Sunday, April 15, 2007

Americans Like to Make Jokes

I walk into Starbucks across from the university. I'm just going to get some fruit juice and study upstairs. It's a lot less stress than studying at the school library which is full of nineteen year-olds hypnotized by their parents' admonishment, ever on their minds, to perform.

There's no girl at the cash register ready to take my order. Only a ladder, and a Taiwanese guy sitting on top, replacing a lightbulb or something. He looks down at me and I ask him, with a straight face (in Chinese), "Can I get a doppio espresso?"

He is taken off guard. Whereas an American might respond, "Is that for here or to go?", the Taiwanese guy is extremely apologetic and says, "Oh, I am sorry...."

For a second, I wonder if he really thinks I am that stupid. I smile and he realizes I am making a joke.

"Oh, I get it, you're joking," and he smiles.

Finally, someone in Taiwan gets my sense of humor.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Tea Time

Today, after class got out at noon, I was feeling like I still wasn't "up", so I decided to take a walk to the zoo, and from there catch my bus. It's been raining a lot in Taipei recently, and fortunately last week, I bought a brand new umbrella at 7-11. I walked down the hill through campus, and onto the road leading to the zoo.

It was good to get a little exercise and breathe. Part of the walk is lined with lots of green plants, and I was hoping they would feed me with some extra oxygen, which I apparently needed, so I took extra large breaths when I walked past them.

The street where the zoo is located was lined with bus after bus, each one parked, with some drivers outside talking in Taiwanese every few buses. "請問,為什麼今天車子那麼多?"; "Why are there so many buses?" I asked. There were like twelve luxury tour buses. He looked at me for a second and said "帶小朋友來"; "To bring all the kids," and pointed to the zoo.

As I approached the zoo, and my bus stop, I see a little girl walking next to her mother in her little plastic raincoat, talking, and I notice they walk past the public trash cans where there's a man picking through the trash. He is a short, skinny Taiwanese guy, with dark skin and a thin mustache, probably in his forties.

He is listening to the kid's words, which are of course not directed to him but at her mother, and he responds. Her mother doesn't mind, probably because they'll be far away from him in about ten seconds.

As I walk past the guy, I notice he smells terribly. I guess homeless people in Taiwan smell just like homeless people in the States (except we have a lot more back in the old U.S. of A., folks). He's got a bike with him, and there are about five full plastic bags hanging from it.

As I wait for the bus, I sometimes look in his direction. He is still picking through the trash. I wonder about him. Where does he live? Does he have any hobbies?

Everyone has a story, you know.

Then I notice he finds an almost full cup of milk tea in the trash, and he pulls out a large plastic water bottle from one of his bags. I watch as he pours intently. It looks like he is pleased, and that later, he'll have himself a relaxing tea break.

He packs the beverage in one of his bags, inspects another trash can quickly, gets on his bike, and pedals away.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Signs of Life

I am meeting a friend at the Shilin MRT. It's almost noon on a Saturday, and the masses of Taipei are mobilizing for weekend fun. Maybe a gathering for a lunch or a trip to Yangmingshan. Everyone's been on holiday since Thursday, which is the beginning of the Tomb Sweeping Holiday, and so I think people are more relaxed than usual.

我星期六坐捷運到士林,在那裡跟朋友有約.快中午,人已經很多,他們都想去出玩,可能想跟朋友去吃飯, 可能想去陽明山爬山.大家都已經從星期四放假,因為是清明節,所以我覺得台北人都蠻悠閒.

When I arrive at Shilin, I walk out of the train car and as I approach the stairs, I turn my head and see a little girl. She's maybe a year and a half, and she is running on the platform. It's a little worrisome, as I don't think it' a good idea for toddlers to be running in a place where they could fall and get themselves killed. But then I see her mother behind her, and they are both smiling. Actually, the little girl is giggling.

我到士林捷運站的話,我下車,往樓梯走,轉過頭來看到兩歲的女孩在月台跑著.我有一點擔心她,因為我覺得很危險,有可能她會因此而死掉.但我忽然看到她媽媽在她的後面微笑著.小孩子咯咯地笑.

Then, I see the giggling girl spread her arms wide open as she runs up to another adult. That is a special moment, and to me it represents pure life, the kind that we adults usually stay away from because we are too busy, or are too in a rush to feel, or sometimes we try to duplicate it, but we do a bad job of it. Sometimes, though, there's grace, and a burst of wonder does sneak up on us when we are least expecting it.

之後,看到孩子把兩手臂敞開,跑著到另外一個大人.這是一個很特別的一時刻,代表純粹的生活.我們大人通常沒有這重的經驗.我們一直都很忙,不知道我們心中的感覺.我們試著制造這樣的經驗,但沒有成功.偶爾,有緣分的話,我們忽然感覺這重的開心,就讓我們很驚訝.

I understand the scene. The girl's giggles are giggles of anticipation. She must have just gotten out of the train and seen another adult she knows well.

我了解.小孩咯咯地笑因為她看到她媽媽的朋友,讓她那麼激動.

As I walk down the stairs, I actually think this little girl is very lucky. If her mother allows her to run toward her heart's desire on a train platform when she is just a little girl, imagine what other beautiful things she'll run to in this life, even when danger's just a misstep away.

之後,我下樓梯,認為這個女孩子很幸運.我覺得如果她媽媽在月台讓她追她的心裡的喜好,張大以後我想像她會追別的快樂,不管很近有沒有什麼好危險的.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Adoga in the Hotpot Restaurant

I'm in my favorite restaurant near school, getting a little hotpot of beef soup. If you want rice, you have to go the wooden bucket and serve yourself. You can even sprinkle on some black sesame seeds if you like.

While I am serving myself, I hear a Dad talking to his six year-old daughter in mixed Mandarin and Taiwanese. "Hey, talk to the adoga in English, come on!" he is urging her. He must have already spent a lot of taibi on her English cram school by now. Maybe he wants to see if he's getting a return on his investment. Alas, the little girl is so very Taiwanese, even at six already afraid of losing face, and she doesn't say anything to me.

I turn around after I hear his words and say in Taiwanese, "Wa em hshi adoga. Wa hshi Daiwan leng!"; "I am not a foreigner, I am Taiwanese!"

We have a good laugh and I crouch down and give the little girl a chance to show off for her Daddy. She tells me her name and her age. I look up and it seems that me and the little girl are serving as entertainment for this half of the restaurant.

Everyone is smiling and I head back to my table, where my soup, always too hot for us adoga, is waiting for me.

The Gong Guan Lottery Shaman

At the entrance to Gong Guan MRT Exit 4, there is an old, stout, beaten down Taiwanese woman with a baseball hat selling what look like instant lottery tickets, the kind that you have to scratch with a penny to find out if you are a lucky winner.

I am standing in front of the exit, getting out a piece of chewing gum from my daypack. A teenager walks by the headphones, and he's looking intently at his hip illuminated super-thin cellphone. As he walks between me and the lotto lady, she suddenly lifts her head and abruptly yells, "hey!", and she yells it again, "hey!" The kid is totally oblivious. She yells one last time, and then disappointed, stops as the boy walks into the crowds of people checking out little accessory stalls where you can buy cute Hello Kitty face masks to keep your lungs safe from pollution.

What just happened? There is another level happening that most of us can't see. Kind of reminds me of that movie Dressed in Black.

The old, bronzed, wrinkled woman is tired and starts nodding off. I'm still chewing my gum, but not ready to move.

A bunch of friends walk by, all in their early twenties. One of them, a nerdy-looking, slightly overweight, tall guy can't take his eyes off of the shiny tickets. He wants to buy one, but the woman is asleep by now.

I can see him letting go of the possibility of buying his ticket from the old woman, and he rejoins his friends. It's okay, there'll be another old Taiwanese lottery salesperson sitting waiting for him any minute now.