Sunday, September 30, 2007

Hardware Store Meditation

My friend Ted is not only a certified enlightened Tibetan Buddhist, but also makes a good casserole. He is also letting me crash at his place while I'm in Berkeley. May the Karmapa bless you, Ted Rinpoche.

Ted's place is in the Berkeley Hills. It's beautiful. Raspberries and plums grow in the garden. Mice scurry in the wooden rafters at night while I crash on the couch. The dogs howl and every morning, a persian cats strolls through the garden on his way home after a night of partying. The other morning, there was a flock of wild turkeys in his driveway.

The only thing that needs fixing at Ted's cottage is his shower. You see, after you shower, the floor gets all soggy--the flimsy shower curtain isn't enough. Since I like doing handyman kinds of things, and I like helping out my friends, I decided to pick up a few pieces of plastic that you can install on the edges of the tub so that water doesn't spill over and make a mess.

So, I go to the hardware store yesterday to pick up the supplies. I walk in and ask an employee in a red company vest which aisle. She doesn't know, so she asks another employee in a red vest and he sends me downstairs. I go downstairs. I see another guy in a red vest and ask him.

I smell alcohol on his breath immediately and describe what I need. "Well, let me show you because you don't know what you are talking about."

"Okay," I think. This is going to be fun. I am amused and say to him, "Well, you are the expert, so show me what I need!" He takes me over and shows me the plastic pieces. I ask him if I need glue and he says, "upstairs."

I thank him, grab my shower shields, and go back upstairs. I ask someone to recommend a glue, but she doesn't know which one is best, so she asks another employee. He asks me what I need and I tell him I need glue for the plastic pieces I just bought.

"Downstairs," he tells me.

"Okay," I think. I go downstairs and look for the glue, but don't see it. I turn around to drunk employee number one, who is now talking to helpful but confused employee number two. "Where is the glue?" I ask.

Employee one says it is upstairs, just like he did before. Employee two says, "Oh, I thought you needed to know where to get those plastic shields." I say to him, "Why do I need these? I have them, in my hand." I'm not really mad, I just feel like I am on some hidden camera TV show.

So, I go upstairs, and someone recommends the right glue, and I pay and get out of there.

On my way out, I spot whiskey-breathed employee number one lighting up a cigarette on a break. I smile at him, "So how long should I let the glue dry before I can use my shower?" I ask.

"Oh, a day," he says.

"Don't get into any trouble today!" I say, laughing.

He smiles big. "Okay!" he says.

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Employees of the Month Award

My friend Ted is not only a certified enlightened Tibetan Buddhist, but also makes a good casserole. He is also letting me crash at his place while I'm in Berkeley. May the Karmapa bless you, Ted Rinpoche.

Ted's place is in the Berkeley Hills. It's beautiful. Raspberries and plums grow in the garden. Mice scurry in the wooden rafters at night while I crash on the couch. The dogs howl and every morning, a persian cats strolls through the garden on his way home after a night of partying.

The only thing that needs fixing is Ted's shower. You see, after you shower, the floor gets all soggy--the flimsy shower curtain isn't enough. Since I like doing handyman kinds of things, and I like helping out my friends, I decided to pick up a few pieces of plastic that you can install on the edges of the tub so that water doesn't spill over and make a mess.

So, I go to the hardware store yesterday to pick up the supplies. I walk in and ask an employee in a red company vest which aisle. She doesn't know, so she asks another employee in a red vest and he sends me downstairs. I go downstairs. I see another guy in a red vest and ask him.

I smell alcohol on his breath immediately and describe what I need. "Well, let me show you because you don't know what you are talking about."

"Okay," I think. This is going to be fun. Inside I smile and say to him, "Well, you are the expert, so show me what I need!" He takes me over and shows me the plastic pieces. I ask him if I need glue and he says, "upstairs."

I thank him, grab my shower shields, and go back upstairs. I ask someone to recommend a glue, but she doesn't know which one is best, so she asks another employee. He asks me what I need and I tell him I need glue for the plastic pieces I just bought.

"Downstairs," he tells me.

"Okay," I think. I go downstairs and look for the glue, but don't see it. I turn around to drunk employee number one, who is now talking to helpful but confused employee number two. "Where is the glue?" I ask.

Employee one says it is upstairs, just like he did before. Employee two says, "Oh, I thought you needed to know where to get those plastic shields." I say to him, "Why do I need these? I have them, in my hand." I'm not really mad, I just feel like I am on some hidden camera TV show.

So, I go upstairs, and someone recommends the right glue, and I pay and get out of there.

On my way out, I spot whiskey-breathed employee number one lighting up a cigarette on a break. I smile at him, "So how long should I let the glue dry before I can use my shower?" I ask.

"Oh, a day," he says.

I am laughing, "Don't get into any trouble today!" I say.

He smiles big and says, "okay."

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Taiwanese Ladies in Cafe Gratitude

Today, I had lunch with my friend Ross at a very Bay Area establishment, Cafe Gratitude. It's a restaurant that serves vegan food (no animal products) with a new age flair. I ordered Pesto Pizza, which on the menu is called "You are Sensational." So when the waitress brought our food to the table, she says "You are Sensational?" and I said "Yes!"

Even though there are some organic restaurants in Taiwan, there's just nothing like Gratitude there. So, while I am here in the Bay Area, I figure I better get my fill of organic-hippie-granola culture.

Ross and I had a great time catching up. Although I answered his questions about what it was like in Taiwan, I couldn't quite convey to him what it was like to live there. I don't know if it is possible to explain it in words to anyone who hasn't been there.

As we were talking, I noticed that a group of older Taiwanese women sat down next to us and began speaking in Chinese. I recognized their accent.

When Ross and I got up to leave, I turned and asked them: "好不好吃?" ("How's the food?"). Ross saw my big smile (and their's) as we started to speak in Chinese. They asked me to sit down and we talked for five minutes.

Outside of the restaurant, Ross and I say goodbye, and for once, magically, one of my friends here gets a taste of my life in Taiwan.

Aikido Time Machine to the Past

While living in Taiwan, a few months ago, I found out that my first two aikido teachers (both well-known in California) were teaching a workshop. Since I knew I would back in the States then, I signed up.

I found aikido just out of college, and I trained instensely with my teachers at least three times a week. I would finish my job in a law firm in San Francisco's Financial District and practice with my aikido buddies. About a year and a half later, I moved to Berkeley and never found a teacher near me with whom I connected as deeply as I had with my teachers in San Francisco, so I stopped practicing. But, aikido and my teachers had already touched me deeply.

For years, I always had the calligraphy of aikido's founder, Morihei Uyeshiba (O'Sensei) on my wall above a small altar I had in my living room. And on the altar I had a book of his sayings. Even though I wasn't practicing on the mat, I remember the lessons my teachers taught me and tried to embody them in everything I did.

I didn't know what it would feel like to practice with them again. Would I want to stay here in the Bay Area to continue my aikido practice with them? Would I feel deeply moved? Would it be an incredible experience, a high?

Fortunately, I have been practicing aikido for the past year in Taiwan, so I was confident that at least I would be able to do all the techniques. I figured my old teachers would remind me of the deeper principles of aikido: being one with your attacker, staying present in the technique instead of trying to "win", allowing ki/chi (energy) to flow through you during the technique. These were the things we practiced so hard in the old days.

My teachers looked a little older, but their words and teaching were the same as they were so many years ago. It has been over ten years since I trained with them, and it felt like I had entered a time machine and went back in time, like meeting an old girlfriend I was in love with a long time ago. My teacher even told me that I hadn't aged, in fact, that I looked younger. (As we say in English, flattery will get you everywhere.)

The workshop was fun, but it wasn't the peak experience that I thought it might be. After it ended, I felt incredible gratitude for both of my dear teachers, remembering what a large influence they had on me at a very important time in my life. At the same time, I realized how much I had changed and grown, how much had happened in my life since then.

I talked to them briefly to thank them, then quickly dressed and left.

On the way home, I went to get a haircut and it happened that the woman who cut my hair was from Taiwan. We spoke in Chinese and she was very friendly. I had visited the past today, and this haircut brought me back to my present, living in Asia, studying Chinese, studying aikido, getting ready to study more medicine.

For the first time that day, I had a big smile and was beaming.

Stop and Take the Time to Listen to the Guitar Music

Today, I am riding my bike on College Avenue to the cafe where I'll check my email. It's getting close to dinner time, but still sunny and warm. I park and lock my bike in front of the produce store with the fruit and flowers in the front and notice there's a musician playing classical Spanish guitar on the sidewalk.

I stand there and listen to him play. I have always loved this kind of music and it hypnotizes me. The way children are always hypnotized by music. There's something essential about it for us human beings, sort of like how dogs are always transfixed by smells.

He is playing something familiar, sounds like a piece I know by a famous Spanish composer whose name I have forgotten. I stand there in the late afternoon sun while highly educated North Oakland professionals rush by, perhaps picking up takeout for their kids or going to a yoga class.

After he finishes the piece, I ask him who wrote it, and he tells me Albeniz. Yes, Albeniz, that's it! "What's his most famous piece?" I ask. He starts playing Leyenda, Albeniz's most famous piece adapted for guitar.

I will go in a few minutes, off to check my email, but not before I put a couple of dollars in his hat, and hopefully he'll continue to do this for a long time.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Practicing Taiwanese at the Supermarket

I go with my mom to the supermarket. A store employee helps us bag our few items. His name tag says "Chen" and he's Chinese.

I can't help asking, "You speak Chinese?"

"Yes, I am from Taiwan."

I start speaking to him in Chinese. I insert the little Taiwanese I know. He starts talking to me in Taiwanese, but I tell him to that I don't speak Taiwanese, just a few words.

I am happy. I tell him I just lived in Taiwan for a year, that I am here visiting my mom.

"Welcome!" he says in Chinese.

I want to come back everyday and talk to him

The US Open

My sister gets us tickets to the last day of the US Open, and on Sunday, we head out to Queens to catch the Men's Finals. When we arrive, the Women's doubles are just finishing.

Taiwan's Chan/Chuang are playing Dechy (France)/Safina (Russian). I see the Taiwanese players in red, and I am rooting for them. I feel like I know them. I feel that if we went out to dinner, we would have a good time, talking about Taiwan.

Every time they score, or every time they mess up, they come together and give each other a quick handslap. I want them to win.

They remind me that I miss Taiwan. Fortunately, I am wearing my sunglasses, so nobody can see my eyes, tearing up a little.

Chinatown New York


In Taiwan, I spoke Chinese every day. Perhaps not the most articulate Chinese, but I was able to tell all my juicy secrets to several Taiwanese friends using the words contained in my textbook, Practical Audio-Visual Chinese, Volumes 1, 2, and the first eight chapters of Volume 3. Oh, I also threw in some slang for effect, taught to me by my hip Taiwanese friends.

However, having been in the States for two weeks so far, I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to practice my Chinese, except for my thirty minute conversation with my friend Michael, who is another Jewish acupuncturist who lives on the West Coast. If you are Taiwanese, you would have loved to listen to our conversation. Two laowai talking Chinese. Very entertaining.

You could say that I have been a little thirsty to speak Chinese. So, when my mother and I went to New York this past weekend, I thought I might have an opportunity to go to Chinatown and practice, quench that thirst a little, perhaps.

We stayed in Tribeca, where many famous, beautiful, and glamorous people live, including: Gwyneth Paltrow, Scarlett Johansson, Kate Winslet, Meryl Streep... oh, and let's not forget my sister, Alona.

On Saturday, my Mom and I took a walk from Tribeca to Chinatown, which is actually only about a ten minute walk, maybe fifteen minutes. I was so happy to see sign after sign in Chinese. Remember, I am still experiencing culture shock after having lived in Taiwan for a year. In the States, there are so many big white people, and so much correct English! I'm not used to it.

As I do in Taiwan, I look up and start trying to read the street signs, the billboards, the Chinese calligraphy on windows and above stores. I really do miss it all, even though it makes my head spin.

Our plan is to get some tea before we grab a cab to meet my sister in the East Village. We walk, and I keep my eyes open for a traditional teahouse.

My mom tells me to wait while she goes into a store that sells knick-knacks from Asia, like wooden reflexology sandals that have small raised wooden "fingers" which massage the soles of your feet while you walk.

The shop is a big stall--there is no door. The shopkeeper sits behind a table. He's in his 30's, Chinese, perhaps my age, and he's facing me. His expression is focused, and as I look at him, he looks straight ahead. He doesn't talk to me even though I am a customer looking right at him. I wonder if he is Chinese mafia and paid to look tough. But as I stand there, I realize there is a tape recorder next to him repeating sentences in Chinese and in English.

"I am studying English" the woman on the tape recorder says. "我在學英文" she repeats in Chinese. I realize that my opportunity to speak Chinese is here.

I smile and ask him in Chinese, "So, are you studying English?"

He is surprised to hear a laowai speak Chinese, and he goes from mafia-face to smile. He tells me he is studying English because he wants to get a green card and become a US citizen. He compliments me on my Chinese ("很表準"). As usual, I reply that my Chinese is actually not that good, but thanks for the compliment.

I ask him where there's a good place to get some tea. He tells me that around the corner there's a cheap place. We say goodbye, and I walk out with my mother. I am so happy to finally speak Chinese!

Later, I go to the tea place and I tell the kid I want some wulong tea. He tells me there are no tapioca pearls (珍珠; zhen zhu) in the kind of tea I have just ordered. I know this. I don't want zhen zhu in my cha. That's for kids. So I say, "不要,不要"("I don't want them!").

In Chinese, he responds, "You want it hot?(熱的嗎?)"

"Yes, 對," I reply, "Hot, 熱的."

My mother is waiting for me outside. We've got to get a cab and meet my sister in the Village, but I'm a little less parched, and am ready for our next adventure in the US of A.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

The Food Essay


One of my English students in Taiwan returns from a business trip in the Netherlands and tells me that she is so happy to be back. "Why?" I ask.

If you are Taiwanese, you know the anwer.

"The food. I had to eat hamburgers, sandwiches, and pasta every day" she says, whining a little bit.

If you are not Taiwanese, I will educate you a little now.

If you are foreign, you think, "Taiwanese food, not bad, maybe a little oily sometimes, but sometimes pretty good." A burger or a sandwich every once in a while is necessary to ease the monotomy, but, you know, it's not terrible.

However, if you are Taiwanese, you love Taiwanese food. You could eat at Maxim's in Paris every day for a month, and you'd still be pining for some niu rou mian (牛肉麵, beef noodle soup) with a little manguo bing (芒果冰, mango on ice) for dessert. Such is the nature of human beings.

Food brings us home. We remember those meals our grandmother made us when we were kids. If you feel nostalgic for home, you can always make yourself some traditional dishes, right?

And so, I am home. I spend the weekend with my dear grandmother. She makes me the most incredible food. My food. Jewish food. Hummus, baba ghanoush, borscht, meatloaf, her homemade pie, a Middle Eastern lentil salad, all served with pita.




It's all fresh, simple. A world away from Taiwan. Grandma smiles as I eat all her food, as I thank her profusely.

"I'm going to get fat," I tell her.

"Nobody loses weight in my house," she quickly responds.

I am back home.

Good People Abound, Everywhere


I'm back in the States, as all my fans (!) know. It's strange not to speak Chinese everyday. No old guys on their bin lang (穦榔) buzz talking Taiwanese. No Taiwanese ladies fixing oil-laden dan bing (蛋餅; egg crepes fried in about a gallon of oil) for breakfast, saying "Your Chinese is getting a lot better." And no 7-11s, where I can always pick up a cha ye dan (茶葉蛋; hard boiled tea eggs) or two. Taiwan, I miss you.

My friend Michael, another American acupuncturist on a mission, asks me about my experience of American people since I've been back. I think for a second and realize that I haven't really been spending much time with "American people"--I've been spending time with my dear family, and I am happy to see them. But I do notice that Americans are friendly and willing to talk and joke with you, even if they don't know you, like the flight attendant on the flight back from Tokyo, joking with the passengers ("Oh, you're one of those passengers--difficult!" she joked, with a big smile.)

I must be becoming Asian, as I think, "Wow, these Americans are a little guo fen (過分; too much)." On the other hand, as I told Michael, it's refreshing.

Since I am here in Virginia visiting my mother, I find a dojo (道館) nearby where I can practice aikido. We all know, without aikido, life is not worth living. Right? And so, this evening I set off to the local dojo to practice this noble art. On the way there, I think I have missed a turn, and so I stop at a gas station to ask.

I pull up to a pump and asked the lady in front of me directions, and she kindly tells me that I have one more block to go, in other words, I am on the right track. And so, thanking her much, I get back in my car (actually, my mother's car), and try to start it.

Uh-oh. I find I can't. The battery seemed to be dead. The only thing I can hink about is that I have aikido class nearby in fifteen minutes, and need to get there. And so I decide to just park the car in the gas station's parking lot for a few hours, run to class, and come back at 9 p.m. and deal with the battery issue later.

An Indian man sees me pushing my car into the parking space and offers to help. We get it there, and he asks if I have jumper cables. I tell him no. "Do you?" I ask hopefully. Alas, he doesn't. However, a guy walking by hears us, "Did you guys say jumper cables?"

I am happy. This guy has jumper cables in his truck, and he wants to do a good deed. "Do you have cables?" I ask. "Yes," he says. I'm in luck.

In Taiwan, I always have a lucky star overhead. I find out that she hasn't abandoned me. Thanks, lucky star.

After I get my mom's car's battery charged, I profusely thank this nice tatooed man who just helped me (and his wife, too, who is in the truck) and I am off. I need to get to aikido.

I know that after I park the car and turn it off at aikido, I will have a problem later, but I don't care. I need to get to aikido, and hopefully, my lucky star will still be there during and after practice.

Thank you lucky star.

Since we are near Washington D.C., I find there are a few military people practicing. The teacher asks me where I have been practicing and I tell him I have been in Taiwan for the past year.

"State Department?" he asks.

"No, Chinese Medicine Department," I respond.

We practice, all of us aikido brothers and sisters, and like an old friend, aikido says, "Welcome back, I am always here for you." I meet new friends. I learn some things. I exercise and sweat.

After practice, I know my mom's car will need a jump start. And so, I hang around and ask if anyone has jumper cables. Surprisingly, nobody does, even the military guys. I check in my mother's car. No jumper cables.

The retired Air Force pilot says he lives nearby and would be willing to stop by his house to pick up cables. I thank him, and we head to his place and then return with a flashlight and cables.

Within five minutes, I am back on the road, back to my mother's house. It's a good welcome back to America.

There are good people everywhere.