Sunset over Kaohsiung

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.

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.

Back "home" and Internet-less

So here's the thing: my apartment no longer has Internet. As I write this, I'm sitting in Brunch across the street, one eye on my battery meter as it drops closer and closer to the point where it will automatically shut down.

The pros of this situation:

• Harder to distract myself while packing;
• Much more likely to spend fewer than 8 hours a day on the computer;
• New time requirements for my blog will mean less late-night typing

The cons of this situation:

• I have no Internet in my apartment. That pretty much sums it up, but if you want more, here:
• I have to buy a coffee/tea whenever I want to check my email;
• I have infinitely fewer opportunities to get in contact with people (internationally and nationally; my phone's almost out of funds, too);
• When I start forcing myself back onto a US time schedule (which I'm thinking of doing starting maybe Monday or Tuesday), I'll be up all night with nothing to do;
• Updates and photos will take longer getting posted.

And that's still the short list. Anyway, since I have yet to finish editing my Australia photos (and my computer's battery is running low), here is, at least, my just-updated "final days in Taiwan" (sniffsniff) album.

As for today, it consisted almost entirely in travel. I was up and out of my hostel by 6am; one local train, one express train, one flight, two buses, an MRT ride and a walk later, at 5:30pm, I arrived back home in Kaohsiung. Along the way, much ado was made about various forms of cash--I was carrying three (AUD, NTD, Japanese yen)--and trying to keep the coolest coins from each. I ended up making a small purchase specifically so I could get more Japanese change--some of their coins, the value of which I haven't been able to determine, have holes in them!

Another, erm, interesting moment came with the appointment of a sign at the entrance of my Osaka-Taipei flight telling me to "enjoy your "safe" and "comfortable" flight"--hardly encouraging.

AND--and if I had more time/wasn't feeling quite so lazy I would have led with this and made it a post of its own--I realized that hearing spoken Chinese and seeing Chinese signs is a comforting, homelike thing for me now. Being in Japan, even for a very short time, made me remember how awkward it is to not know a single word of the language being spoken around you (especially disorienting was the fact that Japan uses some Chinese characters, though mostly of the simplified variety, in its writing), and it let me see how far I've come in this year in Taiwan. The trilingual announcements at the airport (Japanese/Chinese/English) were great for showing me that I can now safely say I'd probably be alright if they had cut out the English--and that was a wonderful realization.

Well, it's about time I pack up and head back to my Internet-free home--and then get to work packing for my return to my other home.

Choosing What to Keep

I leave Taiwan very, very soon. This fact dictates my entire existence right now; every moment of my day which is not spent preparing directly for this event is spent in the knowledge that it probably should be. There's no longer any question of denial: it is what it is, and it's time I face facts. I'm going home. Soon.

I mentioned a few days ago that my packing process involves an awful lot of throwing stuff out. If you know me, you know that that is absolutely, 100% not in my nature. I'm not saying I'm a pack rat or anything, but actually I totally am a pack rat. Just look--no, just kidding, please don't look--in my childhood bedroom closet. There (and in the attic, since my room has been repurposed a few times since I moved out) you will find an archival record of my life, told through physical artifacts. My favorite toy from when I was 8, a cool art project from when I was 12, my high school English papers--they're all there, if you just look.

But here's the thing--I almost never do. Because, at the end of the day, there's rarely a reason to look back and see exactly what it is that I wrote about Catch-22 in that one paper, or exactly what my handwriting looked like when I was 5. It may be nice to have a few indicators of the different stages in life, sure, but ultimately the stuff that crowds the upper shelves of my closet is just that: stuff that crowds my closet. And, in some instances, my suitcase.

Having an imposed weight limit (set not just by the airlines, but by my budgetary rejection of excess baggage fees) has been hugely helpful in helping me see my pack rat tendencies for what they are: an unnecessary reliance on things to describe my experiences. I'm not saying I'm going to go through and trash what I have, but going forward, it's immensely freeing to be able to look at a pile of Chinese writing I've done, or my favorite bag since freshman year of college (the zipper of which recently broke, and which is otherwise well-loved throughout), or first-ever Fulbright name tag with "百合" printed on it, and realize that they belong in the trash, and that putting them there does nothing to dampen my memories.

My trash can is overflowing with such realizations.

And it doesn't bother me, not in the slightest, because of all the things that will come home with me--all the intangibles, which fortunately don't weigh in at the airport, since if they did I don't think my life savings would begin to put a dent in those fees. Choosing what to keep is easy when you realize you don't even have a choice on the important stuff.

Stuff like meeting Karina and her friend Satomi for shave ice (which I didn't end up getting to eat), and realizing that I now know Kaohsiung well enough to navigate on autopilot. And like being taken out to dinner by Alison, Maggie, Fiona and Patty, who took me to a Thai restaurant because it's my favorite, and who dared to brave spiciness beyond their comfort level to do so. And like getting waffles with Rachel and Chialing, despite being still full from dinner, just so we could have another little bit to sit around a picture-laminated table and take silly photos of Chialing's nephew's dog.

This is what I'm taking home; this is what matters:

As for the rest--no need to add to my rat's nest.

Slow Wheels Turning

Several things happened today, all pointing, slowly but surely, to the conclusion that my time here is almost done.

1.) I booked my SCUBA class for my trip Down Under. And, with that, I'm locked in: my vacation is coming, and soon! Great Barrier Reef, here I come. And afterwards...home. 29 days.

2.) I began making goodbye cards for my students. I've been putting this off, partly because I didn't want to sit for hours writing "Have a GREAT summer" on 535 slips of colored paper (120 in now and my hand is already killing me...); partly because the incessant rain these past few days have made me less than thrilled to venture out to buy said papers; and, mostly, because I don't want it to be time for that yet. Rachel was nice enough to buy some lollipops for me at Costco a while back--also for goodbye gifts--and I put them on my desk chair and rolled it under the desk so I wouldn't have to look at them. I don't think I'm quite ready for this...10 days.

3.) Tiffiany began packing. Yes, I know, this is not me, per se, but it's begun: ETAs are taking their stuff off their walls, sorting it, folding it, wrapping it, and putting it in bags and boxes to go home. The process has started, and there's no going back now. Soon I'll need to join. 10 days.

I miss home. I miss my friends and family. I miss my dog. I miss lasagna. But now that the wheels sending me home are in motion, I don't know if I'm ready for them to turn...

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!

Farewell

Tonight was our last official Fulbright reception.

After school, I met Karina at the HSR station and--probably as a result of all the end-of-year writing I've been doing--found myself immersed in memories. The last time I stood here I was saying goodbye to Alex and Melanie; the first time we took this train we didn't know what was going on; the first time we came to Taipei Fonda guided us and it seemed so foreign; look at us now, all self-sufficient and calm...an oddly charged train trip.

In Taipei, we briefly relived my previous experience of getting lost looking for a hotel near Taipei Main, but Karina pulled us through after a quick check-in with a friendly shop-keeper and her son. We checked in (the same hotel we stayed at the first time!) and headed towards our reception.

I've got to be honest: receptions tend to be somewhat boring affairs. I've got to be honest: this one was NOT. We got to meet some of the Taiwanese Fulbright grantees to America for 2012-2013, and I discovered that two FLTAs (Foreign Language Teaching Assistants, or the equivalent of what we do, but in America) are going to Oregon! One will be at Lewis & Clark University, and the other will be at Pacific University. I had fun telling them about the great state they'll soon be heading towards.

Our table consisted in Karina, Analacia and I, plus three senior scholars, including Serge, a law professor who never fails to keep us laughing, and whom Karina and Brittany are often consulting with on their work in Taitung. We were soon all playing musical chairs, as Analicia, Brittany and Rachel shifted into and out of seats as they worked the room.

It's amazing to think that this is our last officially sanctioned trip to Taipei; it is also likely to be my last visit overall, since we've seen most of the city by now and it costs a lot to come here. Taipei has been a great part of my life for the last 10 months, and it's weird to think a weekend trip will soon no longer be a possibility.

So begin the "last"s...time to start saying goodbye to Fulbright.

Badminton and BBQs

I looked up to see the flickering underbelly of an airplane cross the night sky, headed West.

I turned to Maggie. "Planes make me homesick these days."

"You'll be going home soon," she said. "And we'll miss you!" added Fiona.

I turned to see Ingrid walking back towards the steep metal stairs that had brought us here, to Teacher Penguin's rooftop.

"I'll miss you, too," I said. "I wish everyone could just live in one place!"

It was hard not to think like that. We were at a BBQ at Teacher Penguin's gigantic family home--a BBQ designed as a going-away party for Ingrid.

It had been a lovely day, really. I had gotten an early start with plenty of work done; my 6th grade classes at Qingshan were happily engaged in their work of putting together their final plays; the weather was hot, but not oppressive.

After classes finished, I drove over to Hanmin, and we enacted what felt like the quintessential lazy summer day: Ingrid, Fiona and I joined Teacher Penguin and a plethora of other Hanmin teachers on the 4th floor to play badminton (NOT just a recreational sport here, as my glances to other courts confirmed). It was Ingrid and Fiona against Teacher Penguin and I, and we managed to win despite my many missed shots--Teacher Penguin is a great badminton player--and then we all sat down by a fan to cool down and chat. It was sunset, but still warm, and the camaraderie and empty school halls gave me the distinct impression of a late August evening with friends, or a particularly good afternoon at summer camp when I was a kid.

Then it was off to Teacher Penguin's home. We stopped by the house only briefly, though, before winding our way up "Penguin Mountain," a fully rural-looking hill complete with pineapple farms and banana trees JUST outside the Xiaogang area I thought I knew so well. It was gorgeous, and reminded me that I haven't been out in nature for ages, and I miss it. It felt like a camping trip back home.


And, of course, then there was the delicious--though vegetarian--BBQ that Teacher Penguin's mom had prepared for us. We sat around--a handful of Hanmin teachers and their kids and spouses, and as Teacher Penguin cracked jokes with Ingrid and everyone laughed, I thought of how amazing this community was, and how sad I was that it would soon no longer exist.

(Let's play a game called "spot the American...")

Teacher Penguin took Fiona and I back to our scooters, and I realized it was actually time to say goodbye to Ingrid. I hate goodbyes--so, so, so much. A hug, a few words, and then--Ingrid walked home, and I got on my scooter, hating that she wouldn't be at school on Monday and hating that, in a month, neither would I.

Today was indeed a glorious day--a glorious last day. Still, at the moment I can't help but hate airplanes...

Sweat, etc.

It's back, and in full force. Today, the high was 30C (~87*F), plus a balmy 80% humidity and sunlight the brightness of which could definitely burn through any sunblock you dared to set up against it. The heat. It's here.

And it's not come alone: it's brought its faithful companion, sweat. What joy is ours.

I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. We don't get a lot of days above the 80s (F) there, and no one really talks about humidity because there's never enough of it to matter. As a result, sweat was a pretty foreign concept to me before I came here. Sure, people sweat, but usually just a little, and usually just when they've been working out or something.

Not so here. It took less than a month here for me to buy a little washrag to take with me everywhere; a little more than a month to realize wearing makeup was a futile waste of money. Then the heat waned; Kaohsiung's pleasant Fall and Winter approached, and I even had to don a coat a few times. But no more. Now the heat's returned, and, with it, the sweat.

Why am I writing about sweat? It's simple, really: it's the closest thing I have to a uniting force of my day today. It was certainly ever-present, anyway.

This morning, I arrived at school with my hair in low pigtails--a response to its newly cropped length which doesn't allow for any other sort of hairstyle that would simultaneously fit under my helmet and keep my hair off my neck. I didn't want to sweat. But what had I unfortunately forgotten as I styled my hair? Oh yeah: the interview.

Today, my LETs applied for the Fulbright program for next year. Seeing as how the interview fell in the middle of a school day, and involved all of the people that I usually share classes with, Hanmin asked if I would accompany them to the interview. Which I did--IN PIGTAILS. So much for professionalism.

The interview went fine--I mostly just sat there as moral support, though I did manage to throw in a quick plug for my schools right before we left--and then we went out to lunch at a local duck noodle shop. There, I had a bit of a problem with my chopsticks--they were slipping out of my fingers. No, not because I don't know how to use chopsticks--believe me, it's second nature at this point--it was because of sweat. And that's when I realized: it's back!

Thankfully, my heat annoyance was soon relieved by a SCRUMPTIOUS visit to a shave ice place with Hanmin's principal, academic director, and Maggie (a visit which meant we were 20 minutes late to our next class, but hey! We had the principal's and the academic director's explicit permission!)

The heat continued to plague my day in various forms which, thankfully, had less to do with sweat. My shoes began to fall apart and blister my feet, which sucked, and I got really thirsty, which also sucked.

It also impacted my favorite moment of the day: the moment a gaggle of 6th grade girls stretched my birthday into a second week, crowding my desk and handing me notes written on paper shaped like Facebook "like"s, a box of cute chocolate (like what Analicia got me!), some almond cookies, and a big ol' chocolate bar. It was so nice of them, and they were so wonderful, yet what was I worried about? The heat. And the chocolate.

Thanks for the likes, Mandy, Anna, Lillian, Natasha, and Cindy!

Favorite parts: "Fo" Bekah Teacher and the squares bottom left--each with a different design and different type of chocolate inside!

All I can say is "Thank goodness for refrigerators!"...And AC. It's the one surefire way to get out of the heat, and so to avoid melting--whether chocolate or self.

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.

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.

Food blog

Today, that's what you get. Because today is Friday at the end of a week during which I've slept little and not well, and today also happened to feature some particularly wonderful food. Food like...

The Tuna Fish

 

This little buddy was waiting for me at Shakespeare's Boulangerie, aware, as I was not, that the bagels I craved would not be there waiting for me. He was simply too adorable not to buy, and it wasn't until I got him home and took a bite that I realized that his oh-so-wonderful dough was filled with tuna salad. Unexpected (silly me--it is a fish, after all), but quite good!

Burger and fries

 

I know--of all the food things I could write about in Taiwan, I'm writing about a burger and fries??? Yes. Yes I am. It'd been too long since I'd had one, and this particular one came from Sandwich Islands, a place on the Love River that I've wanted to try out ever since I first noticed it existed several months ago. And, right when I was missing home, and home-style food, it hit the spot. As did...

a Strawberry milkshake

More like a very creamy smoothie than a milkshake, if you ask me--I'd guess it was made with yogurt instead of ice cream--but still so so good! And, given how small it looked when I got it, it lasted for quite a while and filled me up with creamy strawberry-y goodness. And it even looked pretty, with a mint leaf on top.

I will definitely be going back for more at Sandwich Islands--at it's pretty cheap, too! My delish meal was just 198NT, or just under $6US. Mmmm....

Juice

For a few weeks now, I've been excited. What have I been excited about, you ask? A huge orange-and-green sign hung across the street from my gym. It read, in huge, white, English letters:

Coming soon!
 Actually, you know what, that doesn't really do the sign justice. See, it really looked more like this:

  ...except the lemon was an orange, there was a bunch of Chinese writing at the top, and the Jamba Juice logo was nowhere to be seen. Still, it sparked a fire within me: same font, same graphics--and then Issac told me the unreadable (to me) Chinese part said "American-style..." something he didn't know how to translate but which involved fruit and ice, and so which I instantly put down to SMOOTHIES! Could it be? Could Jamba Juice be opening a store in Kaohsiung?

For those of you who don't know, this is not just your run-of-the-mill smoothie love we're talking about here. Jamba Juice and I have a history. See, I worked there, over breaks, from the end of my senior year of high school till about halfway through my college career. I had a lot of good times at Jamba Juice, in addition to having a lot of good smoothies and, as I learned while researching this post, imprinting the Jamba recipes permanently into my brain. (Peach perfection, anyone? Or how about a Pomegranate paradise?) So a Jamba Juice here in Kaohsiung isn't just another smoothie place: it's HOME, in smoothie-shop form.

Well, the giant "opening" sign finally came down a few days ago, and I spent most of my training session with Issac yesterday obsessing with the shop, forcing myself to work out with the temptation of a smoothie to follow.

So, I finished working out. And I walked over to the shop. Only to discover that it is the single most copy-catty smoothie store I have ever seen! No, it's not Jamba Juice. It's Costa Juice. But let me just give you a quick side-by-side of their brochures:

Look familiar?

Yeah, let's look at this. Color scheme: check. Whirl of colors in logo: check. Banana and other drink-related items colored outside the lines: check. I really had to do a double take, and even asked the girl working there, to see if Costa Juice was actually just a Jamba subsidiary that had changed its name to make it easier to say. (It's not.)

And, lest you think this is just a coincidence, that Costa just happened upon a brochure pattern that looked similar, it's not. I can prove it to you. How, you ask? First of all, this:

Publishing date: Dec. 25, 2003

This is the essence of Jamba, written by the founder and published over eight years ago. Note the artwork. It's exactly the same as everything else at Jamba from a few years ago (I should know, that's when I was working), and it also matches--that's right! Costa Juice.

Reason number 2: in faltering Chinese to match her faltering English, I told the girl working there that, in America, I had worked for a similar company. "Jamba Juice?!" she blurted, in English, before I could get to the name. haHA! Exposed.

But, you know, I'm not going to knock them for it. Walking into Costa Juice made me instantly homesick, as I looked around at the bright colors, the light woodgrain, and, yes, the familiar fonts and graphics. Then I ordered, something called the "Tropical Hawaii," which contained, from what I could gather, pineapple, mango, passion fruit, some sort of sherbet, and more ice than  we would have EVER sanctioned at Jamba. (How do I know this? Because, like at Jamba, they assemble the smoothie behind a glass half-wall. Unfortunately, UNlike Jamba, their blenders had issues and it took easily 10 minutes to get my drink.)

Anyway, I eventually got my smoothie, which was DELICIOUS, and which cost me a grand total of ~$1.75USD. So I'm not complaining. Just pining for the real thing, which I know will be ready for me when I get home. But in the meantime...

COSTA JUICE!

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.

French toast

This "morning" (I'll refrain from saying what time it was, specifically...), I decided I wanted French toast. As it is an easy enough craving to accommodate, I set about making some, mixing eggs and milk and vanilla and cinnamon, adding some coconut and walnuts to the batter as an afterthought, and then soaking and frying the bread.

It turned out magnificently, and Analicia and I feasted on my creation.

Partway through the meal, though, our conversation turned towards home, and friends. I brought up the scrumptious hazelnut-encrusted French toast I miss from the Glenwood, where my mom and I go when we want something special for breakfast. We talked about our best friends, and the concept of best friends. I glanced through my Taste of Oregon cookbook, Analicia suggested we cook our way through it, and I had to point out that many if not most of the recipes are un-makeable with our equipment here. I developed an incurable craving for Dutch Babies, and realized that it has been nearly a year since I've tasted my mom's famous rolls.

In all, a nostalgic conversation, hungry for not just food from home, but the people who make it with us.

Tonight, my dear friend Annika posted on my Facebook wall that she thinks I have been off on my adventures long enough, and I should come home now. And, while I'm not quite ready to agree with her--I still love my life here in Taiwan, and I'm certainly not ready to leave--I think that when the time comes for me to go, I will be.

Several people, my mom and my brother Alex included, have asked me recently if I'm still enjoying my time here, or if I'm missing home. My answer, like the answer to the question of Schrodinger's cat (nerdy reference, I know), is "yes." Yes, I am still having the time of my life here, and yes, I do miss home. After all, why should it be an easy dichotomy? When I go home, my answer will be true in reverse: yes, I'll enjoy being home, and yes, I'll be missing Taiwan.

There is no either/or here any more; life is not that simple. Now I miss French toast and rolls; at home, I'll miss Chialing's noodles and milk tea. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy where I am now.

Kids and Questions, Questions and Kids

"How old are you?"
"Are you married?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Are there any boys who like you?"
"What 'type' of guy do you like?"
"What's your blood type?"

No, this is not a somewhat creepy dating survey I found while surfing the Internet. Rather, these are questions I was asked today--most, repeatedly--by my sixth graders.

Hooray for all new classes at Hanmin!

For the first day, apart from a book-check, that's basically what we did: introduce me, by way of a massive question session which turned often towards my personal life. I was expecting it, of course--this is not my first time being introduced to a classroom of Taiwanese 6th graders, after all--but it never ceases to amuse me the questions they'll ask. This time at least a few tended towards the inappropriate, evidenced by Alison's pursed lips and refusal to translate as the class burst into laughter and I caught the words "ta ting bu dong" (she doesn't understand) floating around as we moved on, but overall it's just fun to see where my kids' curiosity leads them.

And today it led them in some fun directions, as I found myself explaining, not just about my dating life (or lack thereof), but about my family, my hometown, my pets (number, type, size, and, which I found most interesting, age), my favorite sports and teams (Mariners and Seahawk love! The kids all knew Ichiro, which was fun), whether I liked ice hockey (I said not really, then discovered the questioner was a hockey player--whoops!--and changed my tune), whether I'd ever seen a ghost (no) or an elf (no, and here I took the opportunity to tell this particular boy that I hadn't seen a vampire or a zombie, either), whether I had a chameleon (no), whether I liked turtles (yes), whether I had ever been to San Francisco, whether I had ever been to Japan...the list goes on and on.

I liked being back in the classroom, meeting new kids and, this time, putting together what I hope will be a workable system of actually learning their names in a timely manner: I'm taking notes on the location and unique attributes of each class as I go, including a seating chart for each on individually dedicated pages of my teaching notebook. I had three classes today, 6-1 (first class of the day on the first floor, yay mnemonics!), 6-10 (second class, second floor) and 6-9 (last class, highest floor), and so far I can tell you a few kids' names and where they sit, thanks to things like the cluster of Wendys in 6-1 and the Steven table in 6-10, plus fun things like a Quinton in 6-1 who resembles my friend Quinton back home, and a very bright-eyed and attentive front-row sitter named Kevin in 6-10.

The questions were just one aspect of the joys of being back in my wonderful schools; the best part is the students behind them. Having new kids breaks the sting of not seeing the ones from last semester in class anymore; so, too, does the fact that I saw several classes worth of them in the halls, or by my desk as some of my favorite girls from last semester, Lily and Sammi, brought me my lunch.

Really, any of these kids could ask me just about any questions, personal or not, and I'd answer. They're just too amazing to mind it.
---
And now, because I have decided I like recurring themes, I give you another unsolved mystery of Taiwan! This one stems from a seemingly innocuous item: Nutella.

Or, rather, the abcense of Nutella. See, I was craving it the other day at the grocery store, but of course they didn't have it, so I picked up a jar of  off-brand "chocolate hazelnut spread":

 

Except, oh yeah...

...it also had caramel mixed in. Not a huge deal, caramel's a good flavor too, and look at those pictures up there--looks like roughly a 50-50 split, right? Should be fine.

So today, I decide nothing sounds better than a Nutella(ish)-spread piece of bread for an afternoon snack (no judging, you know you want one too). So I go to the cupboard, grab a piece of bread and my jar of handy-dandy Nutella(ish) spread. I open the lid. I peel off the interior seal. And I see....

This.

I'm sorry, but what? Scroll up and look at the label again. It says: "chocolate hazelnut spread." Then a gap. And then, as if it were a bonus, "+caramel." It most definitely did not say "caramel sauce! with a thin streak of chocolate hazelnut mixed in for color!" Nor did the outside stripe pattern give any indication whatsoever as to what was inside.

False advertising: gr. Don't get between me and my chocolate fix! Why do they do this? Probably because caramel's cheaper or something. I don't know. It's a mystery, after all!

In the end, it still tasted okay. But not nearly enough chocolate.

Rain-scented room

My room smells like rain. I opened the window after I went out for dinner at 7, way over-dressed in a sweatshirt and jacket (it was in the 70s today, but my brain still thinks it should be colder) and discovered that the outside was actually warmer than my bedroom. Now, just past midnight and hours past when I meant to leave the window open, my room is still warm despite my oversight--and it smells like rain. Simply lovely.

Growing up, I never knew what rain smelled like--which is odd, given that it rained continually where I grew up. Maybe that was part of the problem. At any rate, I would constantly hear the grown-ups around me talking about how much they loved the smell of rain and I would just sniff a bit and think, "Really? I don't smell anything..."

I can't remember when I first became aware of the smell of rain, but once I did, there was no going back: I love it. Sweet and earthy, crisp, vivacious...it makes me think of home. So having a room filled with that smell, running through the fresh and just-warm-enough air from outside, just about makes my night.

Thing 12:
I tried out a new restaurant for dinner tonight--one that, unlike many of my one new things on here, I've actually been meaning to try for a long time. I pass it whenever I go to the gym or to the gas station, its little green "O2" sign a constant glowing memory that, oh yeah, I should eat there sometime.

And tonight I did! I was on an accidental walking tour of the neighborhood (mishaps with my ATM card led me back to the bank proper), and it was open, and I was starving, so I decided to give it a go. Great idea! Grapefruit juice and pesto bacon spaghetti (I ordered the chicken, but I won't squabble too much) with fresh bell peppers and broccoli mixed in for 130NT--wonderful.

Relax....then go to Phuket

As I write this, it's almost 2am and we're in Phuket Town, here in the south of Thailand. Outside, life is still going on like crazy; Jack Johnson songs are drifting upward from the downstairs restaurant/bar area of our hostel. It's cool for a single night, but I'm glad we're headed to the more remote islands tomorrow, away from what I've mentally classified as the Las Vegas of Thailand.

Today was relaxation. We slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, strolled around Mel and Mar's house and watered their flowers, then packed our stuff and went to the mall to sample more Thai food, buy me some flipflops for the beach, get a Thai foot massage (Mar and I), and meet with Mel and Mar's friends from growing up, Maxine and Grace. Being with Melanie and Marissa in their home town felt like being home again and, in addition to the dry heat and leisurely pace, it was truly paradise. We were sorry to go.

But we did, and now we're in Phuket! Tomorrow we're off to Krabi, where we'll hopefully be roughing it a bit more; that is, there won't be a bar and internet cafe on every corner. Hopefully, there won't be corners, just more trees and rocks.

Wow, that last line sounds like Pride and Prejudice: "What are men compared to rocks and mountains?"

It's late, and Karina's beside me yelling at the malfunctioning hostel computer she's using, so I'd best get off and let her have a chance with a computer that works.

Christmas in Kaohsiung (in which I heap praises on Skype)

Cookies. Skype. Cookies. Church. Cookies. Friends. Cookies. Skype.

That, in a nut shell, describes my Christmas today. I slept in--bizarre for Christmas--and then set about leisurely making Nanaimo bars, while intermittently hanging out with my roommates (who were, incidentally, watching Armageddon, which was the best thing we could find on TV) and Skyping for several hours with my family.

Around 4pm, I went to church, where I sang Christmas carols (the real classics) for the first time this season, and met three college students who had volunteered to come here over Christmas for a Winter break mission trip. At the end of the service, we had a candle-lit portion, which was wonderful since that's been an element of my Christmas tradition since time immemorial.

First attempt: they're not pretty, but they taste good. :)

Then I came home, finished my cookies (who'd have thought that melting and spreading chocolate would be the most difficult part of the Nanaimo bar recipe???) and went to a little Christmas gathering with the other ETAs, and which turned out to be a more international Fulbright gathering, since Esther's fiance Marlie, an ETA in Korea, is in town, as is Lydia's friend Noah, who's a research scholar in Xi'an, China.There, I ate far too many sweets and laughed with some good friends.

Our spread, including Steven's sweet potato pie, mid slice

Now I'm home, just having finished Skyping with my friend Anna as she is en route home to Spain, and awaiting midnight, when I can do "Christmas morning" with my family via Skype.

It's been an unconventional, yet fun day. And, thanks to Skype, I do at least get a "fly on the wall" perspective of the Christmassy goings-on at home. And that's something.

Also, in the vein of "unconventional Christmas," I give you perhaps the single least conventional Christmas song of all time. Good luck getting it out of your head for the rest of the year--but you won't regret it. :) Merry Christmas!

Melancholy Christmas

You know, it's amazing how many Christmas songs adopt a melancholy tone in wishing people 'Merry Christmas.' As I write this, even, I'm listening to Michael Buble sing "The Christmas Song" in a slow, almost mournful voice; moments ago, he was singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas," a song which I've all but sworn off this holiday season.

Even without it, though, I feel the melancholy of Christmas this year more than ever, my excited students and festive decorations notwithstanding. I've always loved Christmas, and I've always been a huge one for keeping traditions alive (just ask my mom and anyone else who's ever tried to change our family Christmas; they'll tell you that my cousin Mollie and I are an unstoppable force for tradition!), but even so I've always seen myself as a Christmas moderate in America. I've even been called a Grinch on occasion, usually due to my refusal to start celebrating Christmas (and this includes with music) before Thanksgiving.

Being in a country like Taiwan for the holiday puts this in perspective rather quickly, though. Our apartment building is the sole Christmas light-bedecked building in our entire neighborhood; I feel lucky this year that Christmas falls on a weekend, because if it didn't, I would spend the day teaching just like on any other day. Our apartment building had a Christmas party, but you could scarcely tell what it was celebrating: they were eating typical Taiwanese food, and though they began by blasting Christmas music, it soon turned into Taiwanese karaoke, and went on in that fashion for HOURS, with no crevice of the apartment building safe from the loud, off-key sounds.

Tomorrow (or, since it's almost 1am, today) is Christmas Eve, and I'm doing my best not to think too hard about that fact. I'll spend the first part of the day with my host sister, Emily, and the evening with my roommates. I think as long as I keep busy it should be okay...

But still melancholy. There's just no getting around that aspect of the season, when you're sitting in a foreign country with most of your friends and all of your family on a different continent, celebrating traditionally almost a full day later. I guess I'm just experiencing a different element of the season, but it's not one I would have necessarily sought out had I been home for Christmas.