week of birthday--though not quite, really, since it's only 11:30am on my birthday at home right now, meaning birthday wishes will keep pouring in on Facebook for a good many more hours. This is undoubtedly the longest, and may be one of the best, birthdays I've ever had.
The morning existed in the best possible way for Saturday mornings to exist: sleep.
Then I got to chat with my mom and dad (though my dad fell asleep while I did...hardly an inspiring reason to come home, Dad! ;) ) via Skype, and open the fabulous presents they got me which had been staring at me since they arrived with Alex and Melanie more than a month ago.
Then I got free Starbucks and (as odd as it may sound for a voluntary activity on a Saturday which was also my birthday) got some stuff done. I finished editing the current chapter of the thesis I'm working on for a local grad student, made good headway writing a piece I'm working on for one of my university's publications, got some reading in courtesy of the wonderful Flannery O'Connor, and was inspired for a potential music video parody about foreigners abroad. (Stay tuned on the writing and music video projects; they will hopefully come to fruition soon.)
By then, it was time for dinner, a great and fabulously Western affair at Foster Hewitt's, a Canadian place in Zuoying where I joined my host sister Emily, Karina, and Analicia for a delicious 5-cheese hamburger and potato wedges (POTATOES!!!!), washed down with fresh strawberry-lime soda and followed by a brownie sundae which was, thanks to Analicia's efforts, garnished with a lit sprinkler. Thankfully, the owner respected my wish that they NOT sing to me. (After all, when you've had several choruses of adorable students serenade you all week, sometimes trilingually, there's just no going back to half-hearted restaurant employees.) Analicia and Emily had great gifts of chocolate and a teddy bear and sweet-smelling soap for me, just to round out the amazingness. :)
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| New shirt from home! Thanks Mom and Dad! |
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| Soooooo gooooooooooood! |
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Coping Mechanisms
While I was talking to my mom the other day (with some of my few precious Skype-to-cell minutes I got as part of a hostel deal a while back), she brought up the concept that, as my time here begins to wind down, my brain has begun making subtle adjustments to help me emotionally prepare for the removal. I agree; that's definitely happening. But it's not just happening on a subconscious level; I have never in my life kept such careful track of time, or monitored my own thoughts and emotions on a subject so continuously.
If you look back over my blog, it's all there: the excitement in coming to a new country, the shock and joy of actually being here, the settling in to day-to-day life, and then, it begins: a nervous, self-conscious tic which ever prompts me to ask--am I ready? Would I be happy or sad if I went home tomorrow? What about next week? Next month? My answers were tempered, always, by the reality of how much time I had.
Are we five months in? Then yes, I miss home, but only aspects of it. Are we halfway? Then I begin missing people here in Taiwan preemptively, not yet ready to think about life Stateside. Are we just a few months away? Then I must go out of my way to mention that I will miss Taiwan--in the midst of a weeks-long ode to my homeland. If I'm honest, all of my posts are like this last one: I write what is true, but also what must be true in order to make life livable for however much time I have left here.
And now that it actually is next month--or, almost; a month and a half till school is out and two before I actually go home--I'm beginning to feel like I will be ready to be done soon. I've already mentioned the things I miss about home, and, honestly, lately I've noticed myself getting annoyed again at cultural things I've long-ago accepted as normal. My road rage is at an all-time high, for instance, even as I'm at my most adept at handling traffic situations. My psyche is preparing me, preparing me to be happy to be back in America; ready to displace my happy memories with things I won't miss, things like the traffic and the lack of Western food and the prohibitive humidity.
I know there will be reverse culture shock to deal with, no matter how much I prepare myself, consciously and subconsciously, for the change. Today Grace and I went to Smokey Joe's (perhaps the only Tex-Mex place in Kaohsiung) for a belated Cinco de Mayo lunch, and I found myself gasping at the 300-600NT (~$10-$20US) entrees, and positively fuming when they added a 10% gratuity to our bill without notice. Come July, some things about America will be hard to accept no matter what I do.
But that won't stop me from trying; continuing to pull out whatever tactics I can to smooth the transition. It will be hard to leave Taiwan; hard to return to America. But at least my brain knows this now, and is working hard on its coping mechanisms.
If you look back over my blog, it's all there: the excitement in coming to a new country, the shock and joy of actually being here, the settling in to day-to-day life, and then, it begins: a nervous, self-conscious tic which ever prompts me to ask--am I ready? Would I be happy or sad if I went home tomorrow? What about next week? Next month? My answers were tempered, always, by the reality of how much time I had.
Are we five months in? Then yes, I miss home, but only aspects of it. Are we halfway? Then I begin missing people here in Taiwan preemptively, not yet ready to think about life Stateside. Are we just a few months away? Then I must go out of my way to mention that I will miss Taiwan--in the midst of a weeks-long ode to my homeland. If I'm honest, all of my posts are like this last one: I write what is true, but also what must be true in order to make life livable for however much time I have left here.
And now that it actually is next month--or, almost; a month and a half till school is out and two before I actually go home--I'm beginning to feel like I will be ready to be done soon. I've already mentioned the things I miss about home, and, honestly, lately I've noticed myself getting annoyed again at cultural things I've long-ago accepted as normal. My road rage is at an all-time high, for instance, even as I'm at my most adept at handling traffic situations. My psyche is preparing me, preparing me to be happy to be back in America; ready to displace my happy memories with things I won't miss, things like the traffic and the lack of Western food and the prohibitive humidity.
I know there will be reverse culture shock to deal with, no matter how much I prepare myself, consciously and subconsciously, for the change. Today Grace and I went to Smokey Joe's (perhaps the only Tex-Mex place in Kaohsiung) for a belated Cinco de Mayo lunch, and I found myself gasping at the 300-600NT (~$10-$20US) entrees, and positively fuming when they added a 10% gratuity to our bill without notice. Come July, some things about America will be hard to accept no matter what I do.
But that won't stop me from trying; continuing to pull out whatever tactics I can to smooth the transition. It will be hard to leave Taiwan; hard to return to America. But at least my brain knows this now, and is working hard on its coping mechanisms.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Inside-Outside-In
Culture shock. I haven't written about it in a very, very long time--since January, unless you count my recent musings on perspective shift, which I don't. The reason why I've stopped is pretty obvious: I have ceased to be shocked by the culture.
Sure, I still notice little quirks like misspelled shirts and "Indian"-Spanish-Chinese singers at Taiwanese holiday celebrations. But I'm pretty sure I'd notice those no matter where I was. The huge in-your-face cultural differences are now pretty much invisible to me, something I had somewhat forgotten and have recently been reminded of, since Ingrid came to join our little Hanmin teaching family and I got to see her reactions to them.
In fact, I now believe I've been in Taiwanese culture enough to somewhat internalize it. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, apart from all the not-exactly-ironic peace sign posing I've been doing for months...
Today I realized (thanks to a Facebook post by one of my ETA colleagues in Yilan, Lauren) that I have also been incorporating the culture into my daily life on a more subtle level. Here's the link that prompted this realization.
Yes, it's a meme of Asians taking pictures of their food. It's pretty accurate; whenever I actually pay attention at restaurants (Rachel's especially good at noticing this), I see people everywhere with their cameras out and pointed alternately at themselves and at their food. Rachel told me she and Brittany saw one person in Taipei taking a picture of herself with...her fork. Pictures of food, and food-related objects and poses, are all over here.
And let's see...what have I been writing about lately? Constantly; almost obsessively, in fact? ALWAYS with pictures? Here I was thinking it was about my American culture, but as it turns out, it may just be a result of my sneaking internalization of the local culture. To say "hello" in Taiwanese, after all, you literally say "have you eaten"! Food is absolutely central to Taiwanese culture. So, really, why does this realization surprise me?
Maybe because it's such a perfect cohesion of American and Taiwanese cultures; I never saw it coming. I may do a whole series on how much I miss sandwiches, but the fact is I've taken food, something I never paid all that much attention to in the States, and elevated it to one of my most common subjects.
Fulbright talks ad nauseum about our role as cultural ambassadors and as "a bridge between cultures." And, well, I suppose you can't get much more bridge-like than by complexly intertwining American and Taiwanese cultures; combining external and internal elements and placing them, subconsciously, in your day-to-day life. Is it outside? Is it in? The answer is like that of Schroedinger's cat: yes.
Sure, I still notice little quirks like misspelled shirts and "Indian"-Spanish-Chinese singers at Taiwanese holiday celebrations. But I'm pretty sure I'd notice those no matter where I was. The huge in-your-face cultural differences are now pretty much invisible to me, something I had somewhat forgotten and have recently been reminded of, since Ingrid came to join our little Hanmin teaching family and I got to see her reactions to them.
In fact, I now believe I've been in Taiwanese culture enough to somewhat internalize it. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, apart from all the not-exactly-ironic peace sign posing I've been doing for months...
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| January... |
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| March... |
Yes, it's a meme of Asians taking pictures of their food. It's pretty accurate; whenever I actually pay attention at restaurants (Rachel's especially good at noticing this), I see people everywhere with their cameras out and pointed alternately at themselves and at their food. Rachel told me she and Brittany saw one person in Taipei taking a picture of herself with...her fork. Pictures of food, and food-related objects and poses, are all over here.
And let's see...what have I been writing about lately? Constantly; almost obsessively, in fact? ALWAYS with pictures? Here I was thinking it was about my American culture, but as it turns out, it may just be a result of my sneaking internalization of the local culture. To say "hello" in Taiwanese, after all, you literally say "have you eaten"! Food is absolutely central to Taiwanese culture. So, really, why does this realization surprise me?
Maybe because it's such a perfect cohesion of American and Taiwanese cultures; I never saw it coming. I may do a whole series on how much I miss sandwiches, but the fact is I've taken food, something I never paid all that much attention to in the States, and elevated it to one of my most common subjects.
Fulbright talks ad nauseum about our role as cultural ambassadors and as "a bridge between cultures." And, well, I suppose you can't get much more bridge-like than by complexly intertwining American and Taiwanese cultures; combining external and internal elements and placing them, subconsciously, in your day-to-day life. Is it outside? Is it in? The answer is like that of Schroedinger's cat: yes.
Monday, April 30, 2012
KTV Revelations
...first of all, only when living in Taiwan would I have to double check my old blogs to makes sure I wouldn't have an overlapping name about karaoke. Second of all, karaoke!
Today Fiona, Ingrid, Alison, Alison's niece and I went to KTV--for a good 4 hours or so. It was fantastic! We had a nice mix of English and Chinese songs going on, accentuated by Ingrid and I popping to our feet whenever an English song came on--felt a bit like a Jack-in-the-box after a while, but in the best possible way that that sentence can exist.
In the course of the day we had plenty of wonderful revelations, as I learned the odd waves in which American music apparently crossed, or didn't cross, the ocean to Taiwan. We had a Taiwanese version of "We Will Rock You," for instance (why change Queen? WHY???), and a Taiwanese version of "Lady Marmalade" (of Moulin Rouge fame), as well as a song called "Rumour Has It" which was definitely not Adele.
And, as always, we had our share or lovely "music videos" which featured young models acting ridiculous while draped across various inanimate objects, including that old stand-by of irony, "Colors of the Wind" featuring a cookie-cutter blond chick on a big white sailboat. Kind of missed the point of the whole Pocahontas thing...and, incidentally, Ingrid and I had quite a bit of fun with the old Disney songs.
The most interesting part to me, though, was that apparently N*Sync, and even Justin Timberlake as a solo artist, completely skipped over Taiwan. I somewhat knew this from last week, when Maggie and Alison and I were talking about the Backstreet Boys (for some reason?) and I mentioned that, back in the day, I was more of an N*Sync fan. (True confessions, right here.) They had never heard of them.
Today, though, as Ingrid and I went a little crazy to "Bye Bye Bye" (because we could, that's why!), I realized that, even if they had missed N*Sync as a band, there was no way they could have missed Justin Timberlake. After all, beside his solo career, he's been in a hefty string of high-profile movies lately--The Social Network comes to mind--and I know from walking past innumerable billboards and posters (heck, I walked past one tonight!) that his two most recent, In Time and Friends with Benefits, have been widely publicized here in Taiwan. Surely mentioning his name would grant instant context to the cheesy 90s throwback songs we were belting.
Nope! Fiona and Alison were still stumped; when Ingrid whipped out her smartphone to get a picture on our side, Alison's niece recognized him and Fiona kind of remembered him from The Social Network, but that was it. Perhaps it's America-centric of me, or maybe it was just the age in which I was raised, but it is still absolutely unfathomable to me to not know Justin Timberlake's name!
In other news, some rather embarrassing footage of me singing and dancing to good ol' N*Sync, Mariah Carey and Avril Lavigne songs (amongst others) may or may not now be in existence...
But they, fortunately for everyone, are not on my camera chip. The following photos, on the other hand, ARE!
Anyway, thanks to my multi-hour belting, my throat is now a little worse for wear...but it was totally worth it! Yet another thing I would say only in Taiwan: karaoke is fun!
Today Fiona, Ingrid, Alison, Alison's niece and I went to KTV--for a good 4 hours or so. It was fantastic! We had a nice mix of English and Chinese songs going on, accentuated by Ingrid and I popping to our feet whenever an English song came on--felt a bit like a Jack-in-the-box after a while, but in the best possible way that that sentence can exist.
In the course of the day we had plenty of wonderful revelations, as I learned the odd waves in which American music apparently crossed, or didn't cross, the ocean to Taiwan. We had a Taiwanese version of "We Will Rock You," for instance (why change Queen? WHY???), and a Taiwanese version of "Lady Marmalade" (of Moulin Rouge fame), as well as a song called "Rumour Has It" which was definitely not Adele.
And, as always, we had our share or lovely "music videos" which featured young models acting ridiculous while draped across various inanimate objects, including that old stand-by of irony, "Colors of the Wind" featuring a cookie-cutter blond chick on a big white sailboat. Kind of missed the point of the whole Pocahontas thing...and, incidentally, Ingrid and I had quite a bit of fun with the old Disney songs.
The most interesting part to me, though, was that apparently N*Sync, and even Justin Timberlake as a solo artist, completely skipped over Taiwan. I somewhat knew this from last week, when Maggie and Alison and I were talking about the Backstreet Boys (for some reason?) and I mentioned that, back in the day, I was more of an N*Sync fan. (True confessions, right here.) They had never heard of them.
Today, though, as Ingrid and I went a little crazy to "Bye Bye Bye" (because we could, that's why!), I realized that, even if they had missed N*Sync as a band, there was no way they could have missed Justin Timberlake. After all, beside his solo career, he's been in a hefty string of high-profile movies lately--The Social Network comes to mind--and I know from walking past innumerable billboards and posters (heck, I walked past one tonight!) that his two most recent, In Time and Friends with Benefits, have been widely publicized here in Taiwan. Surely mentioning his name would grant instant context to the cheesy 90s throwback songs we were belting.
Nope! Fiona and Alison were still stumped; when Ingrid whipped out her smartphone to get a picture on our side, Alison's niece recognized him and Fiona kind of remembered him from The Social Network, but that was it. Perhaps it's America-centric of me, or maybe it was just the age in which I was raised, but it is still absolutely unfathomable to me to not know Justin Timberlake's name!
In other news, some rather embarrassing footage of me singing and dancing to good ol' N*Sync, Mariah Carey and Avril Lavigne songs (amongst others) may or may not now be in existence...
But they, fortunately for everyone, are not on my camera chip. The following photos, on the other hand, ARE!
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| We were having fun, I promise :) |
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| Yeahhhh KTV! |
Anyway, thanks to my multi-hour belting, my throat is now a little worse for wear...but it was totally worth it! Yet another thing I would say only in Taiwan: karaoke is fun!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Astonishment
"...well, you know, it's pretty much our only free weekend left before we leave..."
I'm sorry, what?
It was just an offhanded comment, just something said in a normal little chat in the dining room with Rachel. Our grant is only 10 weeks long, now; of those 10 weeks, five have Fulbright-occupied weekends, and of the rest, nearly all have at least one Fulbright event during the week. We're almost out of time. And just like that, it's all I can think about: my time here is almost gone. Like, really almost gone.
I know my posts on here lately have focused a lot on what I miss about home. A lot of sad-sacking about food, and family, and all the wonderful things in America that aren't available to me here. But just throwing up those posts has created a very skewed picture of my time right now, and now, as a steady rain cascades onto the bricks outside my window in an oh-so-typically-melancholic way, seems like the perfect time to swing things back into balance.
Because, really, two and a half months??? How is it POSSIBLE that we only have two and a half months before all this is over? How is it possible that in a little over two months I will be back in America, just an American among Americans, living a normal life like everyone else?
It seems like this has snuck up on me, which is of course ridiculous given that I've been writing about the passage of time pretty much since I got here, and of course have been answering the question "how long have you been here," with my answer changing monthly, on a regular basis. But with all of that, I focus on the time I've spent here: almost 9 months. I'd actually been planning a post on the topic (maybe it'll still happen), to come out on the last day of April. Nine months is a number I've gotten used to. Its partner, however, is still shocking.
What can you do in two months? That's no longer a rhetorical question. How much more can you see? What do you not want to leave the country without doing? How much money can you save? What jobs can you apply for? How much time can you realistically spend with your lovely Taiwanese friends without harming your health or teaching in the process?
And here's what I'm coming up against: not enough. Two months is not enough time to see it all; not enough time to put everything perfectly in order; not nearly enough time to spend with my friends. I've written before, many times, about how much has changed since coming here, and about how much I'll miss everyone when I go home; now it's hitting me that that time is soon, and that it will soon be time to actually, really, start saying my goodbyes.
And I'm not ready to think about that.
So maybe our jam-packed last couple of months will be the ultimate blessing: a chance to focus, not on the things we can't do, or the things we will ultimately have to do, but on the things we can do: see a few more local sights, participate in a few more local traditions, spend just a bit more time with the people we will miss. Maybe we'll be able to surprise ourselves into not mourning too deeply as we leave this beautiful island that we've called home. But I doubt it.
I'm sorry, what?
It was just an offhanded comment, just something said in a normal little chat in the dining room with Rachel. Our grant is only 10 weeks long, now; of those 10 weeks, five have Fulbright-occupied weekends, and of the rest, nearly all have at least one Fulbright event during the week. We're almost out of time. And just like that, it's all I can think about: my time here is almost gone. Like, really almost gone.
I know my posts on here lately have focused a lot on what I miss about home. A lot of sad-sacking about food, and family, and all the wonderful things in America that aren't available to me here. But just throwing up those posts has created a very skewed picture of my time right now, and now, as a steady rain cascades onto the bricks outside my window in an oh-so-typically-melancholic way, seems like the perfect time to swing things back into balance.
Because, really, two and a half months??? How is it POSSIBLE that we only have two and a half months before all this is over? How is it possible that in a little over two months I will be back in America, just an American among Americans, living a normal life like everyone else?
It seems like this has snuck up on me, which is of course ridiculous given that I've been writing about the passage of time pretty much since I got here, and of course have been answering the question "how long have you been here," with my answer changing monthly, on a regular basis. But with all of that, I focus on the time I've spent here: almost 9 months. I'd actually been planning a post on the topic (maybe it'll still happen), to come out on the last day of April. Nine months is a number I've gotten used to. Its partner, however, is still shocking.
What can you do in two months? That's no longer a rhetorical question. How much more can you see? What do you not want to leave the country without doing? How much money can you save? What jobs can you apply for? How much time can you realistically spend with your lovely Taiwanese friends without harming your health or teaching in the process?
And here's what I'm coming up against: not enough. Two months is not enough time to see it all; not enough time to put everything perfectly in order; not nearly enough time to spend with my friends. I've written before, many times, about how much has changed since coming here, and about how much I'll miss everyone when I go home; now it's hitting me that that time is soon, and that it will soon be time to actually, really, start saying my goodbyes.
And I'm not ready to think about that.
So maybe our jam-packed last couple of months will be the ultimate blessing: a chance to focus, not on the things we can't do, or the things we will ultimately have to do, but on the things we can do: see a few more local sights, participate in a few more local traditions, spend just a bit more time with the people we will miss. Maybe we'll be able to surprise ourselves into not mourning too deeply as we leave this beautiful island that we've called home. But I doubt it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Ice Cream
Wow, four out of my last five posts concern food. Annnnd who can guess what Bekah's missing about America?
Today, though, I feel that I'm justified. For class today, Alison and I taught the 6th graders the past tense, along with a handful of new location words: museum, post office, train station, restaurant--and ice cream shop. For our game, I wrote a bunch of little paragraph-long stories about people, detailing where they go during the day, and then asking "Where was _(person)__ _(time)__?" The first kid to raise their hand and get it right won a point for their team, which was, in this case, illustrated by earning the picture of the people they answered right about.
Here's an example about "Joe":
Today is Monday. In the morning, Joe eats breakfast at home. After breakfast, Joe goes to school. After school, Joe goes to the ice cream shop with his dad. Then, they go home and eat dinner. Where was Joe Monday after school?
The answer, of course, is "Joe was at the ice cream shop."
And Joe wasn't alone in going to the ice cream shop. He was joined, in these stories, by Isaac, Luke, Isabel, and Chloe. Add to this the fact that "ice cream shop" is part of the new vocabulary we're learning (read: endless repetition), and that, to keep kids' interest, each class today included asking the kids their favorite ice cream flavors. Add to that the fact that today was in the 90s F, but "felt like" 102F, thanks to the oh-so-lovely humidity.
Then maybe it'll make sense as to why I'm writing about ice cream today.
After dinner, I decided I just had to have some. I tried to fight it, tried to remind myself that it's bad for me and expensive here, but it was no use. I did at least talk myself down from my original plan (Coldstone Creamery not far from here!) and decided to "just go and see" what they had at the local grocery store.
And the local grocery store, wow! It's been closed all month for renovations, and man did they renovate! It's like a whole new store, and it definitely feels more Western--larger isles, a greater variety, wider open spaces; though I know it's impossible, it actually feels bigger, too. And they had ice cream. Strawberry ice cream. In a carton. It's not the same, of course (made me suspect this is actually what they used for my shake the other day), but it was cold and it was creamy and it was DELICIOUS on a hot evening.
I can never seem to help myself from getting brainwashed by my own lessons, particularly when they urge me towards what I want anyway. But, really, is that so bad when it means cold ice cream on a 100+ degree day? I think not.
Today, though, I feel that I'm justified. For class today, Alison and I taught the 6th graders the past tense, along with a handful of new location words: museum, post office, train station, restaurant--and ice cream shop. For our game, I wrote a bunch of little paragraph-long stories about people, detailing where they go during the day, and then asking "Where was _(person)__ _(time)__?" The first kid to raise their hand and get it right won a point for their team, which was, in this case, illustrated by earning the picture of the people they answered right about.
Here's an example about "Joe":
Today is Monday. In the morning, Joe eats breakfast at home. After breakfast, Joe goes to school. After school, Joe goes to the ice cream shop with his dad. Then, they go home and eat dinner. Where was Joe Monday after school?
The answer, of course, is "Joe was at the ice cream shop."
And Joe wasn't alone in going to the ice cream shop. He was joined, in these stories, by Isaac, Luke, Isabel, and Chloe. Add to this the fact that "ice cream shop" is part of the new vocabulary we're learning (read: endless repetition), and that, to keep kids' interest, each class today included asking the kids their favorite ice cream flavors. Add to that the fact that today was in the 90s F, but "felt like" 102F, thanks to the oh-so-lovely humidity.
Then maybe it'll make sense as to why I'm writing about ice cream today.
After dinner, I decided I just had to have some. I tried to fight it, tried to remind myself that it's bad for me and expensive here, but it was no use. I did at least talk myself down from my original plan (Coldstone Creamery not far from here!) and decided to "just go and see" what they had at the local grocery store.
And the local grocery store, wow! It's been closed all month for renovations, and man did they renovate! It's like a whole new store, and it definitely feels more Western--larger isles, a greater variety, wider open spaces; though I know it's impossible, it actually feels bigger, too. And they had ice cream. Strawberry ice cream. In a carton. It's not the same, of course (made me suspect this is actually what they used for my shake the other day), but it was cold and it was creamy and it was DELICIOUS on a hot evening.
I can never seem to help myself from getting brainwashed by my own lessons, particularly when they urge me towards what I want anyway. But, really, is that so bad when it means cold ice cream on a 100+ degree day? I think not.
Monday, April 16, 2012
6 Ways Living in a Foreign Country Changes Your POV
I'm noted on here before that I enjoy occasionally delving into the ridiculous, but funny, annals of Cracked.com. For those who don't share my hobby (if you visit, be warned: its humor can get dirty), one of the hallmarks of their website is their list-format articles. For instance, the two stories currently leading on their homepage are "The 7 Most Insane Ways People Legally Avoided Paying Taxes" and "5 Things Flight Safety Presentations Should Mention."
I like this format. And, just now, I feel inspired to try it out. So, apart from the literal change in view that comes from being on a different side of the globe, how does living in a foreign country change your POV? Well...
1. All your holidays become multi-day events
I've written about this, I believe, at every holiday I've experienced here in Taiwan. Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or Easter, rolls around. "Aw," I think, "Another holiday away from home! Time to have a search for a turkey meal/Christmas Eve service/Eggs Benedict-making fest to compensate." I have said festivities, miss my family, but do the best I can to have a good holiday. Then I go to sleep.
And the next morning, surprise! It's still Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter! Yep, due to the wonder of time zones and the fact that my hometown is a solid 15 or 16 hours (depending on Daylight Savings Time) behind Taiwan, my family is usually having their big celebration right around the time I'm eating breakfast and driving to school the next day.
Let's take Easter for our first example, since it happened most recently and my family was disappointed because I (whoops!) forgot to Skype in with them for the holiday. But, as I figured out afterwards, there was a reason for that. See, my family celebrates Easter in the early afternoon, like, say 1pm-4pm or so. Which, in Taiwan, would be 4am-7am. And, on any given Monday, my alarm goes off at 8am. So...yeah.
On the more successful Skype holidays, say, Christmas, for example, I Skyped my family three times over the course of two days: noon on Christmas (Christmas Eve at home), late at night on Christmas (Christmas morning), and afternoon on Boxing Day (Christmas night). Or, take Thanksgiving, which found me Skyping in the next day at lunchtime, with my Subway turkey sandwich, as my family cleaned off their Thanksgiving late-night snacks. It's bizarre, but it's something you eventually adjust to: holidays are as fluid as time zones when it comes to when they're celebrated. And you'd better be there for all of them.
2. Everyone's online at the wrong time.
All this talk about time zones brings me to my second point: you know all those people who've hassled you your whole life about not staying up too late? You know, the early birds who consider staying up past 11pm or sleeping past 9am to be some sort of freakish abnormality, not to be tolerated under any circumstances? Well---they are now your most reliable contacts.
On the flip side, never have I felt more rewarded to keep an abnormal sleeping schedule than I have since I moved here. Want to talk to someone? Better be okay with staying up till 2am. Want a lot of people to read your blog? Well then forget about posting before midnight, it's best if you wait till at least 3am to maximize readership. (True numbers there: Google Analytics tells all.)
And, really, developing dual communities on opposite sides of the globe just means you have twice as much stuff to do online, and doing it in sync with the local community necessitates more and more hours spent there. At this point, just about every time I open my Facebook I have a notification or four waiting--after all, while I'm sleeping or teaching, my friends back home are in their late-night Facebook mode! And then, on top of that, once I'm in my late-night Facebook mode, so are my friends here in Taiwan.
So I'm not actually complaining about this shift. It really works out pretty well for a night owl/online addict like me. But still, time zone shifts can be confusing, especially when you're dealing with facts like...
3. You have to re-memorize all publication schedules
This may not be a big deal for other people. And, truthfully, it's not *that* big of a deal for me, most of the time, since I had no functioning television in my house last year and so relied exclusively on Internet versions of shows, which always come out later to begin with. But. You still get used to certain release dates; you still (if you're me) know *exactly* when Bones will be up, and *exactly* when The Office will be. You also have to get used to the fact that none of the reputable sites you know and love are licensed for use where you are.
And there are websites that get updated on a time schedule, too--usually something like Monday/Wednesday/Friday, yet now rendered Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday. Or, if it's a daily site, perhaps it will seem to be updated twice-daily, since it posts directly in the middle of your viewing session.
So it's a mixed bag of good and bad, and it makes Internet content completely unpredictable until you master its patterns (which I haven't), and unfortunate fact given that, living in another country, you are 100% dependent on the Internet for everything, from translations to communications to media to procrastination. Take your normal dependence, multiply it by 100, and you've got a rough idea.
Now take into consideration that you don't know when stuff will be available. Of course, 'not knowing' is a normal state of being while living abroad, which leads us to how...
4. You acquire a deep empathy with all immigrants, ever.
This is actually the number 1 reason why I truly believe that EVERYONE should be required to live somewhere they can't communicate at some point in their lives. Preferably while they're young, since it's easier then and it avoids years of misunderstandings.
See, if there's one thing I've realized since moving to Taiwan, it's that living in a foreign country is hard! You don't know your way around, you don't know the culture, you know next to no one, and, to top it off (in my case, at least), you can't even find the answers to these things because you don't know the language.
Let me give you an example. When I was in high school/the beginning of college, I worked for Jamba Juice. And I remember, some of our best customers were foreigners from Asian countries. They would come in, looking earnest, and spend what seemed like hours studying the menu before coming to the front and ordering, pretty invariably, an orange-carrot juice. Asking size was a struggle, and when they had finished ordering and paying--usually in cash, with a $20 bill, you could see the look of relief on their faces as they stepped back to wait for their juice.
I'm not going to lie, as employees, we hated this: orange juice and carrot juice come from two massive, hard-to-clean machines which would sometimes otherwise go a day without being used; beside that, these customers always seemed to come right after we'd finished cleaning both machines for the night. It was pretty annoying.
Well...I'm pretty sure I now am that person. I think of them every time I step foot inside a coffee shop, or a juice shop, or a restaurant of any kind, and stare unknowing at the massive menu of indistinguishable words which must, I know, be the dishes I'm supposed to be ordering. I'll stare, and stare, pick out the few words I recognize, and then, usually, place one of my stock orders--drinks: latte (hot or cold; hazelnut or almond), watermelon juice, or milk tea, and meals: beef noodles, hamburger (if it's a Western place) or, more frequently, "this one," with a point at the menu. I feel accomplished, and happy, if I can pull this trick off without a hitch. Anything beyond it is unthinkably hard.
I then pay--always in cash, and quite frequently in the local equivalent of a $20 bill (ie the one most ATMs use), a 1,000NT (~$30USD) note, because that's how my money comes to me. Hopefully I'm not inconveniencing the employees with a notoriously hard order, but truth be told, if I were I would have no way of knowing, and they would have no way of telling me.
In another side story, I remember foreigners U-picking at the orchards I also worked at in high school. They would frequently come back with fruit they weren't supposed to have picked, and I remember one of my co-workers in particular getting very frustrated over the fact. Sometimes it was an honest mistake, but sometimes--and you could tell the difference--they were just playing the "I don't understand" card.
Now, I know that card. I love that card. It really is true, too: not knowing the dominant language in the country you're living in (or not knowing it well enough) is a HUGE get-out-of-jail-free card. Not literally, of course, but the fact is you can get away with quite a lot when you really don't know the rules, or have any way of finding them out. Playing the foreigner card can come in quite handy and, previous frustrations about it aside, it's actually pretty wonderful.
See, all these little things bundle together to make you know, in pretty good anagram, exactly how immigrants feel in YOUR country. And, while it's easy to write people off who can't speak your language at home (You're in America! Learn the language!), it's much more difficult to do so when the situation's been reversed, and you see firsthand exactly how difficult it is, and, more importantly, how long it takes, to do so.
This also applies to ethnic enclaves, another phenomenon I never quite understood until I moved here, and realized that, while living abroad...
5. You develop a sudden, simultaneous love for and mistrust of all things 'foreign'--aka, from home.
I've written about this before: whenever I go to church here, or, really, whenever I see a foreigner here, a little alarm goes off in my head. What is going on? What is/are he/she/they doing here? Why are there so many foreigners in one place? Something is not right!!!
See, when you're living in a country where you stick out like a sore thumb, you go through a couple of phases. 1: WOW I am seriously the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now. 2: Well obviously I'm the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now, this is TAIWAN. 3: Yes, I'm the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now, move along, folks.
Right around when you hit that third stage, it becomes absolutely shocking whenever you're proven wrong. It happens occasionally that I'll draw some stares when I'm out on my scooter or on the MRT (I learned to ignore it sometime around stage 2 above), but when I see a white person in a similar context, I full-on stare. I can't seem to help myself. All memories of how much I dislike being stared at go out the window as I grapple with the unnerving realization that there's more than one of us here! It actually makes me quite uncomfortable, a fact which bodes interestingly for when I go back home in July...
And of course alongside this is the sudden idolization of all things American. We're going out to Western food? Fantastic! There's a Starbucks on that corner? Hooray! They serve red meat there? My day is made!
It's an odd juxtaposition, really, this love-hate relationship you develop with 'home,' and one which I suppose reinforces somewhat the idea that...
6. The whole world suddenly seems like it's just a whim (and a few saved paychecks) away
Obviously, moving across the world is a huge step, and one that involves a TON of planning, paying, and travel time. But, once you've done it, it becomes remarkably apparent just how feasible it is to do. Pick up and move to another country? Sure, why not!
As an outgrowth of that, then, travel becomes the most natural thing in the world. Want go to Thailand for a week? Sure, why not! How about Australia? Why yes I would, sign me up!
I've yet to determine whether these impulses come solely, or just primarily, from living abroad, or if they're more a product of having a full-time job (and salary) for the first time. But, for me, at least, I can't help but think it's probably largely because I'm living abroad. I mean, really, my wages are pretty low by US standards, and flight prices don't vary based on local cost of living (a bum deal, really), but even so it seems 100% natural and easy to travel widely while I'm here.
At the core of it is the realization that long plane rides really aren't that long, and that international travel, if you can keep a cool head about it, is pretty easy. And, especially once you've adjusted to living in a culture in an infantile state of non-knowing, it doesn't really matter where you display your ignorance; beyond that, you've developed the very specific skill-set necessary to navigate an unknown location using only hand signals and whatever level of English whoever you're talking to happens to know.
It's liberating, really: when you known nothing, and know you know nothing, you can go anywhere. Now that's a sentence I never would have written before moving here...oh, the joys of a fresh POV.
I like this format. And, just now, I feel inspired to try it out. So, apart from the literal change in view that comes from being on a different side of the globe, how does living in a foreign country change your POV? Well...
1. All your holidays become multi-day events
I've written about this, I believe, at every holiday I've experienced here in Taiwan. Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or Easter, rolls around. "Aw," I think, "Another holiday away from home! Time to have a search for a turkey meal/Christmas Eve service/Eggs Benedict-making fest to compensate." I have said festivities, miss my family, but do the best I can to have a good holiday. Then I go to sleep.
And the next morning, surprise! It's still Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter! Yep, due to the wonder of time zones and the fact that my hometown is a solid 15 or 16 hours (depending on Daylight Savings Time) behind Taiwan, my family is usually having their big celebration right around the time I'm eating breakfast and driving to school the next day.
Let's take Easter for our first example, since it happened most recently and my family was disappointed because I (whoops!) forgot to Skype in with them for the holiday. But, as I figured out afterwards, there was a reason for that. See, my family celebrates Easter in the early afternoon, like, say 1pm-4pm or so. Which, in Taiwan, would be 4am-7am. And, on any given Monday, my alarm goes off at 8am. So...yeah.
On the more successful Skype holidays, say, Christmas, for example, I Skyped my family three times over the course of two days: noon on Christmas (Christmas Eve at home), late at night on Christmas (Christmas morning), and afternoon on Boxing Day (Christmas night). Or, take Thanksgiving, which found me Skyping in the next day at lunchtime, with my Subway turkey sandwich, as my family cleaned off their Thanksgiving late-night snacks. It's bizarre, but it's something you eventually adjust to: holidays are as fluid as time zones when it comes to when they're celebrated. And you'd better be there for all of them.
2. Everyone's online at the wrong time.
All this talk about time zones brings me to my second point: you know all those people who've hassled you your whole life about not staying up too late? You know, the early birds who consider staying up past 11pm or sleeping past 9am to be some sort of freakish abnormality, not to be tolerated under any circumstances? Well---they are now your most reliable contacts.
On the flip side, never have I felt more rewarded to keep an abnormal sleeping schedule than I have since I moved here. Want to talk to someone? Better be okay with staying up till 2am. Want a lot of people to read your blog? Well then forget about posting before midnight, it's best if you wait till at least 3am to maximize readership. (True numbers there: Google Analytics tells all.)
And, really, developing dual communities on opposite sides of the globe just means you have twice as much stuff to do online, and doing it in sync with the local community necessitates more and more hours spent there. At this point, just about every time I open my Facebook I have a notification or four waiting--after all, while I'm sleeping or teaching, my friends back home are in their late-night Facebook mode! And then, on top of that, once I'm in my late-night Facebook mode, so are my friends here in Taiwan.
So I'm not actually complaining about this shift. It really works out pretty well for a night owl/online addict like me. But still, time zone shifts can be confusing, especially when you're dealing with facts like...
3. You have to re-memorize all publication schedules
This may not be a big deal for other people. And, truthfully, it's not *that* big of a deal for me, most of the time, since I had no functioning television in my house last year and so relied exclusively on Internet versions of shows, which always come out later to begin with. But. You still get used to certain release dates; you still (if you're me) know *exactly* when Bones will be up, and *exactly* when The Office will be. You also have to get used to the fact that none of the reputable sites you know and love are licensed for use where you are.
And there are websites that get updated on a time schedule, too--usually something like Monday/Wednesday/Friday, yet now rendered Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday. Or, if it's a daily site, perhaps it will seem to be updated twice-daily, since it posts directly in the middle of your viewing session.
So it's a mixed bag of good and bad, and it makes Internet content completely unpredictable until you master its patterns (which I haven't), and unfortunate fact given that, living in another country, you are 100% dependent on the Internet for everything, from translations to communications to media to procrastination. Take your normal dependence, multiply it by 100, and you've got a rough idea.
Now take into consideration that you don't know when stuff will be available. Of course, 'not knowing' is a normal state of being while living abroad, which leads us to how...
4. You acquire a deep empathy with all immigrants, ever.
This is actually the number 1 reason why I truly believe that EVERYONE should be required to live somewhere they can't communicate at some point in their lives. Preferably while they're young, since it's easier then and it avoids years of misunderstandings.
See, if there's one thing I've realized since moving to Taiwan, it's that living in a foreign country is hard! You don't know your way around, you don't know the culture, you know next to no one, and, to top it off (in my case, at least), you can't even find the answers to these things because you don't know the language.
Let me give you an example. When I was in high school/the beginning of college, I worked for Jamba Juice. And I remember, some of our best customers were foreigners from Asian countries. They would come in, looking earnest, and spend what seemed like hours studying the menu before coming to the front and ordering, pretty invariably, an orange-carrot juice. Asking size was a struggle, and when they had finished ordering and paying--usually in cash, with a $20 bill, you could see the look of relief on their faces as they stepped back to wait for their juice.
I'm not going to lie, as employees, we hated this: orange juice and carrot juice come from two massive, hard-to-clean machines which would sometimes otherwise go a day without being used; beside that, these customers always seemed to come right after we'd finished cleaning both machines for the night. It was pretty annoying.
Well...I'm pretty sure I now am that person. I think of them every time I step foot inside a coffee shop, or a juice shop, or a restaurant of any kind, and stare unknowing at the massive menu of indistinguishable words which must, I know, be the dishes I'm supposed to be ordering. I'll stare, and stare, pick out the few words I recognize, and then, usually, place one of my stock orders--drinks: latte (hot or cold; hazelnut or almond), watermelon juice, or milk tea, and meals: beef noodles, hamburger (if it's a Western place) or, more frequently, "this one," with a point at the menu. I feel accomplished, and happy, if I can pull this trick off without a hitch. Anything beyond it is unthinkably hard.
I then pay--always in cash, and quite frequently in the local equivalent of a $20 bill (ie the one most ATMs use), a 1,000NT (~$30USD) note, because that's how my money comes to me. Hopefully I'm not inconveniencing the employees with a notoriously hard order, but truth be told, if I were I would have no way of knowing, and they would have no way of telling me.
In another side story, I remember foreigners U-picking at the orchards I also worked at in high school. They would frequently come back with fruit they weren't supposed to have picked, and I remember one of my co-workers in particular getting very frustrated over the fact. Sometimes it was an honest mistake, but sometimes--and you could tell the difference--they were just playing the "I don't understand" card.
Now, I know that card. I love that card. It really is true, too: not knowing the dominant language in the country you're living in (or not knowing it well enough) is a HUGE get-out-of-jail-free card. Not literally, of course, but the fact is you can get away with quite a lot when you really don't know the rules, or have any way of finding them out. Playing the foreigner card can come in quite handy and, previous frustrations about it aside, it's actually pretty wonderful.
See, all these little things bundle together to make you know, in pretty good anagram, exactly how immigrants feel in YOUR country. And, while it's easy to write people off who can't speak your language at home (You're in America! Learn the language!), it's much more difficult to do so when the situation's been reversed, and you see firsthand exactly how difficult it is, and, more importantly, how long it takes, to do so.
This also applies to ethnic enclaves, another phenomenon I never quite understood until I moved here, and realized that, while living abroad...
5. You develop a sudden, simultaneous love for and mistrust of all things 'foreign'--aka, from home.
I've written about this before: whenever I go to church here, or, really, whenever I see a foreigner here, a little alarm goes off in my head. What is going on? What is/are he/she/they doing here? Why are there so many foreigners in one place? Something is not right!!!
See, when you're living in a country where you stick out like a sore thumb, you go through a couple of phases. 1: WOW I am seriously the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now. 2: Well obviously I'm the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now, this is TAIWAN. 3: Yes, I'm the only white person in a 10-mile radius right now, move along, folks.
Right around when you hit that third stage, it becomes absolutely shocking whenever you're proven wrong. It happens occasionally that I'll draw some stares when I'm out on my scooter or on the MRT (I learned to ignore it sometime around stage 2 above), but when I see a white person in a similar context, I full-on stare. I can't seem to help myself. All memories of how much I dislike being stared at go out the window as I grapple with the unnerving realization that there's more than one of us here! It actually makes me quite uncomfortable, a fact which bodes interestingly for when I go back home in July...
And of course alongside this is the sudden idolization of all things American. We're going out to Western food? Fantastic! There's a Starbucks on that corner? Hooray! They serve red meat there? My day is made!
It's an odd juxtaposition, really, this love-hate relationship you develop with 'home,' and one which I suppose reinforces somewhat the idea that...
6. The whole world suddenly seems like it's just a whim (and a few saved paychecks) away
Obviously, moving across the world is a huge step, and one that involves a TON of planning, paying, and travel time. But, once you've done it, it becomes remarkably apparent just how feasible it is to do. Pick up and move to another country? Sure, why not!
As an outgrowth of that, then, travel becomes the most natural thing in the world. Want go to Thailand for a week? Sure, why not! How about Australia? Why yes I would, sign me up!
I've yet to determine whether these impulses come solely, or just primarily, from living abroad, or if they're more a product of having a full-time job (and salary) for the first time. But, for me, at least, I can't help but think it's probably largely because I'm living abroad. I mean, really, my wages are pretty low by US standards, and flight prices don't vary based on local cost of living (a bum deal, really), but even so it seems 100% natural and easy to travel widely while I'm here.
At the core of it is the realization that long plane rides really aren't that long, and that international travel, if you can keep a cool head about it, is pretty easy. And, especially once you've adjusted to living in a culture in an infantile state of non-knowing, it doesn't really matter where you display your ignorance; beyond that, you've developed the very specific skill-set necessary to navigate an unknown location using only hand signals and whatever level of English whoever you're talking to happens to know.
It's liberating, really: when you known nothing, and know you know nothing, you can go anywhere. Now that's a sentence I never would have written before moving here...oh, the joys of a fresh POV.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Goodbye
Today was Alex and Melanie's last in Taiwan and, all things considered, we managed to squeeze in a decent amount of culture before they left. The morning found Melanie and I at the HUGE local stationary store buying all sorts of cute Asian stationary. At noon, my lovely host family came to pick us up and took us to a DELICIOUS hot pot lunch, and then Alex, Melanie, Emily and I went to KTV for a few hours before I rushed them off to the HSR station and said goodbye.
Goodbyes are always hard. Today's was a rolling hardness: we were rushed to get to the station, rushed to buy tickets, and rushed to get Alex and Melanie to the train. All of a sudden we were at the gate, and it was just a quick hug for each, a last bit of yelled instruction and a wave, and they were gone. I turned and walked away. It took a few minutes, but with each passing step I missed them more. After being in constant company for the last few days, it felt odd to be suddenly alone.
It made me want to do something--activity gives my mind something to do other than dwell on my brother and sister-in-law moving steadily away from where I am. So I went grocery shopping for tomorrow's makeshift Easter brunch, successfully snagging some English muffins and ham from the store next to HSR.
Then it was home and alone yet more. Having Alex and Mel leave reminded me of how short and yet how long I have until I, too, will leave Taiwan. They were gracious enough to take a bag back for me, and as I packed it I realized that it will be just a few months before all of my stuff will be bagged up and plane-ready. Saying goodbye made me wish I were going with them, yet re-exploring Kaohsiung made me remember why I don't want to leave.
Lots of complicated emotions, today was. I drowned them in getting backlogged work done, sending emails, working on my resume, etc. But tomorrow is Easter, and despite my planned celebration with Karina and Grace, a friend we met in Chiang Mai who just moved to Tainan a few months ago, it will be yet another holiday spent away from my family. Yet I know it won't be long before I'm saying the same thing, from the banks of another continent.
*Sigh* Goodbye...such a loaded word.
Goodbyes are always hard. Today's was a rolling hardness: we were rushed to get to the station, rushed to buy tickets, and rushed to get Alex and Melanie to the train. All of a sudden we were at the gate, and it was just a quick hug for each, a last bit of yelled instruction and a wave, and they were gone. I turned and walked away. It took a few minutes, but with each passing step I missed them more. After being in constant company for the last few days, it felt odd to be suddenly alone.
It made me want to do something--activity gives my mind something to do other than dwell on my brother and sister-in-law moving steadily away from where I am. So I went grocery shopping for tomorrow's makeshift Easter brunch, successfully snagging some English muffins and ham from the store next to HSR.
Then it was home and alone yet more. Having Alex and Mel leave reminded me of how short and yet how long I have until I, too, will leave Taiwan. They were gracious enough to take a bag back for me, and as I packed it I realized that it will be just a few months before all of my stuff will be bagged up and plane-ready. Saying goodbye made me wish I were going with them, yet re-exploring Kaohsiung made me remember why I don't want to leave.
Lots of complicated emotions, today was. I drowned them in getting backlogged work done, sending emails, working on my resume, etc. But tomorrow is Easter, and despite my planned celebration with Karina and Grace, a friend we met in Chiang Mai who just moved to Tainan a few months ago, it will be yet another holiday spent away from my family. Yet I know it won't be long before I'm saying the same thing, from the banks of another continent.
*Sigh* Goodbye...such a loaded word.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Pairings
I don't know why, but I do love it when I come across a pairing of two that seems to suit in some way or another. Maybe it's a subconscious human instinct, to join two things to make a single one complete. In any case, I've been noticing plenty of pairings lately, and thought I'd go ahead and share them with you.
Kids' Names:
The best part here is that I have a pair of pairings, or actually a trio of pairings, taken from both of my schools. I notice paired names most often when kids sitting next to each other have appropriate names, or their names are next to each other on the roll call.
Take, for instance, two of my 5th graders at Hanmin who sit in the same row: Amos and Andy.
And then there's the two 6th grade girls at Qingshan whose names directly follow each other: Penny and Candy.
The best one, though, is a tidbit Maggie passed along to me today on the walk to one of our classrooms. She said that one of the teachers at the school has twins, a boy and a girl. Their family name is Li, and the twins are named Li Ke and Li Le. (李可 and 李樂.) Yes, Chinese speakers, that's right--the kids' names are made of the halves of the word 可樂--cola. According to Maggie, people ask the dad how his drink is, and things of that nature, all the time. And I have to say, he deserves it!
Smaller Pairings:
My most pervasive frustration with traffic here comes out when I am most fully taking advantage of traffic here. It's a perverse pairing. Essentially, when I'm running late and I hit traffic, I get quite annoyed at the cars, scooters, pedestrians, bicyclists and pushcarts--yes, pushcarts--in my way. Stupid Taiwanese traffic, I say, why is this person pushing a cart by hand down the middle of the street? This would never happen in America...
I then rev my engine and find the best way around the problem, weaving and making marginally legal turns as necessary. That is, I drive in such a way that, if I were in America, would get me in massive trouble. It's a catch-22: the very order I'm longing for is the order I am more than happy to thrown to the wayside to get me to my destination quicker.
Another pairing: The Hunger Games and Sour Patch Kids. I like to eat sour candy when I go to the movies. Taiwan has a serious shortage of sour candy. However, Kaitlin brought me some like the gem she is, and so today I got to relive one of my favorite essential pairings from America: candy and a great movie. Nothing not to love!
So those are my pairings from the day. What are yours?
Kids' Names:
The best part here is that I have a pair of pairings, or actually a trio of pairings, taken from both of my schools. I notice paired names most often when kids sitting next to each other have appropriate names, or their names are next to each other on the roll call.
Take, for instance, two of my 5th graders at Hanmin who sit in the same row: Amos and Andy.
And then there's the two 6th grade girls at Qingshan whose names directly follow each other: Penny and Candy.
The best one, though, is a tidbit Maggie passed along to me today on the walk to one of our classrooms. She said that one of the teachers at the school has twins, a boy and a girl. Their family name is Li, and the twins are named Li Ke and Li Le. (李可 and 李樂.) Yes, Chinese speakers, that's right--the kids' names are made of the halves of the word 可樂--cola. According to Maggie, people ask the dad how his drink is, and things of that nature, all the time. And I have to say, he deserves it!
Smaller Pairings:
My most pervasive frustration with traffic here comes out when I am most fully taking advantage of traffic here. It's a perverse pairing. Essentially, when I'm running late and I hit traffic, I get quite annoyed at the cars, scooters, pedestrians, bicyclists and pushcarts--yes, pushcarts--in my way. Stupid Taiwanese traffic, I say, why is this person pushing a cart by hand down the middle of the street? This would never happen in America...
I then rev my engine and find the best way around the problem, weaving and making marginally legal turns as necessary. That is, I drive in such a way that, if I were in America, would get me in massive trouble. It's a catch-22: the very order I'm longing for is the order I am more than happy to thrown to the wayside to get me to my destination quicker.
Another pairing: The Hunger Games and Sour Patch Kids. I like to eat sour candy when I go to the movies. Taiwan has a serious shortage of sour candy. However, Kaitlin brought me some like the gem she is, and so today I got to relive one of my favorite essential pairings from America: candy and a great movie. Nothing not to love!
So those are my pairings from the day. What are yours?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Back to the Basics
I've come to realize that I'm one of those people who love the basics. When I read, I often pick up the classics: basic. When I go shopping, I pick clothes with bold colors and classic styles: basic. When I think of a great day, I think of a day without a schedule, involving such things as sleep, good coffee, good books, good company: basic. In fact, in most things, from daily activities to theology, I'm a big fan of Occam's razor.
It's somewhat of an ironic fact about me, really: I love details, I love finding tiny errors and correcting them--I want to be an editor, after all; yet, at the same time, what I long for is simplicity.
Which means today was lovely. After an early wake-up call and trip to the airport to say goodbye to Kaitlin, who had an unfortunately long trip home ahead of her (it's midnight here and we left for the airport at 6am, but she still has another 6 hours to go, by my count), I slumped home on the MRT and went back to sleep for a few hours. When I awoke, I was met with the happy news that Rachel had waited for me to go to Costco, and at Costco I found some good ol' fashioned American basics like cheese, wheat bread, and chips and salsa. To round out my trip, I couldn't resist going for one of Costco's signature hot dogs. Pork instead of beef here, but still SO good.
I then got home and discovered that my rotisserie chicken had gone back a little too basic, in my own humble opinion:
I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for my first tutoring session tonight, with a young man named Hal whose father is a homeroom teacher at Hanmin. And, by preparing, I mean writing out a general outline of things we should do, and then re-reading the first chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and writing a bunch of reading comprehension questions on the content. Nothing more basic than one of my favorite books of all time!
Except perhaps the tutoring itself. I arrived at the cafe early and grabbed a cup of delicious coffee, and when Hal got there, we got down to work--on his writing and almost solely his writing. It was so much fun! I spent three years in college as a writing tutor, doing what I could for students' full length papers in little half hour segments; working on others' papers is a matter of course for me. But half hour sessions are not nearly enough to fully address all the issues in a paper, as I learned today, as Hal and I took a full hour and a half to pore over his two paragraph practice test essay.
It was glorious: all the skills I've honed over the past few years, but expanded out into a fuller time frame that allowed us to take a piece of writing from draft stage through a full work-up of structure and grammar (subjunctive mood played a key role in today's lesson) to rewrites of specific sentences to re-copying the whole thing in corrected form, allowing Hal to walk away with an example for future works. I loved it: back to the basics of English tutoring, and tutoring itself.
At home, an HBO series of Matt Damon movies (I caught the very strange and confusing second half of The Talented Mr. Ripley, and then the entirety of the also confusing and certainly not basic but, for me, intriguing The Adjustment Bureau, which led to an abortive convoluted theological conversation with Analicia which did, in fact, help to inspire this post) served as a nice break from some of the ridiculousness they've been showing lately, and after it finished I had the treat of listening to a podcast by the great Judah Smith, who always challenges me with his fantastic ability to bring everything back to the utmost basic of Christian faith: Jesus.
I love complex thought; I love teasing out inconsistencies and exploring convoluted new notions. I love experiencing new things. But that's just it: even when I'm delving into extraordinarily complicated notions, I do it with the intent of smoothing out the wrinkles and revealing the bigger picture, clean and pressed through the action of delving. I see complications as a juicy challenge on the way to clarity.
Because, to me, as much fun as labyrinthine experiences are, all those in the maze really have the same goal: to get out of the twists and turns--to get back to the basics.
It's somewhat of an ironic fact about me, really: I love details, I love finding tiny errors and correcting them--I want to be an editor, after all; yet, at the same time, what I long for is simplicity.
Which means today was lovely. After an early wake-up call and trip to the airport to say goodbye to Kaitlin, who had an unfortunately long trip home ahead of her (it's midnight here and we left for the airport at 6am, but she still has another 6 hours to go, by my count), I slumped home on the MRT and went back to sleep for a few hours. When I awoke, I was met with the happy news that Rachel had waited for me to go to Costco, and at Costco I found some good ol' fashioned American basics like cheese, wheat bread, and chips and salsa. To round out my trip, I couldn't resist going for one of Costco's signature hot dogs. Pork instead of beef here, but still SO good.
I then got home and discovered that my rotisserie chicken had gone back a little too basic, in my own humble opinion:
 | |||||||
| It had a head still. True reaction. |
Except perhaps the tutoring itself. I arrived at the cafe early and grabbed a cup of delicious coffee, and when Hal got there, we got down to work--on his writing and almost solely his writing. It was so much fun! I spent three years in college as a writing tutor, doing what I could for students' full length papers in little half hour segments; working on others' papers is a matter of course for me. But half hour sessions are not nearly enough to fully address all the issues in a paper, as I learned today, as Hal and I took a full hour and a half to pore over his two paragraph practice test essay.
It was glorious: all the skills I've honed over the past few years, but expanded out into a fuller time frame that allowed us to take a piece of writing from draft stage through a full work-up of structure and grammar (subjunctive mood played a key role in today's lesson) to rewrites of specific sentences to re-copying the whole thing in corrected form, allowing Hal to walk away with an example for future works. I loved it: back to the basics of English tutoring, and tutoring itself.
At home, an HBO series of Matt Damon movies (I caught the very strange and confusing second half of The Talented Mr. Ripley, and then the entirety of the also confusing and certainly not basic but, for me, intriguing The Adjustment Bureau, which led to an abortive convoluted theological conversation with Analicia which did, in fact, help to inspire this post) served as a nice break from some of the ridiculousness they've been showing lately, and after it finished I had the treat of listening to a podcast by the great Judah Smith, who always challenges me with his fantastic ability to bring everything back to the utmost basic of Christian faith: Jesus.
I love complex thought; I love teasing out inconsistencies and exploring convoluted new notions. I love experiencing new things. But that's just it: even when I'm delving into extraordinarily complicated notions, I do it with the intent of smoothing out the wrinkles and revealing the bigger picture, clean and pressed through the action of delving. I see complications as a juicy challenge on the way to clarity.
Because, to me, as much fun as labyrinthine experiences are, all those in the maze really have the same goal: to get out of the twists and turns--to get back to the basics.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Kaitlin is coming!
As of now, my friend Kaitlin is in the air somewhere between Japan and Kaohsiung, in the last leg of her flight from DC to here to visit. And I'm so excited!
This week will bring a trip to Taipei, a shortened week of teaching, and a trip to Kenting, which will--fingers crossed--be better than my last trip. In short, the briefest of brief introductions to the island for her. I've been planning, both her trip now and my brother and sister-in-law's trip in April, for a few months now, and I'm excited to see how it plays out now!
So now, the house is clean, the tickets are purchased, the reservations are made, and I'm eagerly awaiting the time to go pick her up from the airport. First thing tomorrow will find us on a train and Taipei-bound. It'll be epic!
This week will bring a trip to Taipei, a shortened week of teaching, and a trip to Kenting, which will--fingers crossed--be better than my last trip. In short, the briefest of brief introductions to the island for her. I've been planning, both her trip now and my brother and sister-in-law's trip in April, for a few months now, and I'm excited to see how it plays out now!
So now, the house is clean, the tickets are purchased, the reservations are made, and I'm eagerly awaiting the time to go pick her up from the airport. First thing tomorrow will find us on a train and Taipei-bound. It'll be epic!
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Little Moments
I feel like I've used that title before, but I don't care. All days are made up of little moments, and today they were all happy ones, dozens of little gems strung along in particular order. Each one stands alone, like a Facebook status, without any apparent connection to the others. And, as it's past midnight, I can't be bothered to forge one, so here they are, in their individual glories:
I discovered that both of the kids sitting in the far front of my 6th grade classrooms are named "Tim." Gotta love mnemonics!
Alison and my hybrid drawing game for phonics went off beautifully, and the kids really seemed to enjoy it in every class. Yeah multi-sensory engagement!
I came home to the delivery of a package from the States, containing my new Kindle cover (so cute!) and new headphones to replace the ones that didn't quite survive their recent trip through the wash. Official day count to ship home to here: 11 days.
I spent my afternoon in Sunnyday Cafe, making real progress on the first short story I've seriously attempted in a while. I like where it's going.
I stopped in at Watson's and bought mouthwash, an uninteresting tidbit but for the fact that, in addition to its being half off and buy one get one, my purchase somehow earned me a smallish, heart-shaped, pink fleece pillow. Only in Taiwan. <3
Parking at the gym was easy! Always a bonus, since it's right behind a major department store...
My workout was great. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow, and that's the best thing I can think of at the moment. I've finally reached the point where (knock on wood) I actually enjoy working out!
I came home ravenous, and a single touch of the knife was enough to make my watermelon burst open of its own accord. You know it's a good melon (and it was!) when...
Finally, I found this, a great little spoof on The Hunger Games called The Hunger Pains. Definitely worth checking it out.
And that was my day!
I discovered that both of the kids sitting in the far front of my 6th grade classrooms are named "Tim." Gotta love mnemonics!
Alison and my hybrid drawing game for phonics went off beautifully, and the kids really seemed to enjoy it in every class. Yeah multi-sensory engagement!
I came home to the delivery of a package from the States, containing my new Kindle cover (so cute!) and new headphones to replace the ones that didn't quite survive their recent trip through the wash. Official day count to ship home to here: 11 days.
I spent my afternoon in Sunnyday Cafe, making real progress on the first short story I've seriously attempted in a while. I like where it's going.
I stopped in at Watson's and bought mouthwash, an uninteresting tidbit but for the fact that, in addition to its being half off and buy one get one, my purchase somehow earned me a smallish, heart-shaped, pink fleece pillow. Only in Taiwan. <3
 |
| Seen here in its natural habitat. |
My workout was great. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow, and that's the best thing I can think of at the moment. I've finally reached the point where (knock on wood) I actually enjoy working out!
I came home ravenous, and a single touch of the knife was enough to make my watermelon burst open of its own accord. You know it's a good melon (and it was!) when...
Finally, I found this, a great little spoof on The Hunger Games called The Hunger Pains. Definitely worth checking it out.
And that was my day!
Monday, March 12, 2012
Timing
Today, I read an article (sorry, it's only an abstract online unless you're a subscriber...) in the most recent issue of The New Yorker about Christian Marclay, an artist who created a 24-hour video collage illustrating each minute with a visual and audio reference taken from different movies. He called it "The Clock." It was a colossal work, and one the results of which I'd love to see in person.
And the point--or rather one of the points--of the work was to draw the viewer's attention to how much attention we give to time; to reverse the standard tendency to lose track of time in the watching of a movie and to rather accentuate precisely how much time you have irrevocably lost from watching. In explaining this, the author of the article mentions that, ordinarily, people look at a clock in order to bind themselves more closely to an ironclad schedule; the act of looking at a clock, he says, is often accompanied by worry and apprehension.
I found this particularly telling as a descriptor of my day today. While I looked at the clock significantly less than on a usual day--it was a Sunday, after all, so I had no ironclad schedule to adhere to--I have rarely been more aware of the absolute and stringent rule of time, and timing, over my life.
I wrote a few days ago about the choices I face in my life going forward; what I failed to mention, though, was the absolute and unknowable time lines that guide each choice. Today, I felt the full weight of these. I spent several hours perusing various job boards, drooling over the eight or so positions currently open for which I may actually be qualified, yet with the full knowledge that I can't apply for them. (To make myself feel better I amped up my resume, but it's just not the same if it's still just stored on you computer.)
I know, logically, that four months is far too long to expect anyone to keep a job for me. I know that looking at jobs now will do little more than depress me that all the great jobs I see now will never be mine because they will be long filled by the time I can apply. Yet I can't shake the time-illogical sense that I should still look, now, just in case. Sigh.
Then there's the issue of travel. I'm looking at taking a little trip before heading back to America in July, and I've been monitoring flight prices for a few weeks now, hoping they'll go down around the (supposedly) magical 2-month-out point. Instead, I checked today to discover that the heretofore frontrunner in cheapness had sold out, apparently leaving me with an unaffordable $700USD hike in prices. Talk about discouraging.
I later found more flights that are at least in the same arena as my previous low price, but I'm now stuck in an unknowable conundrum of timing: should I buy now, and so avoid the possibility of more sell-outs, or hold out in expectations that prices will drop? I don't know, and have no way of knowing, yet if I make the wrong choice, I may find myself unable to afford the journey. Again, sigh.
Whether we pay attention to it or not, time rules our lives. And somehow, even on the day that I give it least heed, timing rules mine. I can watch the second hand move or smash the clock and look away, but either way, my life is being eaten by it as surely as those of the movie-goers in "The Clock." Now the question is what to do with my time until the minute hand moves forward to the next scene.
And the point--or rather one of the points--of the work was to draw the viewer's attention to how much attention we give to time; to reverse the standard tendency to lose track of time in the watching of a movie and to rather accentuate precisely how much time you have irrevocably lost from watching. In explaining this, the author of the article mentions that, ordinarily, people look at a clock in order to bind themselves more closely to an ironclad schedule; the act of looking at a clock, he says, is often accompanied by worry and apprehension.
I found this particularly telling as a descriptor of my day today. While I looked at the clock significantly less than on a usual day--it was a Sunday, after all, so I had no ironclad schedule to adhere to--I have rarely been more aware of the absolute and stringent rule of time, and timing, over my life.
I wrote a few days ago about the choices I face in my life going forward; what I failed to mention, though, was the absolute and unknowable time lines that guide each choice. Today, I felt the full weight of these. I spent several hours perusing various job boards, drooling over the eight or so positions currently open for which I may actually be qualified, yet with the full knowledge that I can't apply for them. (To make myself feel better I amped up my resume, but it's just not the same if it's still just stored on you computer.)
I know, logically, that four months is far too long to expect anyone to keep a job for me. I know that looking at jobs now will do little more than depress me that all the great jobs I see now will never be mine because they will be long filled by the time I can apply. Yet I can't shake the time-illogical sense that I should still look, now, just in case. Sigh.
Then there's the issue of travel. I'm looking at taking a little trip before heading back to America in July, and I've been monitoring flight prices for a few weeks now, hoping they'll go down around the (supposedly) magical 2-month-out point. Instead, I checked today to discover that the heretofore frontrunner in cheapness had sold out, apparently leaving me with an unaffordable $700USD hike in prices. Talk about discouraging.
I later found more flights that are at least in the same arena as my previous low price, but I'm now stuck in an unknowable conundrum of timing: should I buy now, and so avoid the possibility of more sell-outs, or hold out in expectations that prices will drop? I don't know, and have no way of knowing, yet if I make the wrong choice, I may find myself unable to afford the journey. Again, sigh.
Whether we pay attention to it or not, time rules our lives. And somehow, even on the day that I give it least heed, timing rules mine. I can watch the second hand move or smash the clock and look away, but either way, my life is being eaten by it as surely as those of the movie-goers in "The Clock." Now the question is what to do with my time until the minute hand moves forward to the next scene.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Dishwashers
I promise this is not a rant against hand washing dishes. Nor is it some spoiled American throwing a hissy fit because her apartment doesn't have a dish washer. If I were prone to that sort of thing, which I like to think I'm not, it would have come out when I first moved here, not seven months in.
But it just so happens that seven months is the perfect amount of time for little irritations to grow, filling a glass drip by slow drip until it overflows into the sink.
Which is, incidentally, exactly what I'm talking about: our sink.
There are just so many things to say about our sink, and I have had plenty of time--far too much time, really--to think of them. It stinks. (Unsolvable problem, our landlord says--it's in the pipes.) It's constantly full of dishes. (Our problem, really, but we're all working on it with various degrees of commitment.) And--and this is the beef that inspired the post--it is absolutely impossible to wash dishes in it without soaking yourself.
Let me recap: we have no dishwasher. We are the dishwashers. Yet the instant you step up to do your civil duty and wash your dishes, the sink opens fire. If, for some reason, it can't reach your pants directly, not to worry, it'll find a nice dish to splash off of. If by some miracle you've mastered the art of having every surface of every dish constantly angled away from you (read: impossible), the water will just splash onto the front portion of the sink, which you will undoubtedly brush up against in the course of your dish cleaning. You want to wash dishes? Better be prepared for a day at the water park.
You know, maybe this is why our sink is always full. Having an attack-faucet attached to your lone method of cleaning the kitchen does not bode well for kitchen cleanliness. I don't mind washing dishes. I do mind having to change clothes three times a day to accommodate my need to eat off of clean dishes.
It's probably worth noting at this point that, when I write blog posts about things like dish washing, it's because I genuinely think it may be the most entertaining thing I can tell you at the moment. It's the dark side of posting daily, but I find topics where I can. And at this point, there aren't many topics left. After all, I've already thrown in everything...but the kitchen sink.
*badum tch!*
But it just so happens that seven months is the perfect amount of time for little irritations to grow, filling a glass drip by slow drip until it overflows into the sink.
Which is, incidentally, exactly what I'm talking about: our sink.
There are just so many things to say about our sink, and I have had plenty of time--far too much time, really--to think of them. It stinks. (Unsolvable problem, our landlord says--it's in the pipes.) It's constantly full of dishes. (Our problem, really, but we're all working on it with various degrees of commitment.) And--and this is the beef that inspired the post--it is absolutely impossible to wash dishes in it without soaking yourself.
Let me recap: we have no dishwasher. We are the dishwashers. Yet the instant you step up to do your civil duty and wash your dishes, the sink opens fire. If, for some reason, it can't reach your pants directly, not to worry, it'll find a nice dish to splash off of. If by some miracle you've mastered the art of having every surface of every dish constantly angled away from you (read: impossible), the water will just splash onto the front portion of the sink, which you will undoubtedly brush up against in the course of your dish cleaning. You want to wash dishes? Better be prepared for a day at the water park.
You know, maybe this is why our sink is always full. Having an attack-faucet attached to your lone method of cleaning the kitchen does not bode well for kitchen cleanliness. I don't mind washing dishes. I do mind having to change clothes three times a day to accommodate my need to eat off of clean dishes.
It's probably worth noting at this point that, when I write blog posts about things like dish washing, it's because I genuinely think it may be the most entertaining thing I can tell you at the moment. It's the dark side of posting daily, but I find topics where I can. And at this point, there aren't many topics left. After all, I've already thrown in everything...but the kitchen sink.
*badum tch!*
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