Yogurt in the Face

Everyone I see, I tell them I am studying shufa (書法, Chinese calligraphy). I am eating in the vegetarian restaurant above 7-11 across the street from the university, and I get into a conversation with the lady sitting next to me. I eventually ask her if she likes shufa, and she says that she had to take it as a kid, just like everyone else.

My friend Chin asks me how I am doing, and I tell her that I am really into shufa. She tells me there is an exhibit of modern Chinese calligraphy at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum. So, last night, I meet her there.

I am like a kid in a candy shop. The beautify and variety of the shufa is overwhelming. We have two hours to view the exhibit and it doesn't feel like enough time, but I comfort myself, saying it just means I can come back and see it again next week with another friend. Each piece is like a new friend that I want to get to know better.

Besides the shufa exhibit, there is live jazz downstairs and a bookstore with lots of books on shufa. Oh my, shufa, books, and live jazz, all in one place. I am already in heaven, and possibly the only way they could make it better would be to fly in some friends from the US and some premium sake (清酒), and I think the beauty would just about overtake me.

Chin and I walk slowly through the exhibit. There are all the main styles, regular (楷書), clerical (隷書), running (行書), grass (草書), and seal script (篆書). Some are large, some very detailed, some which look like classical scrolls from two-hundred years ago, some looking like abstract expressionist paintings. I make a joke to my friend whenever we pass one I really like: "That one would sell for a lot of money in the States."

After we see the exhibit, we make our way to the exit, but we still have thirty minutes before the museum closes and Chin wants to check out the first floor exhibit of contemporary works. We take a stroll around the wide-open space filled with mostly abstract modern paintings and a few sculptures. There is a large cube near the entrance of the exhibit and people are going in, so we walk over to check it out. Inside, a few people are sitting a watching film shorts on a screen.

We watch a short film in which there's a little boy, maybe he's three or four, playing with his Mom. The boy is jumping on her, and she tries to kiss him, and he calls her a "lech" (色狼). It is very playful.

In the next short, the screen shows a close-up of the face of a young Taiwanese kid against a blank wall. She's probably in sixth grade. She is smiling slightly. Suddenly, something white, like paint, or most probably, yogurt, gets splashed in her face. She flinches a bit, but is still smiling, and doesn't move. One after another, Taiwanese kids are shown, waiting to get this white yogurt thrown in their faces.

We see about forty or fifty kids. I wonder, who is throwing yogurt in their faces? Don't kids get enough "thrown" in their faces already? But then, of course, I realize that it's a film. The director says, "I'm going to throw yogurt in your face. Here, wear this white shirt, and before we throw the yogurt at you, don't move too much, and after, don't move that much either. Just let us film you, okay?" At least that's what I imagine.

One after another I see the kids waiting for the yogurt, then getting it in the face, and then their reactions. You see a girl, completely serious, sad, staring at the camera. Suddenly, she get's it on the upper cheek and her eye. Her eye shuts for an instant, but, then she opens it and she is still staring at us, still sad and serious.

Another kid, a boy, is looking tough, his eyes defying, his lips a little pursed. His facial expression says, "Come on, I dare you." He gets it on his hair and forehead, and then after two seconds of recovery, he is back to being tough.

In contrast to tough boy, there is the scared girl. Before the yogurt even hits her cheeks, she is wincing, and after you can tell she is not very comfortable.

And then the kids who make me smile, the kids who are holding back laughter the whole time. I think there are many kids like this in the film. One boy can barely hold himself together. He hasn't lost it yet, but I turn to Chin and say, "He's going to crack up when he gets hit." Sure enough, he loses it and is laughing hard after the yogurt begins moisturizing his prepubescent skin.

I am very moved by all this yogurt throwing. By the kids who, at ten or twelve years old already have to fight the world, who wear a "tough" mask they learned from Dad. By the kids who are completely resigned, who make no movements before, during, or after the whole ordeal. And all those kids laughing, they move me, too.

I realize that by the time we're ten, or more accurately probably, five, we've developed a "stance" toward life. Do we embrace that "yogurt", laughing? Do we decide to be tough guy or victim, or stoic? I watch these kids faces and I can see their whole lives unfolding, I can see what they'll look like when they're fifty. Life is short.

A recorded announcement says the museum is closing and we need to leave, and I get up, still holding back my tears. Maybe for the kids in the film, maybe for all of us "kids".

Chinese Calligraphy

I've been wanting to study Chinese calligraphy for a while, as I have long admired Chinese script, especially when it is handwritten with a brush. Many people in Taiwan, when they find out I am studying Chinese language (and especially when they see my messy handwriting), ask me if I have studied shufa (calligraphy, 書法). I always say that I would like to, but I know it takes devotion and time, and I don't want to rush it, since I am already busy with many other things, not least of which is studying Chinese.

At school, I saw a poster for a calligraphy class, just two sessions in the month of July, and I thought, "This might be my chance to finally study shufa." However, after my initial excitement, I realized that I'm already too busy. In Taipei, the direction everyone needs to move in is doing less. Everyone is trying to be a superachiever, raising kids, working hard, and getting their EMBA at NCCU on the side. And then when you ask them what their hobbies are, they say: "SLEEP!" The pace of life has rubbed off on me.

So, with the detachment of a Japanese Zen monk (or so I would like to think), I said, it's not the right time. It's like when you need to meet a friend later and the mind says, "We could still do laundry...." and, like a good parent, you say, "Sorry, kiddo, we can do that tomorrow. We still have two pairs of clean underwear to go, anyway...."

Then, one day after class a few weeks ago, I walked through the library, and there's the shufa teacher and her student, my friend Marcos, apparently the only one who signed up. I see the ink, the brushes, the kind, middle-aged teacher, and my eyes light up. She smiles at me and invites me to join. I am in a "rush"--I need to go work out, then I have to study and teach, but I know that this moment is the right moment to learn shufa. Again, yuan fen (緣分; synchronicity, resonance) strikes again, and I follow it.

There is probably a hexagram in the I Ching (易經) that says: "Drop What You are Doing" and it looks like it's the one I am getting in this moment. Time to learn shufa.

Like her elementary school students, we start the class with the task of filling a sheet of paper with black ink. Just getting the feel for the brush and the ink. I am left-handed and the teacher says, "You are now going to use your right hand." And so, I am learning shufa, really, from scratch, not even as advanced as those Taiwanese elementary students, who already know how to write.

From "painting" a sheet black, we move onto dots. And by the time I finish practicing my dots, class is over, and I'm looking forward to going home and practicing more dots.

A friend takes me to the office supply shop near school, and we buy a simple brush, or maobi (毛筆), ink, and some paper so I can practice at home. Conveniently, during this time, my laptop breaks down and while it is getting repaired, I use my evening time to practice my shufa. In case any of you haven't had your laptop break down, I highly recommend it. Especially if you usually find yourself emailing or using MSN most evenings, you'll find yourself not only going to sleep earlier (and sleeping more peacefully because you haven't been sitting motionlessly staring at a screen for two hours), but you might even find yourself doing beautiful things like practicing shufa, writing poems, or practicing your violin.

Last week, I take my second class, and we have moved onto straight lines. My teacher starts me on the famous character yong (永), which means "the amount of time it will take most foreigners to learn fluent Chinese".

Just kidding, you know me, I like to laugh, yong actually means "eternal" (so actually I am only half-joking this time), and the reason why it is special is because it is the one character that contains all eight essential strokes (畫筆; see cool diagram above).

When my Taiwanese friends ask me how its going, I tell them lately I've been taking a shufa class, and they all tell me that they took a shufa class as a kid (actually, most every kid in Taiwan does). They usually tell me that their shufa is terrible, but then there a few who tell me their shufa is awesome.

In Starbucks, I bring special "water paper" that allows me to practice shufa using water instead of ink. The water goes on "black" and disappears in about ten seconds. It's better than bringing ink and paper into Starbucks, and I don't have to clean the brush afterwards.

One of the employees walks up to me and stares at my supplies. She says that she took shufa when she was a kid. I can tell she wants to give it a go. "Can you show me?" I ask her. "Sure," she says, and her eyes light up. She sits down and writes her name. She is really good.

Unfortunately, her boss walks in and sees her writing, and fires her on the spot. Just kidding. It's time for her to get back to work, and she thanks me for giving her the opportunity to do shufa again.

And I need to go now, too. It's Sunday afternoon, and I still have some time to practice my brushstrokes.

Wrong Planet

I walk out after eating dinner tonight, past the 7-11 on the corner. A guy, Taiwanese, around 30, walks out of the store. There's a small mutt, a mix of black and white patches, cute, lounging in front. The guy sees the dog, suddenly lunges toward the dog, and stamps his foot, hard, next to him. The dog is, of course, startled, and moves away from the guy, who is now getting on his little scooter which is parked about ten feet away.

I watch the whole thing happen, I see the look on the guy's face. I see the look on the dog's face. As the guy walks by me, without thinking, I look toward him and say to him, in English (it's a gut reaction), "Why?"

He's already passed me and I don't think he heard what I just said. I highly doubt he is or has been in "English mode" in the past few hours, or for that matter, the last 30 years.














Earthrise. For those of you who are wondering, I did not personally take this photo.

I think of confronting him, but I just decide to let it go. What am I going to do, argue with him in Taiwanese while he is opening his pack of Mild Sevens? I doubt it would do any good, although while writing this I think perhaps kicking his scooter over would have given him the message. But I never do that type of thing. That's how wars start, and I am a peace lover.

In the States, my Daoist attitude is definitely not the cultural norm. "Come on, why don't you yell at that guy for cutting in line?" People have shot at each other (with real guns) on the LA freeway.

In English, we say "kick the dog", meaning, Dad comes home in a bad mood, kicks his wife, wife kicks her daughter, the girl then kicks her brother, and then the boy kicks the dog. So, I think, this Taiwanese guy, who kicked him? And this goddamn kicking, when does it stop?

Later, I see the dog as I cross the street. I walk up to him, and pet him. He's happy, he jumps on me, he longs for the attention.

Lately, I've been wondering if I was born on the wrong planet. I think it's possible.

Brave ABC Girls in Taipei 101

I am eating lunch in the food court of Taipei 101 when I spot a gaggle of pretty young Taiwanese girls who walk up to a table where two young Taiwanese boys are eating their beef and noodles. They are about ten feet away from me. To my surprise, the lead girl opens her mouth and says, in girly, teenage English, "Excuse me, could you tell me...?"

I can't hear the rest, but since she is pointing to his lunch, I think she is looking for a food recommendation. She is about 19, looks like a college freshman, and smirking a little bit as she asks him her questions. The girls behind her look like they are anxiously waiting the boys' response, as if they are world-class professors. I hear the lead girl say that they are all from San Francisco.

I feel for her, because your chances of being answered in coherent English by a pair of pimply, basketball-playing, videogame-loving Taiwanese guys in Taipei 101 is about 0.06% (+/- 0.003, p=0.05). Those are pretty slim chances, girly.

Soon, her hot friends get involved. Their Chinese is better than their brave leader. I can see the interest in their eyes, and how they linger, asking what must certainly be further pointed questions.

And as they talk, well, I get it. (You see, I'm slow but perceptive.) They're not asking for food recommendations at all, or directions on how to get to Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall either. No, I imagine these young ABCs on summer break are bored, wandering Taipei 101 fru-fru shops, trying on new shades of makeup, buying hot pants for tonight's mission to Luxy. It's either here or at home with their auntie in Neihu who's always yelling at their cousins in Taiwanese because they haven't finished their buxiban homework.

Soon after arriving at the food court, I imagine one of them probably said, "Hey, check out those guys over there, the ones eating the beef noodles. You see the one on the left? Damn, is he hot! Let's go over and talk to them. Marsha, can you do your 'my Chinese is bad, so I will ask you a question in English' routine'?

I must be becoming Taiwanese, because after I figure out what is going on, I am cringing a little bit, as are both of their targets, and the group of five or so Taiwanese girls (real Taiwanese girls) sitting at the next table.

In the US, it's not uncommon to see girls, especially in groups, hitting on guys. And of course, it's quite common to see guys hitting on girls. But, we're in Taiwan. Nobody hits on anybody, at least the last time I checked.

Actually, I love that these girls are bringing a breath of fresh American culture into the B1 level of Taipei 101. Although they look Taiwanese, these are American girls, with an education and a set of cultural assumptions that are completely different from their Taiwanese counterparts.

Finally, their questions answered satisfactorily (or most probably, very unsatisfactorily!), the girls walk away, ready for their next adventure. The boys, for their part, request no phone numbers, and smirk like 18 year-old boys do, relieved.

Time Tested Beauty Tips

I first saw this poem hanging in my friend Paula's bathroom, and I thought I would share it with you, my friends. It is often attributed to Audrey Hepburn, who popularized it just before she passed away. However, the author is the American humorist Sam Levenson, who wrote it for his grandchild.


Time Tested Beauty Tips

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; Never throw out anybody.

Remember, If you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

i carry your heart with me

Today, I stumbled upon a beautiful poem by e.e. cummings, the famous American poet. Thought you might like it.

i carry your heart with me
by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Simple Pleasures

It's pretty hot in Taipei, and I figured I better get a new aikido gi (uniform; 道服). The cotton gi that I've been wearing is good for Japan in the winter, not Taipei in the summer.

I do a search* on the web for stores in Taipei that sell aikido gis, and on Thursday after class, I go with my friend Taka, a karate expert from Japan, to a shop near CKS Memorial. They have a low quality polyester gi at a relatively high price. I look around the store, and I realize that it's because they specialize in Chinese martial arts. I decide not to get it, and am disappointed--I have class on Friday night, and don't want to practice in my old, heavy cotton gi.

However, after some more research, I find out about another shop in Ximending (西門丁). On Friday, I go with my friend Chi. The owners happily welcome us, and after I tell them what I need, he pulls out a beautiful gi. It's thin and made of cotton, and not too expensive. I can't tell you how happy that I waited to get this gi, and that I'll have a gi for practice tonight.

I walk out of the store with my friend, beaming. I kick up my feet like they do in commercials in the States, expressing my utter joy and my new purchase.

Perhaps I'm happy because I love aikido and being comfortable while practicing. A simple pleasure. And perhaps because, once in a while, despite what Mick Jagger says, you sometimes do get what you want, even if it is as simple as a comfortable new gi.

*By the way, I just downloaded some cool software on the web so that I can more easily read Chinese websites. If you don't understand a character (let's just say, ahem, there are some I don't), you just put your mouse over it, and boom, the definition pops up. It's an add-0n to Mozilla Firefox, in case you are interested, and you can get it here: https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/3349.)

Introducing My Neighbors

Today, I get off the bus and head back home after aikido practice. I am walking up the stairs along the stream near my apartment. It's all green, the cicadas are chirping, and there are hundreds of small crickets jumping on the stairs, which are made of big stones and gray concrete with small pebbles in it.

As I approach the foot of the stairs, I spot a small, stray puppy. He's scroungy but still cute. He's playing a little game with the crickets. It's simple, he's trying to catch them, and if he does, he eats them. His eyes are full of play and joy.

He sees me and gets scared and walks up to another part of the walkway where he can catch more crickets.

This reminds me of a meeting with a praying mantis I had yesterday. She was walking on the wooden railing, on the deck in front of my apartment. Those praying mantis's, they sure have big eyes, and the way they move, they look more like lizards or aliens from Star Wars, than insects. She spots me and slowly alights on a branch of a bamboo plant, slowly climbing the leaves, up, up. She's is a beautiful creature. I am in awe as I have never seen a praying mantis in action.

I decide to leave her, maybe she is scared. I don't want her to be, so I go back to my room.

You know, I think my life can be measured by these moments with animals, insects, children, and old people. It's during these moments that I leave the world of achievement, comparing, money, love and "relationships", even my big dream.

It's during these moments that I get a glimpse of the essence of being alive.

So What

"Do not fear mistakes. There are none."
Miles Davis

I'm in some bookstore and I hear an interesting version of Miles Davis's "So What", one of my favorite pieces of jazz ever. Something in me relaxes and I get into the groove of the music. To me, good jazz takes us to a place where we relax and access that swing.

It hits me, I realize the opposite of Chinese or Taiwanese culture is "So What"!

The Sudden Jerk on the MRT Train

I get on the train today at the Taipei Zoo MRT Station. It's the terminal station, so there's always a train waiting, and always a free seat. Sometimes, the train is about to leave, but Taiwanese people rarely make a mad rush through the closing train doors, like a lot of Americans do. They just wait for the next train, which is in five minutes.

So, if I see the train is about to depart, I learn from my fellow MRT patrons, and relax. I know another train will be arriving in five minutes. So Confucian. So Dao.

Well, after my relaxing, Daoist walk in the MRT station, I get on the train. It is noon and sunlight permeates the car. I sit down and notice a young family of four sitting on my left. Mother and young son are sitting facing father and toddler daughter, who is standing up on the hard, yellow plastic seat near the window. Her father is turned around, staring blankly toward the back of the car. I wonder about him. What is he thinking about?

The kids are wearing greenish stone amulets around their necks, probably Buddhist, that their parents surely bought to protect them.

A high-pitched sound interrupts announces that the doors are closing, and they do. Suddenly, the train jerks forward and I watch, horrified, as the little girl goes flying head first onto the car floor, which is made of hard rubber. She starts crying, and her mother, with the reflexes of someone who is used to picking up crying little children, quickly collects her.

The mother looks at the father. I imagine that in her head she is saying (in Taiwanese of course): "You're sitting right next to her. She's not supposed to fly head-first onto the floor when the train starts moving, you putz." How do you say putz in Taiwanese?

Mom sends the little girl to her father to care and comfort her. However, father astutely notices that after five seconds, the little girl is still crying. With an air of frustration, he turns the little girl around, and says, "Go, sit over there with your mother."

As if to express solidarity, the boy, who has been sitting next to his mother watching the whole ordeal, gets up to sit next to his Dad. He's smirking a little, as you would expect most seven year-old boys to respond in this situation. Is he smirking because his sister just fell, or because he knows his Dad is a shmuck and is pretending that he's not? Kids are pretty smart, you know.

The girl is now in her mom's lap, and mom is now tending to her daughter, comforting her with words, stroking her forehead. The tears stream down her little face.

I look at the Dad. He still looks upset, which I am pretty sure is just a front for his embarrassment. He is looking away from his wife and his daughter. Not at anything in particular, though, just more looking into space. Thinking of his job, thinking of his next vacation.

I am thinking all of the above, when I begin to feel compassion for this man. I realize that it probably isn't easy being a Dad. Working long hours, telling kids to shut up. No time for the hobbies he loved as a young man, like taekwondo or Chinese chess.

Suddenly, as if someone has just removed the battery to the MP3 player in my brain, my thoughts stop. I notice the mom stroking her daughter's forehead, notice the girl still clinging to her mother, still crying a little.

We pass several stations, and there are no thoughts of shmucks or overworked dads, just paying attention to my surroundings. On a train filled with Taiwanese people in Taiwan. I look outside and see the ugly apartment buildings of Taipei. The doors open. A teenager gets on. An old lady gets on.

Finally, the train stops at Zhongxiao Fuxing, the main transfer station, and the family on my left stand up to get off the train. The mother picks the girl up and gives her to Dad to carry her.

The little girl clings to her Dad, and they step off the train.

Peaceful Warrior

On Sunday, a group of us Zheng Da students participated in an aikido conference. What a gift this art is. In case you don't recognize me, I am the dangerous-looking guy on the left, looking like a young Steven Seagal.

In case you know nothing about aikido, it's a Japanese martial art that teaches one to harmonize with attack. We don't try to kill our opponent, but become more sensitive to him, blend with his attack, and ensure that both of us stay safe.

In case your attacker insists on continuing his attack, of course, then you are allowed to snap his elbow against your thigh. Just kidding. Sort of.

To sum it up, let me quote my first teacher, Bob Nadeau Sensei, who would say: "Under pressure, let things flow". I will never forget the hours of training in his dojo and all my aiki brothers and sisters there. To Bob, I send my most sincere thanks for sharing the art with me and so many others.

It's good to be practicing again.

凱元參加演講比賽

Hi everyone. On Monday, I participated in a speech contest sponsored by the Ministry of Health. The theme was health, so my teacher, Gao Laoshi said, "Hey, you're a Chinese doctor, you should partipate." I thought it would be a good way for me to practice my Chinese.

I wrote my speech about how Chinese Medicine can help students take care of their health, and decided to teach them a little about Five Elements theory. Most Taiwanese people have heard about the five elements, but they all know a lot more about computers, business, and KTV than they do about these old theories.

I wrote my speech in English first, and then translated it into Chinese. Of course, I asked a few of my Taiwanese friends to look at what I wrote so that they could help me correct my many mistakes.

Finally, two weeks before the contest, I had my speech written. But, then last monday, my teacher told me the speech was in a week, not in two weeks. I had gotten confused about the date.

So, I had a week to memorize my five minute speech. It was hard, but I did it.

The day of the contest arrived, and I thought the speech was clearly impressed upon my brain, but when I got up on stage, I had to pause because I got a little nervous. I usually don't get nervous when giving speeches.

Despite this, I still got second place. Fortunately, I guess, other students were also nervous, too. As I mentioned in a previous post, as I get older, Rumi's Lame Goat is has become my hero.

You know, worldly "wisdom" says "Be Number One." Spiritual wisdom says the lame goat, lagging behind, leads the herd home.

Here's my speech, if you can read Chinese.

中醫對學生健康的好處

各位評審老師,各位同學,大家好.我是姚凱元,我是一位美籍的中醫師.今天我要演講的題目是中醫對學生健康的好處.

中醫的歷史很悠久並且充滿智慧。因此,在短短五分鐘之內我沒有辦法給你們很完整的介紹,但我可以給你們一些以中醫為基礎的生活建議.

中醫說人的身體是外在世界的反映.中國古代的大師都發現世界有五個最基本的元素:金,木,水,火,土.這個理論就叫做五行.

五行對我們的生活有什麼幫助呢?我們的身體如何反映五行呢?讓我來告訴你們.

哪一個器官反映土呢? 就是你的脾臟,代表你的消化系統.

中醫說「脾主五臟」,是說如果你每天三餐吃得營養,身體就會很強壯.我有很多同學不吃早餐,中午也沒有時間可以吃飯,而且晚上都吃麥當勞,然後才抱怨,「為什麼我這麼累? 」 所以飲食很重要,不要忘記三餐都要吃得營養.

中醫也說「脾主思」,思就是思想的思.這對學生來說特別重要.一方面,思考要花力氣,所以一定要吃得營養.另一方面,如果你想太多或是念太多的書,都會對你的消化系統有不好的影響.所以念書的時候,每一兩個小時,就要休息一下.不要一邊看書一邊吃飯.而且,吃飯的時候不要急.

哪一個器官反映木呢? 就是你的肝.

中醫說「怒傷肝」,怒就是生氣的意思.我們都有過沒有辦法達成目標的經驗,然後覺得很挫折.這個情緒就會傷害你的肝.如何發洩自己的情緒呢?你可以跟朋友傾訴你的感覺.運動是個好辦法.罵妳的男朋友也是個不錯的主意(開玩笑!).

中醫也說「肝為血海」,這對女生特別重要.女生如果嘴唇蒼白,就表示血液中的營養不夠,我建議妳可以多吃肉,也要看醫生.

哪一個器官反映火呢? 就是你的心.

中醫說「心主神明」也說「心惡熱」.為什麼心臟會熱呢?喝咖啡,喝酒,和抽菸都是很常見的原因.如果病人一直都很緊張或睡不好,我馬上就會想到是因為喝咖啡,喝酒,和抽菸.

哪一個器官反映金呢? 就是你的肺臟.

中醫說「肺主外表」,外表是指免疫系統.容易感冒的人要怎麼強化免疫系統呢?第一,他們要吃的營養.第二,他們必須減少壓力.雖然冬天在診所裡常常看到很多感冒的病患,可是身體很強壯的醫師還是不會被傳染,是因為他們的肺功能很好.

哪一個器官反映最後的水呢?就是你的腎臟.

中醫說「腎主五臟的精」,精就是精華的意思.所以我們可以說腎臟是最根本的器官也是最重要的.

在診所,我們常看到很多老年人抱怨他們的腰很痛.中醫說「腰為腎之府」也說「久病及腎」.所以如果你年輕的時候不保養,老了以後就得到診所來找我.

希望我給你們的建議可以提醒你們注意到你們身體的健康.我的演講到此結束.謝謝各位.祝你們健康快樂!

Free Hugs

It's a beautiful spring day in Muzha. I get out of class at noon and walk down the hill to get some lunch. I see my friend Lara, a tall, dreadlocked hippie girl. She's got a beautiful smile and a tattoo on her ear. She could be from Berkeley, easily, but she's from Italy, and I always say a few words of Italian to her. "Come vai?" I ask when I see her approaching the piazza on campus.

I feel at home speaking with her, because I am also a hippie, though without the dreads or the tattoo. I've danced barechested in the desert, jumped out of an airplane, sang my heart out to a big crowd, painted pictures in cafes. We, the hippies, want free love, boundless self-expression, creativity, and freedom.

In Taiwan, I find an old part of me, very comfortable drinking tea and talking about the Dao, even willing to help people save a little face.

But, there's one thing that I miss about the Bay, that I don't tell my Taiwanese friends about. Lara and I say bye, we smile, and then something happens that doesn't happen much in this Confucian land. We give each other a big warm hug.

Yeah, Chinese-like Taipei boy is busted. Definitely homesick!




This is on the Berkeley campus, a few blocks from where I used to live. It makes me homesick. It makes me happy.

Special Note to Foreign Customers of China Trust Bank Taiwan

If You Look for the Fireflies, You will not Find Them

The other day, my friend Jennie invited me to go for a hike on Tiger Mountain, near Taipei 101, to see the fireflies.

We arrive at the foot of the mountain path, where there are loads of parents with their children listening to our guide for the evening. Everyone has brought flashlights to light their way as late afternoon turns to night. We're supposed to bring flashlights covered with a red filter.

"Why does it have to be red, not, say, green?" Jennie asks. I think she has a good point.

I've just had a long day. An obese Chinese boy of about eleven is blocking our way so we can't see our guids and his pictures of the fireflies. The boy is shaking his right leg. "Too much coke," I say to Jennie, pointing to his hyperactive leg.

There's a creek next to us, and I motion to her to let her know that I'd like to get closer to it. It's less crowded over there. I take a look. It is simply beautiful, full of ferns and rocks.

Jennie says we should ditch the crowd, and we start up the mountain by ourselves. I don't think I will miss them.

Finally, after only about twenty minutes, maybe less, we arrive at the top, where there's a beautiful garden. It starts to drizzle a little, and we find a small covered pavillion to sit under.

We're talking and then suddenly I see a firefly. A few fireflies give us a show for the next hour as we talk.

Firefly tourists comes in two's and three's, asking us where they are. Jennie exhibits the typical warm way of the Taiwanese when she gets up and shows them where to look. They look amazed.

"You know," I say, "when I was a kid, in the summer in Baltimore, we used to watch the fireflies, too, sometimes catch them and put them in jars. Except in Baltimore, you don't see six fireflies. You see 600!"

"Yeah," Jennie responds. "It's like snow. We don't see snow in Taiwan, so you can imagine if we saw just a few flakes, it would make the news and get everyone all excited."

More people come and I can hear them excitedly looking for the insects, but they can't find them. They are looking too hard. They want to see them, get a photo, perhaps a t-shirt, too, and then go on their way. Perhaps dinner awaits. They come and ask us where to find the fireflies and Jennie points out one in the bushes in front of us.

By now, it feels like the garden is ours, and I make a joke. "You see one firefly, that'll be 100NT... whoa another one, that'll be another 100NT!"

I turn to Jennie and say to her, in my best impression of Lao Zi: "If you look for the fireflies, you will not find them."

The hordes arrive with their red flashlights and the guide is lecturing. We finally find out what the red filter is for. Fireflies aren't sensitive to red light.

A mother sits down with her two daughters in front of us. The younger one looks at me a few times and when I catch her, she quickly turns her gaze and hugs her mom. Another supercute Taiwanese kid. She looks at me again and I make a face at her, hoping she will crack a smile.

The kids are running around, I don't think they're listening to their guide for the evening. Their parents have already gotten out the snacks and are feeding them. One kid is crying. A few others walk past me to check me out.

Jennie tells me the firefly guide is just repeating the same things over and over again.

Slowly, people trickle back down the mountain, and then they're gone. Only one lone plastic bottle of water left to indicate they've been here.

We keep talking, and an old Taiwanese man joins us to rest in the small pavilion. It's getting late, and I need to go to bed soon. We get up to go.

"No, no, you don't have to leave, the man says," assuming we are leaving because of him.

We slowly walk down, and I'm glad I've taken some time out of my busy Taipei life to see the firefly show.

Slow Walk Up the Mountain

Tonight, after studying at a cafe, I took a long, slow walk home up the mountain. Taiwan's spring is warm and humid, almost pleasant, giving hints at the scorching summer to come. Like a taller than average twelve-year old, giving us hints that very soon, he'll be NBA size.

I've got to memorize a talk I'm going to give in Chinese, so as I walk up the windy street to my house, it's a perfect time to practice. I turn to the lush foliage and the apartment buildings behind them and recite, 「各位評審老師,各位同學,大家好.我是姚凱元.」, waving my right arm oratorically to the tree on my right.

The floodlamps light the street and I look down and notice the most beautiful butterfly taking a nap on the sidewalk. I stop and look. Its wings are birch-colored and look like wood, with some small yellow and black spots. I am afraid it is dead. I have the urge to touch it to make sure it isn't dead. I'm like a kid. But the adult part of me knows better. I shouldn't disturb it.

A second later, I gently touch it's wing, and to my surprise, it starts to flutter and flies up into the bright streetlight above.

I keep walking and reciting and then see the big, scary-looking spider I see almost every day as I walk up or down the mountain. His body is about two inches long, and his legs make him about eight inches long. His legs are black and thin and look like they're made of metal. He's usually hanging out (literally) in the middle of his web when I see him in the mornings. But tonight, he's walking. Maybe these creatures are nocturnal.

He's walking slowly across his web. Is he picking up his day's food? I look more carefully and I see the light as it reflects off the gossamer threads. After looking for a few more seconds, I realize I am watching a spider construct his web. He is walking and spitting out more thread, making his flycatcher more intricate and efficient. It's all perfectly geometric and I wonder, how does he know how to space the threads so evenly?

I think of the experiments researchers in the 70s did with spiders, giving them LSD. Perhaps they wanted to see if the arachnids might express some kind of creativity. I bet they thought the spiders would spell words with messages like, "Make love, not war."

Then I think to myself, that wasn't a really nice thing those acid-licking hippies did to those poor spiders. And I don't know if those pictures of acid-influenced spider webs in psychology textbooks really serve any purpose besides making kids say, "Hey, look at the webs that spiders on acid build, dude."

I think I should let the spider work, maybe he is getting nervous with me watching, so I continue up the mountain, reciting my Chinese: 「我是一位美籍的中醫師.今天我要演講的題目是中醫對學生的好處.」

I am getting close to my little studio on the hill, and I see the neighbor's golden retriever on the lookout in front of their shack where they sell bing lang, drinks, and vegetables that they grow on their plot across the street.

The dog sees me and he's wagging his tail. I've never pet him before, but he's seen me standing in front of his house as I am waiting for the bus. Last week, I was talking to his owner, the twenty-five year-old son of the old Taiwanese lady who lives there, while he was "playing" with the dog. He would tie a small towel tightly on the dog's head and watch as the poor dog tried to remove it with his paws. Then he threw slices of white bread at the dog, which the young dog gladly caught and ate. I didn't know dogs liked white bread so much.

As I walk by him, I say hello, but I don't walk up to pet him, because I've never pet him before and I don't want to freak him out. You have to be careful with some dogs in Taiwan. They'll bite. Maybe they're not living the suburban life of ease that dogs in the US live. Maybe there's a lot of prozac in the water supply in the States, which has a sort of peaceful, sedative effect on those American doggies.

So, I say goodnight to him and smile. He looks aways and then suddenly runs up to me. I extend my hand and he licks it. I know he's in a good mood, even without the prozac from the United States, and I pet him. By this time he is jumping on me, and his older brother comes out and wants to play, too. The younger one wants to play a little rough, and I am happy to oblige for a minute. He must have had a boring day.

Time for me to head up the path to my room. I'm not rich, have no status, a 30ish American acupuncturist studying Chinese with a bunch of 23 year-old Japanese and Korean kids in Taiwan, far away from my home in the States.

But tonight, I feel at home in the world.

Lian Wu Guarantee

This morning on my way to class, I stop at the local supermarket to pick up some fruit. Something tells me I need a little fruit with my scrambled egg sandwich today.

I walk into the supermarket. It is called "Your's Mart". All the foreign students at my university know about "Your's Mart". If you want to buy peanut butter, you have to go to "Your's Mart".

I think they named it "Your's Mart" on purpose, because they want to compliment people in an indirect way. So Taiwanese, always complimenting everyone. So, the message is "Hey, You're Smart!"

Thanks.

I walk to the fruit section and pick up a package of lian wu (in English, "wax apple", but if you don't live in Taiwan, that probably doesn't help).

As I walk to the register to check out, I notice the package's plastic wrap has a sticker that says : 不甜包換 (If they're not sweet, you can return them). The lady rings me up and as she does, I ask her, "If these lian wu aren't sweet, can I return them?"

She looks at me in a very serious Taiwanese face that says, "Oh sheesh, you must be kidding me, Mr. Adoga (that's Taiwanese for foreigner)!" She then notices that I am looking at the sticker on the package and looks up at me and cracks a smile.

Oh my god, this is the second time in two weeks that a Taiwanese employee at a store realizes that I am making a joke. I almost fall over in disbelief.

"Well, everyone has a different opinion of what's sweet, so we can't just let everyone exchange their fruit after they buy them. So, actually, you can't return them," she informs me.

I pay her, get my change, and start walking out. There are no other customers, and maybe she needs to clean the windows or something, so she follows me to the door.

"Oh, I got it," I respond. Everyone has a different opinion. Someone might bring in the fruit and say 'Hey lady, these aren't sweet' and then you might check to make sure they actually aren't sweet, but then maybe, in your opinion, they are pretty sweet. "

I can see in her face that she appreciates that I get it. "That's right," she says, as I smile and wave goodbye.

Welcome to Taiwan.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Freedom and Chaos

My friend Javier from Mexico and I had lunch today at the vegetarian restaurant near campus. I like Javier a lot. He is thoughtful and because he is older (he's got a wife and kids back home), we can share our deep thoughts about living in Taiwan. I think his English is probably not so great, because I have to speak Spanish with him. So, today at lunch, I think my Spanish improved by about 26% over the course of an hour and a half lunch consisting of various fake meats.

We both like a lot of things about Taiwanese society. Like the fact that, for the most part, you are safe, even walking at night. When I am on the subway, I am not worried about my wallet, even when the train is packed. When I put my bag down for a second and look away while I am waiting for my bus, I don't worry whether someone is going to steal it.

The other night, Javier saw someone walking by the river near school. At 11 o'clock at night. You can't do that in Mexico, because people will think you are bad and you are doing something illegal. You might get killed.

When I came back to the States after living in Taiwan for nine months, that is one of the things I noticed. People's shit is always being broken into or stolen in the U.S. You've always got to keep an eye out.

One time, I went to do my laundry and left my back porch open by accident. When I came back, I found that most of my CD collection was stolen. I found a whopper (that's a burger from Burger King, that the thief had abandoned) on my porch. Someone had jumped the railing and took my CDs. Unbelievable.

The other thing that both Javier and I agreed upon, that is true in both Mexico and in the States, is that there is a plethora of drugs floating around, and that definitely has an influence on society. To me, it sounds like most Taiwanese people learn about drugs (we're talking illegal drugs, folks) from the paper and movies.

But for us folks in the U.S. and Mexico, if you aren't living in a small-ass country bumpkin town (and even then you're not assured), you're going to know someone who is doing drugs, or someone who knows someone who is doing drugs. You're going to have a friend at work who used to be a drug addict and now is clean. Or, maybe that "bad" kid who smoked cigarettes in the parking lot at school, well, you found out he died when you were 24.

You go to the local drugstore or pizza place, and you look at the guy at the register and maybe it seems like he's a little off. He's not retarded, he just smokes a lot of weed.

Whether you know it or not, drugs pervade America. People at the highest level of the corporate world are coming home and snorting coke. On the weekends, their employees are going to clubs and doing ecstasy.

Marijuana (weed) is so pervasive, and I would say it is abused. Where I come from, in California, there are people who are using weed to get away from reality. (Um, I think people are doing this in other states, too.) They smoke it first thing in the morning every morning. They are spaced out. They are angry. They are inconsistent and apathetic.

Drugs aren't a simple topic to discuss. A question we might want to ask is this, whether or not drugs are pervasive, why do people take them? What are they escaping from? What are the conditions that lead people to have no desire to drug themselves?

Of course, I know that drugs are a problem in Taiwan, but I don't think you can compare the situation with the States.

Taiwan does a pretty good job of protecting its kids from the dangers of drugs. It seems that they are not that plentiful, and the society provides support for them, like an extended family and a safe living environment. It also helps that they are about six times busier than American kids of their age, preparing for their all-important high school and university entrance exams. They leave for school at seven in the morning and come back home from their cram school at ten at night.

I quoted someone who said that because the United States is the freest of countries, that it also means that there is more fucked-up shit going on there. I like freedom, and I see how in some ways, people in Taiwan, because of their more conservative culture, lack some of the freedom of expression we enjoy in the States. I think this is why my Taiwanese friend Gene says she would like to leave Taiwan.

I think she would probably want to come back here, though, later.

One of the things I also like about living in Taiwan is that gives me a new perspective on things that we're used to taking for granted, things like "society" and "freedom". You travel and you see that these concepts change from place to place. And most people don't question them at all.

Javier and I could have talked for a few more hours. We were finished with our fake chickens, the waitress cleared our plates and then we said adios.

On True Love

Someone said that finding true love is beyond words, something which brings us a feeling of peace and contentment.

Like winning the lotto.

Sitting in a Corner at Eslite Reading Poetry

There are times when I just need to talk English with a native speaker. When I need to express myself in an uncensored way, using all the idioms and verbal phrases and cultural references and nuances that make English so hard for Taiwanese people.

On most days, I am happy enough with the cultural learning and stretching that happens in Taiwan, some good Taiwanese friends, along with other goodies. But I find that every once in a while, perhaps after a hard day of studying Chinese, when I am discouraged, or when I'm feeling homesick for Berkeley, I need a taste of home.

However, unlike some foreigners here, I don't have that many foreign friends. This is not accidental. I am living in Taipei, trying to learn Chinese. I'm not trying to recreate home.

I realize how our daily interactions with other people are a way that we can reflect our experience back to ourselves. Maybe a way to feel our lives a little more deeply. And I still can't do that all in Chinese.

Yesterday, I was studying in Eslite 誠品, my favorite bookstore. During a study break, I went to the poetry section. There I found my "foreign friends". I found a book of poetry, sat my ass on the floor, leaned by back against the wall, and hung out with Mary Oliver, Derek Walcott, Rumi, Whitman, and some others.

Perhaps I have a need to go to that sublime place that intimate conversation with a good friend takes you, or in the case, poetry.

If you are in Taipei, and want to join me at Eslite for a little poetry, let me know, and perhaps we can both go to that place together.

你很幸運嘍!

唉,最近沒有寫文章.我希望我的粉絲不會那麼失望.不好意思!

為什麼我那麼忙,沒有時間連寫一篇小小的文章? 就是因為我在學中文!你不覺得這是一個非常好的原因吧?中文那麼難.你(我台灣朋友)從小到現在一直都講中文,已經念那麼多書.哇,你很幸運,我忌妒你.欸,不要說「英文也很難啊!」.你會看英文雜誌,對不對?是啊,就是,因為教育的關係,你不敢說話.我知道,很多人這樣回答.但,我沒有辦法看中文雜誌,一定要一邊看字,一邊查字典.

我以前認為中文跟英文一樣難,因為我的朋友一直都抱怨說英文的文法那麼難.但最近,我改變我的想法,覺得中文比較難.

到現在學了一年的中文.最近,我決定我一定要待在亞洲很久學中文.如果我今年才回國,我會認為我的一年的中文學習很浪費時間,因為以後就不會很流利地講中文.

Under Construction

We're sorry, this blog is currently under construction. I know lately you've been looking here for the exciting adventures of Chinese-Like Taipei Boy. Maybe you've been wondering, what is going on with him?

Way Back into Love

Uh oh, you're gonna really think I've fallen off of my rocker, because I'm about to post a video of a pop song on my blog. Not only that, but it's from a mainstream Hollywood movie that I went to see with my friend Emmy a few weeks ago.

Pop songs and Hollywood movies, I discovered, do sometimes contain eternal truths. There are many "ways back to love". Perhaps some of us are consciously looking for these ways, perhaps some of us aren't. Or, as someone once said, perhaps that's what we're all doing on this planet, whatever we're doing, and however messed up it all looks to everyone else.

So, I dedicate this song to all my friends and family. You know who you are. You are my way back to love. I am sending you blessings for love always.

Roni

The Magic of Yao Consulting

Specifically, Yao has helped people in the following areas:

• Image Consultation. Face it, image is important. Yao will suggest ways for you to change your image, like for instance, by wearing different sunglasses or getting a smashing haircut. If you are overweight, he will have his assistants surprise you and jump on you when you come to the office, and you will have to fight them, and you will probably lose a lot of weight this way.

• Financial Wealth. Find out the best ways to increase your financial luck. Yao will not only suggest lucky places to buy Taiwanese lottery tickets (based upon your birthday), but he also knows secret Daoist prayers and they have usually worked. If you have a lot of money, Yao will suggest investments that most fit your personality. One time, Yao recommended a client to invest in a pet store, and since then, she opened up a chain and has pet stores all over the place.

• Poverty Consulting. For those with little or no money who are always worrying, Yao also provides ways to manage the stresses of poverty. He recommends such clients convert to Buddhism, as it teaches that all life is suffering. He also can suggest "All-You-Can-Eat" restaurants located near large universities in Taipei. Also, you can save money on umbrellas because on most rainy days there are a lot of umbrellas right outside of most 7-11's and you can just take one.

• Mood. If you find yourself often feeling unhappy, Yao can help you change your mood. One way he does this is by calling his clients every day and saying in a very sweet voice, "You are so beautiful!" and "You don't need plastic surgery--honest." Also, if your mother is always yelling at you and asking you when you are going to get married, he will have a talk with her (he also knows a few words in Taiwanese, and you would be amazed to find out how Taiwanese mothers find it very cute) so that she will ease up a bit. This usually takes care of 90% of mood problems in Taiwan for people under the age of 35.

• Love. Many people find themselves lonely and longing to be with someone. Others feel like they have bad luck, meeting one asshole after another. Yao uses drastic means to help people realize that to find the love of your life, you really have to start with yourself. To begin the process, Yao will usually personally go to your boyfriend's (or girlfriend's) house and break up your relationship. In addition, Taiwanese clients are not allowed to use MSN anymore. You can't imagine how much more free time they have to go out and actually meet people.

• Job. Most people in Taiwan work too much at jobs they don't like, and for bosses who are too strict. Yao gives you qigong (氣工) exercises to do at work so that you sincerely enjoy your time there. In addition, Yao can teach you ways to keep your boss calm, such as putting calming herbs (and sometimes drugs that make him sleepy) into his coffee. Also, Yao's "One Year/Six Jobs" (1Y6J) Program has been extremely effective in helping people to get a better understanding of the workplace. In this program, clients get a new job every two months and either resign or try to get fired so that they can move onto the next one. Believe me, after a year of this, clients are very happy to stay in their next job.

These are just a few examples of the magic of Yao Consulting. Contact Yao Consulting now so that we can help you create some magic in your life!

Visit to Yilan

I was planning to go to Bali for my vacation, but my friend Wanling invited me to visit Yilan and so at the last minute, I cancelled my plans. It's no big deal--I saved a lot of money, and I hear that during this time of year, Bali is full of Taiwanese people. Luckily, I can get that right here in Taiwan!

So, right before the New Year, some friends (including my friend Kenny, who grew up on St. Kitts, an island in the Carribean) and I got on a train to Yilan.











Kenny, Cynthia, and me posing in front of "Double Happiness".

Wanling took us to the Luodong Night Market. Kenny refused to eat the stinky tofu. I took a bite and just smiled, saying, "Oh, it's good, but I'm full already!"











Stuffing our faces with nightmarket food.

Yilan is very nice. It's quiet and has a suburban feel. I know that's not usually considered good, but after living in Taipei, at least for me and my friend Kenny, it hits the spot.











Here we are being Taiwanese.

At night, we went back to Wanling's house and sang karaoke with her mom. I sang a duet with her in Taiwanese.











Wanling, thanks for inviting us. You are the best!

Yao Consulting

Hello, and welcome to Yao Consulting. We are please to offer our services to the citizens of Taiwan. After consulting with ourselves, we decided that today was the most auspicious day to open our Taipei branch. We plan on opening additional branch offices in Taichung (台中), Pingtung (屏東), Hualien (花蓮), and Penghu (澎湖). I know these aren't exactly the financial centers of Taiwan, but we got an excellent deal on office space which we couldn't refuse.

First, a little about Yao Consulting. Yao Consulting was started over ten years ago in California by Ron Elkayam (姚凱元; Yao Kai Yuan). Yao has degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine from extremely prestigious academic institutions. Not one to rest upon academic accomplishments, Yao says that licenses and degrees are worthless if you don't actually help other people get results. And that he has.

Over the last decade, Yao has helped people find happiness, experience more joy, increase their financial worth tenfold, and bring more creativity and love into their lives.

Specifically, Yao has helped people in the following areas:

• Image Consultation

• Financial Wealth

• Love
  

• Career

• And much more!

Stay tuned for more information about Yao Consulting's services. In the meantime, if you have questions, don't hesitate to contact us. We'll be happy to help you.

The Art of Tea

Since coming to Taiwan and having been accepted as a government-sponsored foreign scholar, I have been doing some intense studying on several important subjects related to Chinese culture.

Initially, I thought I might speak about music stores with good listening stations in Taipei, but the Office of Traditional Costume and Fashion Research (part of the Ministry of Education, and also in charge of managing and costuming foreign scholars), gave that one a big "不行" ("no way, Jose").

So, today I will speak about tea.

In many ways, tea represents the essence of Chinese culture. Varieties of tea abound. You've got your greens, your wulongs, and your black teas, to make a long story short. In Taiwan, wulong teas are preferred. Green teas are mostly gotten from 7-11 in plastic bottles and also contain lots of sugar, or sometimes, you can find a cafe here or there that serves authentic tea from Japan.

But today, we are not here to talk about Japan. Or Korea. Did you know that in the United Nations registry of holidays, the Koreans recently claimed Dragon Boat Festival as their "authentic" Korean holiday. Oh, come on Koreans. Are you going to claim Thanksgiving, too, as your own? I bet you will, and will also have TV shows with pilgrims.

Anyway, I am getting off the topic.

Why tea? I once heard that while coffee is prose, tea is poetry. Doesn't that just rock, as analogies go? I mean, think about a novel, one that you can't put down, a classic, like, say, . That's a cup of coffee. It keeps you enthralled and entertained, and when you can't read it, you sort of go through withdrawal. I also think coffee is like rocket fuel. Soon after drink it, you feel like you can conquer the world.

But then there's tea. When I drink a cup of tea, it slowly.

Missing New York

I'm getting lunch in the basement of a big department store in Taipei, near the Zhongshan MRT station. I've ordered and am waiting for my chicken leg to be prepared and decide to walk around and guangjie yixia.

Maybe check out the fruitjuice booth, the tea shop, or the cheese- and black forest cakes neatly wrapped in clear plastic around the corner. The ladies in the sweet shops of these foodcourts always smile at me, hoping I'll buy some of their cakes. From their eyes, I know what they are thinking, "Oh my Heavens, this foreigner probably knows no Chinese, but maybe he will buy!"

There's hustling and bustling as people are taking a break from their New Year's vacation department store shopping.

As I turn a corner, making my way around a daydreamy teenage girl who is walking too slowly (probably thinking about her next haircut), a middle-aged man looks at me, smiles, and says, "Hello!" in a thick Chinese accent. I say hello back and he looks like he wants to talk some more. Does he want to practice his English?

Little does he know, he has found the king of "waiguoren who like to talk to Taiwanese strangers in public".

In English, he asks me what I am doing here. I try to use only English, but with his thick accent, I assume he won't understand, and so I throw in some Chinese. Even though my Chinese is not the greatest, I am not really used to speaking English these days, especially with middle-aged Taiwanese guys in department store foodcourts.

I tell him I am studying Chinese at Zhengda. I can see he is happy to meet an American and talk English. To my surprise, he tells me that he is American and lives in New York, that he hasn't lived in Taiwan for twenty years.

"Welcome to Taiwan!" I say, a little abruptly perhaps. I listen as he tells me more of what's on his mind. Prices are expensive here, he says. He likes the prices better in the States.

He is beaming, and perhaps will feel a little more himself today. I need to excuse myself to get my lunch, so I say goodbye. He pauses, smiles, and shakes my hand, and it almost seems that he doesn't want to say goodbye to me, a friendly face that reminds him of home in old New York.

Chinese New Year

It's Chinese New Year, and people are just starting to come back to Taiwan from their family homes all over Taiwan.

Last week, a friend invited me Taoyuan for New Year's Eve. Quite an honor. On Saturday afternoon, I got on the MRT to meet my friend's good friend Chi in downtown Taipei, and we would take a bus to Taoyuan. By the way, Chi is also my good friend and we sometimes talk about very, very secret things that not very many people talk about.

I had taken a shower and wore my nice clothes, and got on the train at the zoo near my house. There were like two other people on the whole train with me as I made the trek from Muzha in southern Taipei to where Chi was waiting for me. Taipei felt empty. Everyone, I later found it, packed into their cars, onto trains and buses, after finishing work on Friday afternoon.

By Saturday, when I got onto that train, everyone was already back in Kaohsiung, or Yilan, or Taichung, watching TV with their families, eating nuts, fruits, getting ready for a big dinner. While eating these snacks, firecrackers were going off everywhere in Taiwan, continuously. This is to keep away the big bad monster that threatens everyone's good fortune for the next year. His name is Nian, and I say, keep the explosions coming, because I'm for good fortune!

Chi and I were waiting for the bus on Minquan West Road on Saturday afternoon at about four. I had brought a bag of goodies for our hosts and Chi was checking it all out. In the meantime, the bus went by. Chi was a little flustered and told me that if she hadn't been checking out my chocolate, then we wouldn't have missed the bus. I like my friend Chi so much, that I told her that now and in the future, she is allowed to blame me for any kind of traffic-related lateness or even an accident or two. That's how much I like her!

It was no problem, as another bus came ten minutes later. We arrived in Taoyuan about a half-hour later and our friend Cecilia picked us up. She just got back from getting her MBA in Holland. She told me that it is not fair that Taiwanese parents will not hire her to teach English even though her English is good. Well, I sort of agree that it's not fair, if they are not hiring Taiwanese people who grew up in the States, but she grew up in Taiwan. So I gave her a hard time and told her that if I were a Chinese parent, well, I would want a native speaker, too, and I don't think it's discrimination.

I love languages, and the more I study Chinese, the more I come to love English. And the more I come to appreciate how languages contain so many cultural codes. And that to really learn a language, one has to live with it every day, hear it until it enters deeply the limbic part of your brain, until it becomes completely unconscious.

In every sentence, there are layer upon layer of meaning, nuance, feeling, and history. There are things that I can say to another native speaker that even proficient non-native speakers of English in Taiwan would have a hard time understanding. And, needless to say, the same thing happens the other way around, in Chinese.

Cecilia introduced us to her parents and we sat down to chat before dinner. I can't say that Chinese has fully entered my limbic system, but it is dancing around my cerebral cortex at most hours of the day (including in some of my dreams), and so I can hold a conversation with them. We have a little wulong tea.

Some more guests arrive, some friends of Cecilia who were from Holland. They have two beautiful children. Their Dad drives TGV trains in Europe, and is here teaching operators to use the new high-speed rail here in Taiwan. We chat about the project here in Taiwan and he explains that because of politicians, it is a big fucking mess. They are using Japanese trains and German tracks, or Japanese tracks and German trains or something like that, and the French guys can't talk to the Japanese guys.

Before we get too cozy in the living room, we are invited to the dinner table, and we feast. As we fill our bellies, I suggest we sing karaoke after dinner, and sure enough, Dad informs me that the family has a whole karaoke setup in the living room, complete with spinning colored lights.

I had been invited a few days earlier to visit my friend Wan Ling in Yilan, and after a group of us got back from the night market, her Mom joined us for snacks and a little plum wine in their den, where they had a high-tech karaoke machine and several songbooks with song codes. I sang "It's a Wonderful World" and then me and my friend Kenny sang "Uptown Girl". Afterwards, Wan Ling's mother asked us if all those "wooo-wooo-wooo's" were actually part of the song, and we told her that they were indispensibly so. We all laughed a lot.

Back to Taoyuan, where more karaoke is taking place. Some English songs, but mostly, Cecilia's parents are singing in Taiwanese, with a few Chinese songs. Cecilia's Dad has a great voice. He's always in key, and he's got an authentically raspy voice, as if he's smoked just the right number of cigarettes to make it sound cool. I especially like his rendition of the Chinese version of "My Way".

As midnight approaches, we all head out. I put on my shoes and thank my hosts repeatedly. The next morning, I'll need to get on a bus to head to the south. My student has invited me to spend time with her family in Kaohsiung.

I arrive at home at one in the morning, and start packing. My phone alarm rings at eight, and I make some tea, eat the tea eggs I bought yesterday at 7-11, get dressed, and walk down the mountain, getting ready for meeting another Taiwanese family.

There's certain to be a lot of food, smiles, a few cute Taiwanese kids, and as always, too much complimenting me on my Chinese. I don't have family in Taiwan, but somehow, people come forward, and they take care of me, they feed me, laugh with me.

Yehoram Gaon in Muzha

It is late up here on the mountain. The roosters will start crowing in a few hours. It's okay. I'm on break from school.

For some reason, when I hit iTunes tonight, it started playing some Israeli music, the famous Yehoram Gaon. To me, he is the voice of Israeli. He is sing old songs about Israel's beauty.

Up here in Muzha, halfway around the world, I couldn't be farther from the Galil or Jerusalem, physically or spiritually.

There was a point in my life, a long, long time ago, when I wanted to live in Israel. What would my life be like now?

Instead, I am here in Taiwan, learning Chinese.

Virginia

I take a break from studying in a cafe today and go outside for some air. There's a guy with a small fruit stand right in front, and I see he has some oranges and a press for making juice. I ask him for a cup of orange ( 柳橙; liu cheng) juice. As he is pressing the juice, I see that his sign reads 柳丁 (liu ding).

"What's the difference between 'liu cheng' and 'liu ding'?" I ask him. As usual in Taiwan, I am pretty good at asking questions, but I don't always manage to fully understand the answer. I think he says 'liu cheng' is more sour. I pick up an orange and decide that 'liu ding' is a valencia juicing orange. I know 'liu cheng' is not a tangerine, because that is 'ju zi', so maybe 'liu cheng' is a naval orange. It might take me a few more years to get all the different kinds of oranges. As you can see, Chinese is hard.

An old man with grey hair is standing and watching me get my Chinese lesson on oranges and he has a kind, grandfatherly smile. I look at him.

"You speak Chinese," he says.

"A little, but not as good as your English," I respond. As you can see, I am becoming Taiwanese, developing my flattering ways. "Where did you learn?" I assume he was a professor who did graduate work in Ohio in 1957, or an engineer who was trained in Michigan in the 60s. Or something like that.

"I was in the army and I worked in the States, in Virginia," he says.

I wonder what was going through his mind as he was looking at me before I noticed him. Did I remind him of an American soldier he once knew? Was he thinking about his life when he was younger, stronger, full of hope? What did he hope for back then? What has he lost since then? What has he gained?

He raises his hand and says "goodbye" in a soft, polite voice.

"Goodbye," I say, and smile at him.

The First Meeting of the Taiwanese Association for Peace in the Middle East (Muzha Chapter)

When you live in California, it's not often that you meet real Iraqi citizens. But when you live in Taiwan, you can meet a few right here in Muzha, studying Chinese with you at the National Chengchi University School of Mandarin Studies.

We students at the Hua Yu Ban (華語班) have all seen each other at least once, but we don't all know each other. Today, while walking on the Zhinan Rd. Bridge, I saw a nice couple whom I had seen before. They look Middle Eastern, and I had been wanting to introduce myself to them.

For those of you who don't know, my father is from Morocco and both my parents grew up in Israel. I feel I have a deep connection with the Middle East. Made me want to help start a band band in Berkeley, California that plays traditional Arab music (www.zaatar.web.com), which I did, along with my good friend John.

I am also a friendly guy and am interested in learning about all cultures, all of which made me want to say hi.

Walking on the sidewalk next to them, I said hello and asked them where they are from. "Iraq," they replied.

"Keyfa haluka (hello)," I said to them in my best Arabic accent. They asked me where I am from, and I said California. I told them that my father is from Al Magreb, Morocco. When I said this, the girl's face lit up, as if she were meeting family. I introduced myself and they told me their names were Bruah and Kisha.

"So you are muslim?" Bruah asked.

"No, ana yahud (I am Jewish)," I replied. It was amusing to see Kisha's reaction this time, which was an obvious frown. I am sure she had no idea what her facial expression looked like.

"You know, I don't support my country's government," I said.

"Why not?" Bruah asked me.

"Because they are killing people, and perhaps they got rid of Saddam, but I don't think they would have done it if there weren't oil there," I said.

"We are Kurds," Bruah informed me, "so we are glad that the US got rid of Saddam, but there are things we don't like about the US government."

I told Bruah and Kisha that I play Arabic music in California, "I play tabla (Arabic hand drum)", and Muslims and Jews and Christians all come to our concerts and they dance and enjoy the music together.

I continued: "I believe that people are good and that it is the governments of the world that pit one people against another. I have good Palestinian friends and we all know that there is no reason we should hate each other. It's certainly not because of religion."

Bruah told me that Islam does not permit terrorism and that if someone is good, he likes them; if someone is bad he hates them. He, too, doesn't believe that just because you are a Jew or a Christian that he as a Muslim should hate you. "How about you, how do you feel about Islam?" he asked me.

I told him that all the Muslims I have met are good people, and that I know that the true message of Islam is about peace.

I then took his hand and I said, "Bruah, you are my brother." And I looked at Kisha, "You are my sister." It doesn't matter what religion we are.

We had walked a few blocks together, and they needed to turn the corner, and so we said goodbye.

I'm glad we got a chance to talk.