Ten Side Effects of Living in Taiwan

Now that I’m back in the U.S., I’ve noticed some things about me that have changed due to my time away. Here’s a short list:

1.      I often need to be reminded to tip in restaurants.

2.      I feel a little surprised when shoe stores have my size.

3.      Over half my stories start, “When I was in Taiwan …”

4.      But I can’t start these stories any other way, because the fact I was in Taiwan is somehow essential to them.

5.      When I hear the word “foreigner” in any context, I somehow feel like the word is referring to me.

6.      I feel homesick for a place where I was never considered a local.

7.      These feelings of homesickness are often triggered by seeing a 7-11.

8.      But if I go into that 7-11, I will inevitably be disappointed by the poor tea selection.

9.      When talking to strangers, I find myself restructuring sentences to avoid difficult words, only to realize that, yes, other grad students do know the term lingua franca.

10.   I get ridiculously excited about things like colorful autumn leaves and frost.

Obviously, these are not the most important take-aways from my time in Taiwan, but they are real. So if you want to travel overseas, be warned: your opinion of 7-11 will never be the same!

Dear Taiwan: A Love Letter

Dear Taiwan,

            When I first met you, I was like many graduates, young, excited, idealistic and nervous. Any blind date is frightening, and I had committed to spending two years with you. When I arrived, I had been traveling for almost 20 hours, and my mind was filled with a cloud of weariness almost as thick as the humid air.

As I traveled along your highways, I stared out the car window looking for something, anything, that would mark you as the exotic, interesting place I hoped for. At first, there was nothing. Then the driver pointed out Taipei 101, a strangely-shaped tower in the distance. But the first thrill of excitement to break through my exhaustion came with the sight of the Grand Hotel. Tall and majestic, its red and gold façade had all the elegance I had admired in your mainland sister, and at that moment, I knew that you had something to offer.

The years passed, and I became more and more familiar with the bustle of your streets, the grandeur of your mountains, the colors of your flowers, the flavors of your food and the welcoming smiles of your people. As friends introduced me to delight after delight, I realized with a thrill what a beautiful and interesting place you are.

You possess beautiful scenery: gorges, waterfalls and mountains, some of which meet the Pacific ocean in rocky beaches. Your forests are filled with flowers, animals and butterflies. And all of this is just a few miles from bustling cities where almost anything can be purchased from one of the convenience stores that sit on practically every block. I’ve always been more fond of the wilderness than of the city, but who could complain about a city that has a mountain range with several hiking trails in its center, as Taipei does?

And then there’s the food. You introduced me to fruits I had never tasted before – mango, guava, dragon fruit and pomelo to name a few. And even those I knew were sweeter. I often wondered whether the pineapple was fruit or candy, and your cherry tomatoes actually tasted like a fruit (which, biologically, I guess they are).

Then there are the many local delicacies I tried. Scallion pancakes fried and wrapped around eggs or other fillings, small dumplings filled with soup, noodles with sesame sauce and so many more than I could name. I loved your nearly infinite variety of teas– black, green, oolong and more mixed with milk or various kinds of fruit. Then you add tapioca, coconut jelly, fruit pieces or other things which I only know Chinese names for in the bottom of the cup. Now, we did have some disagreements over food, mostly when you misunderstood my home culture, but the hundreds of delicious meals you treated me to more than make up for the few bizarre ones.

Speaking of disagreements, I must admit that our first year together was a bit rocky. I’d never lived on my own, you see, certainly not while working full-time. And it did take a while for me to get used to you. But at those moments when I felt most homesick, when I most wanted to get on a plane and fly back to somewhere familiar, you would show me some unique aspect of your life that I hadn’t seen before. You would charm me with a building or a food I hadn’t yet tried, and I would remember that although I had left good things behind, the place I had come to was also good.

When that didn’t work, there were always people by my side, encouraging me and comforting me. I remember an elderly woman giving me a hug and saying, “If you miss your family, I will be your Taiwanese grandmother. So don’t be sad.” I remember friends sitting with me over long cups of coffee while I shared about my life. I remember adventures taken with individuals and groups up mountains, through city streets, to hole-in-the wall cafés, shops and flower festivals that I never could have found alone.

Taiwanese people were incredibly kind and willing to help. Once I dropped my wallet in a MRT (subway) station, and it was turned in to the information desk with all my money still inside. I lost count of the times strangers came up to me and asked if I was lost.

There are so many things I could say about you, Taiwan; so many things that you have taught me; so many ways you made my life with you convenient and comfortable. I have fallen deeply in love with you, Taiwan, so much so that it broke my heart to leave you. Our three years together have changed my life in ways I am only beginning to understand. Thank you, Taiwan. Though I have moved back to America, I will never forget you.

It would break my heart to say goodbye, so let me end with your own language: Taiwan, 再見 (zai jian). It literally means “see again,” and I sincerely hope I will.

                                                                                        Love

                                                                                        Elizabeth Sunshine

                                            孫麗希

On Being a Racial Minority

I’m pretty much the opposite of what most Americans think of as a racial minority. I’m a white girl who grew up going to a mostly-white school in suburban Connecticut.

I was raised on the belief that racial discrimination was wrong, and I acted accordingly. Of course I saw that people looked different, but I tried to treat everyone the same, without making assumptions based on what they looked like. One of my closest friends in high school was Indian (that is, her parents were from India). I even had crushes on boys from at least four different races.

But as I tried to ignore racial differences, I also ignored the different experiences of people of different races. I condemned obvious instances of racism but missed a lot of the subtle prejudices in the society around me and possibly in my own heart. The first time I considered that I might be missing something was when an Asian American friend of mine in college kept mentioning race. He’d make comments about how he felt in large groups of Asians, compared to how he felt in large groups of white people. I began to wonder: could the fact that I grew up as a majority have blinded me? If my race were something that made me different, would I consider it more important?

That question was answered for me when I moved to Asia a year ago. Now I am a minority. And I notice it.

Last year, I had pretty bad culture shock. There were a lot of things involved with it: the language, different habits, uncertainty about how to act, confusion about how to get around, sheer exhaustion and so on. But one thing that really got on my nerves was the sense that people could take one look at me and know I was foreign. It was like I had a big neon sign saying “wai guo ren” (Chinese for “foreigner”) hanging above my head.

Most people weren’t mean about it. Sometimes they were quite friendly and came up to me to practice their English. Sometimes they complimented me on my Chinese (even if I didn’t deserve it). But sometimes when I walked into a store, they would hide or run around looking for an English-speaking coworker. Sometimes they shouted “HELLO HELLO HELLO” until I acknowledged them. Sometimes small children stared at me on the subway.

Is it the same as the experience of a minority in America? No, not at all. I think it’s probably better in some ways and worse in others. On the one hand, culture shock combines with the fact that I look different to make me feel even more like an outsider. On the other hand, I think it would be harder to feel like you stood out if you were in your home country at the time.

So do I understand what it’s like to be a racial minority? Not really. I know what it’s like for me, but each person’s background and personality will make their experience different. Do I understand it better than I did two years ago? Absolutely. Am I more understanding and empathetic to those who have this kind of experience? I hope so. At the very least, I now know that race does matter. It matters because it’s part of how people experience the world and consequently a part of who we are.

A Glimpse of Autumn

Taiwan is beautiful during the fall. The weather is neither too hot nor too cold. I am comfortable outside wearing short, long, or medium-length sleeves. It doesn't rain all the time like it does in the winter time. Even the humidity either disappears or just isn't obvious because the temperature isn't so extreme.

And yet New England is also beautiful in the fall. I miss the leaves that change into such a wide variety of colors. I miss walking through rows of apple trees and trying to find the perfect apples to put in my bag. I miss the smell of earthy smell of freshly fallen leaves. I miss the taste of a freshly picked apple and the thick sweetness of apple cider.

This poem is an ode to autumn in New England.

A Glimpse of Autumn

A leaf of gold is set in silver wood

A ruby blossoms on a maple tree.

A moment – then the forest is ablaze

Its colors blend in autumn harmony

A cloud of cotton crowns a gust of wind

Which plucks up leaves that playfully take flight

They pirouette as trees all laugh with joy

My heart joins in and dances with delight

A silhouette against the azure sky

A flock of geese toward warmer weather roam

Like them, my soul has journeyed long and far

In memory to touch my distant home

The Foreigner in Your Midst

As most of my readers probably know, I moved to a Chinese-speaking country about six months ago. Adjusting to the new culture has been much more of a challenge than I had originally expected.

 For the most part, adjusting to a new culture is the same no matter where you are. The social customs, the way stores are laid out, the technology used in everyday life and in many cases the language are different from country for country. But as a white person living in Asia, I have the added complication of sticking out like a sore thumb. When I enter a store, people either start speaking to me in English, without giving me a chance to even try speaking Chinese, or they run and hide behind an aisle, a counter or a coworker who speaks better English than they do. When I am with Taiwanese friends, people usually speak to my friend even if they are responding to something I said. Small children tend to stare at me on the subway (but I can’t get mad at them because they’re so darn cute). I’ve started to look around whenever I hear the word “waiguoren” (Chinese for “foreigner”) as if I’d heard someone say my name. For the most part, I don’t mind being noticed as a foreigner, but this situation makes it impossible for me to forget that this is not my country, which intensifies any homesickness I’ve been feeling.

I feel homesick on and off. I felt it a lot around Christmas time, and it’s always most common when I’m feeling physically sick. In fact, the reason I decided to write about this now is that I have a cold and am missing home quite a bit.

During one of the hardest periods for me, I was doing my daily Bible reading, and I came across a group with the word “foreigner” in it. Needless to say, that got my attention. I looked around a bit more and realized that the Bible has a lot to say about foreigners, especially in the Old Testament law.

About half the time, the law is saying that foreigners have to follow the same laws as the Israelites in things like the Sabbath. This makes sense because it’s hard to run a country where certain people are exempt from some of the rules.

The other half, though, were concerned with stopping the Israelites from oppressing the foreigners who lived among them. To pick one of the many examples: “Do not deprive the foreigner or the fatherless of justice, or take the cloak of the widow as a pledge.” (Deuteronomy 24:17) The thing that struck me most about these verses is that they often group foreigners together with orphans and widows.

I’d never noticed this before, and I don’t think I’d have understood it if I did. But now, it completely makes sense. Even in this age of Skype, Facebook and other easy ways to communicate, traveling to another country separates one from one’s loved ones in a way that can be quite painful. That would have been even more true in Biblical times when there wasn’t even a reliable postal system!

It’s been a great comfort to me to know that God understands how difficult it is to be away from one’s family and in an unfamiliar place. Finding evidence of culture shock in the Bible (though not expressed in those words) has helped to remind me that I’m not alone and my feelings are legitimate. It also provides yet more evidence of the Bible’s psychological insight that speaks to most issues that people face even today.

Jesus’s teaching, as is often the case, took the Old Testament law a step further. Instead of just not oppressing foreigners, he expected people to welcome them (see Matthew 25:35). Fortunately, I have been surrounded by a group of wonderful new friends who have done just that. In fact, I spent this past week having a great time traveling to their family homes for the Lunar New Year. Moments with these friends have convinced me that however challenging this time of transition may be, it will all be worthwhile in the end.

Joy to the World – Including Taipei

This has been the hardest Christmas season of my life.

That’s not saying very much – most of my Christmases have been anything but hard. I love everything to do with Christmas – the music, the decorations, the Christmas tree, the food, buying wrapping and getting presents, etc.

But what I’ve always loved most is being able to spend extra time with my family , both because I had a break from school, and because when I was a child my family always traveled to visit family members I rarely saw. Which brings me to the reason this has been a hard Christmas.

Last summer, I moved to Taipei, where I will be working for at least two years. I enjoy my job and have many wonderful friends here. And yet … I find it hard to be completely happy because I still miss my family and friends from home. A lot.

When the Christmas season first started, it felt like I had an open wound. Anything that had to do with Christmas felt like someone had just touched that wound, sending a spasm of pain and loneliness through my heart. One day, I felt slightly depressed all day because someone had sung “I’ll be Home for Christmas” in chapel that morning. (I still think it was a weird choice because it talks about both being home and snow. Most of our coworkers are from Taipei, so they would not have snow, even though they will be home for Christmas. Those of us whose homes would have snow, wouldn’t be home for Christmas, except for two foreigners who took vacation. So the song really only applied to the two out of the 250 or so people in the room. But I digress.)

This Christmas season has included lots of good things too. I’ve grown less and less homesick as it has progressed. I’ve really enjoyed several parties with friends here, as well as an amazing Christmas performance put on by my coworkers. My roommates and I put up a Christmas tree, and I love seeing it every time I go into the living room. I went to a church service on Christmas Eve where we went onto the roof of the church and sang carols by candlelight. Spending Christmas in Taipei has been a great experience overall, so I don’t want it to sound like I’m always miserable here.

Nevertheless, the moments of homesickness have made me realize that, for all my talk about how I know that Christmas is about Jesus’s birth, in practice much of my love for Christmas comes from things other than the point of the season.

This isn’t to say that parties, food, music and family are bad – far from it. These are good gifts that God has given us, and we should receive and enjoy them with thanksgiving. But as I wrote in my Thanksgiving post, being grateful includes recognizing these blessings as grace – things we don’t deserve and wouldn’t normally get, not things that we are entitled to.

For me, that means enjoying Christmas even without my family and the other things that I don’t have here. Because as important and wonderful as family and all the trappings are, they are not something I’m entitled to, and they’re not what Christmas is about.

Christmas is about God becoming human and experiencing everything we experience. That includes the joys of delicious meals and time spent with family and friends, but also the sorrows of loneliness and poverty. This Christmas, I am taking comfort in the fact that God Himself knows what it is like, not only to move to a new country, but to do even more. He moved to a whole new planet, a whole new way of existing (as a physical, mortal human being). The Son of God, Who is so close to His Father that they are a single being, lived as a human, communicating with God only through prayer and the occasional message that God sent to him. And the purpose for which He came was to eventually be completely abandoned by the Father as he hung dying on a cross for us! As His follower, I enjoy the blessings of a new family with God as my father and the promise of perfect peace and eternal life. And this is true no matter where in the world I am.

So this Christmas, I am choosing to rejoice. I am basking in His incomprehensible love that gave up everything for me. May this love surround you and fill you with true joy this Christmas and throughout the year.