One thing I'll always remember from sixth grade was my social studies teacher, Mrs. Diamond. She looked old enough to have witnessed the crossing of the Delaware river and she ran a tight ship. Especially when compared to the cool, new, young math teacher who was closer to my age than to most of her colleagues, Mrs. Diamond scared kids.
Showing posts with label Taiwan customs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taiwan customs. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
"The History and Evolution of the Peace Sign"
I just found this video, thought you'd like to see it:
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
A Material (Under)World
Today when I was driving my scooter home, once on the little alleys and lanes near my apartment, it became necessary to start weaving and zig-zagging around clusters of people watching paper burn in metal wastebaskets.
Enter "Ghost Month," or the 7th month of the Lunar Year
Monday, July 26, 2010
Celebs?
For the most part, I've gotten really used to daily life in Taiwan. The scooters, the sugary bread, the questionable street-side cuisine, the signs I can't read, the lot of it. For the past 14 or so months, I've come to terms with it and I'm hardly phased.
Some of the Taiwanese, however, can't meet me half way on that front.
Trips to the supermarket, certain restaurants, and just about everywhere in Taipei are hardly ever uneventful. I still get that paranoid feeling that everybody is staring at me because I'm a foreigner. By definition, though, it's not paranoia. I don't have a baseless or excessive suspicion of the motives of others. They are actually staring at me.
Eyes of children are locked on target with mouths stuck open as I walk down the aisle at the store. They creep to safety behind a parent's leg without ever disengaging their curious stare.
On the subway, children peer through limbs down the car at the strange looking man with no hair and whose skin has a pinkish hue. I've seen a child whisper something to her mother while pointing at me, and her mother gently slapped her hand. I can't even imagine what she was saying.
Another encounter with children involves them being forced by their parents to come and say "hello" to the foreigner to practice their English. Then it's time to throw on a quick smile that I thought I had abandoned at 3:30 on Friday afternoon.
I get it. Kids worldwide are ignorantly shameless when it comes to pointing and staring. In all fairness, compared to a place like the U.S., it doesn't seem like Taiwanese kids get exposure to as diverse a population at such an early age. It's just that I kind of wish they would grow out of the fascination...
"Ah-scuse me. May I take picture wiss you?"
I'm walking through the subway station with Mike. Two high school aged looking Taiwanese girls come up to us with that question. We look at each other with identical puzzled expressions. We say "sure." The girls giggle, turn around and about eight other girls appear from the crowd and surround us. Once the camera appears, pinkies, ring fingers, and thumbs instinctively fold down due to years of conditioning. The giggling continues as they walk away, passing the camera around and inspecting the pictures, which I'm sure contain a Canadian and an American with "What the (expletive) is happening right now?" looks across their faces.
Without exaggerating, I'd estimate this happens on a monthly basis (twice in 10 minutes at a museum one time). It's always the same routine: send the cutest, most confident one of the group, and after compliance, swarm the foreigners with "peace sign" two fingers already glued to their faces in "cute" pose.
One of my favorite things to do is imagine if something like this happened back home. A group high schoolers (girls and boys alike) see an Asian person at the train station and run up to them to take their picture. Will somebody please try that and let me know how it goes?
(the lack of "peace signs" in this picture is almost creepy...)
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
To flush, or not to flush?
***Disclaimer: If you are eating, I'd recommend checking back later. We're discussing bathroom etiquette today.
In many stalls in many bathrooms throughout Taiwan, there is a little trash can situated next to the toilet. It is apparently widely understood that, upon completing what we can refer to as "#2," the tissue should be placed in the trash can, and not flushed down the toilet.
(It's about to get graphic...)
This custom raises a lot of questions and crosses many, many moral boundaries. I understand the fear of clogging the pipes, but honestly, if what I just flushed can make it through the plumbing, then a little bit of wet paper should have no problem following it. I'm just sayin'.
And here's another thing: I don't want to smell, and I REALLY don't want to see the remnants of your business while I'm taking care of mine. It's a bit nauseating, to say the least. Along those same lines, Taiwan has some really interesting, greasy foods that sometimes don't agree with my stomach. Therefore, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you also don't want to have to look at my very own oil-spill clean up efforts. It's just gross, and we'll leave it at that.
If you are one of those 50 people (because let's be honest, at least 30 of those views are from me), please continue reading:
When researching for this post, I stumbled across this Reuters article. If you aren't interested in clicking it, look here:
It's called "Flush so we don't blush, Taiwan city says," with {commentary from me!}
(Reuters) - A city in south Taiwan began training potty users this week to flush toilet paper instead of throwing it in the trash, to reduce 340 tonnes of stinky waste generated daily, local media and officials said on Tuesday. {Potty training?? Is the bowl so small that they need to practice their aim?}
"An old habit is to throw toilet paper in the trash can beside the toilet, which causes a major stink that's bad for public sanitation," city Environmental Protection Bureau Director Chang Hwang-jen told Reuters.
"Japanese and Western visitors {That's me!!} who come to Taiwan find this Taiwan toilet habit to be quite poor," she added.
Taiwan's plumbing can now handle toilet paper without clogging the pipes, a break from the past, the city of Tainan told its 764,000 citizens at a news conference {was the conference called for this reason only? because that's awesome} on Monday.
Leaders in other Taiwan cities haven't gotten off the pot on the issue, Chang said. {haha, I get it!}
Toilet sitters in Taiwan and China customarily target {implying they don't always hit it?} trash bins instead of the porcelain because of pipe backup worries. Clogged pipes in Tainan are caused by the flushing of other objects, such as toothbrushes, Chang said.
Sticking non-recyclable toilet paper in the trash also costs the city T$4,600 ($151) per tonne, or T$600 million per year, to treat, local media said. {that's basically like wiping your ass with dolla bills.}
This article is almost 2 years old, and I can assure you that not everyone has converted. This is my effort to spread the word.
Well, Taiwan. The ball is in your court, and the paper is in your hand. Where do you want to put it?
(and stop flushing toothbrushes down the toilet...)
Extended reading: http://www.poopreport.com/Techniques/good_ass_bad_ass.html
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Obstacle Course
I'm not saying that Taiwanese people are completely oblivious to personal space/their surroundings, but they're somewhere between that and hyper-aware.
If you'd like, you can attribute some of this ranting to the fact that most of the situations happen in the morning on the way to work, so I might be a little cranky. My only argument is that it's not the only time of day it happens.
There are quite a few people that start their daily commute at around 8:00 AM, including myself. Living on the 23rd floor (out of a possible 24), I'm usually the first one on the elevator. I also usually plan for the elevator taking an extra 3 or 4 minutes to get to the 1st floor, since we stop. at. every. floor. on. the. way. down. Being the first one aboard the elevator, I inevitably end up in the back. This morning, as 1 of 7 passengers, I was the only one getting off on the 1st floor. The rest were waiting for B1, B2, or B3 to get to their vehicles. However, when the elevator stopped at the 1st floor, not a single person thought anyone would want to get off. Even as I tried to politely say "excuse me" and squeeze my way to the doors, everybody in the mirror-walled elevator pretended not to see or hear me. They were content with not pushing the "<||>" button and letting me join them in the basement. With a fair amount of force, I finally broke free from my corner and made it to the door just as it closed on my shoulders, then spit me out, and I stumbled outside.
I shook my head in disbelief the whole way to work as I dodged fellow pedestrians on the sidewalk. And when I say "sidewalk," I really mean "scooter parking area." The space between a row of parked scooters and the wall of a building is just big enough for an average sized person to fit. In Taiwan, these areas are used as pit stops so you can adjust your shoe, put up/down your umbrella, decide to suddenly start walking like a snail, or, my favorite, wait with 4 other people for your breakfast. Amazing.
Rainy days are the most interesting days because every single person has an umbrella. Just another thing to not be aware of how big it is or how it's going to affect other people around you.
On the bright side, walking to work wakes me up because it forces me to be alert and think outside the box for solutions to what seem like easy problems. I'm just sayin'...
[by the way... thanks for all the comment love! I think the joke was lost in translation, but I wasn't just fishing for responses or for you to say you miss me. I know you do! All 10 of you!!!]
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Right of Passage
I think now that I've been here for over a year, I can start to vent some pet peeves and idiosyncrasies about Taiwan. Every place has them, and most probably aren't exclusively practiced in one place, so that makes it fair to point them out.
When navigating your way through Taipei's train/subway system, the "right of way" is granted exclusively to those pedestrians boarding the train/subway car. And in crowded Taipei, there are a lot of people trying to board trains. As soon as the car doors open, they simultaneously drop their shoulders and try squeeze through.
Here's the issue: You're heading into the city and Taipei Main Station is your stop. You and everybody else in the train are bunched together in a cluster at the door, they slide open and you're met by a frenzied group of juggernauts that have no regard for you, each other, or anything but the inside of that train. They can't put it together that the train passengers need to "alight" before they can get on. But they try to make it happen anyway.
So the typical situation is you standing in the doorway with nowhere to go. You are a stone in rapids, a rioter against a fire hose, Simba against stampeding wildebeests. Frozen in place, catching shoulder after shoulder to the chest until somebody realizes that if people get off, there will be more room on the train.
What may be even more obnoxious is that it also happens on a smaller scale. In my building, when I take the elevator down to the 1st floor, where it's quite obvious that I'm getting off, I'm never surprised to be in a 1-on-1 battle with somebody who insists on getting in the elevator before I get out.
To be fair, I don't think everyone in Taiwan does this.
When navigating your way through Taipei's train/subway system, the "right of way" is granted exclusively to those pedestrians boarding the train/subway car. And in crowded Taipei, there are a lot of people trying to board trains. As soon as the car doors open, they simultaneously drop their shoulders and try squeeze through.
Here's the issue: You're heading into the city and Taipei Main Station is your stop. You and everybody else in the train are bunched together in a cluster at the door, they slide open and you're met by a frenzied group of juggernauts that have no regard for you, each other, or anything but the inside of that train. They can't put it together that the train passengers need to "alight" before they can get on. But they try to make it happen anyway.
So the typical situation is you standing in the doorway with nowhere to go. You are a stone in rapids, a rioter against a fire hose, Simba against stampeding wildebeests. Frozen in place, catching shoulder after shoulder to the chest until somebody realizes that if people get off, there will be more room on the train.
What may be even more obnoxious is that it also happens on a smaller scale. In my building, when I take the elevator down to the 1st floor, where it's quite obvious that I'm getting off, I'm never surprised to be in a 1-on-1 battle with somebody who insists on getting in the elevator before I get out.
To be fair, I don't think everyone in Taiwan does this.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Parallel Universe
The weather is changing. It's getting warmer. That's great, except that means the kids are getting sick. Every kid needs a mask.
At lunch time, the masks are next to the bowls as the students are hurried to finish their rice and vegetables, interrupted only by getting up to take a tissue to dam the constant flow of snot.
One by one, they finish and bring their bowls to my co-teacher for soup, then take a piece of fruit.
"If you're sick, you don't eat the fruit," she orders. Caught off-guard by that statement, I glanced over at the tray of fruit. It was orange slices...
I proceeded to ask about why, when the kids are sick, they are to be deprived of oranges, or any fruit for that matter. I got a brief lesson in how cold fruit when you are sick is bad "chi," which apparently trumps any scientific proof about the nutrition of an orange.
So the healthy kids eat oranges, and the sick kids finish their soup and the masks go back on.
I scratched my head over this for the whole day, and pretty much forgot about until the next morning. The breakfast tray came into the class and it was full of cake. Each student got a slice of cake that had some sort of pudding filling.
Once I was reassured that the kids needed to drink some water after they finished their cake, I confirmed with my co-teacher that they weren't going to be eating any fruit that day.
Amazing...
At lunch time, the masks are next to the bowls as the students are hurried to finish their rice and vegetables, interrupted only by getting up to take a tissue to dam the constant flow of snot.
One by one, they finish and bring their bowls to my co-teacher for soup, then take a piece of fruit.
"If you're sick, you don't eat the fruit," she orders. Caught off-guard by that statement, I glanced over at the tray of fruit. It was orange slices...
I proceeded to ask about why, when the kids are sick, they are to be deprived of oranges, or any fruit for that matter. I got a brief lesson in how cold fruit when you are sick is bad "chi," which apparently trumps any scientific proof about the nutrition of an orange.
So the healthy kids eat oranges, and the sick kids finish their soup and the masks go back on.
I scratched my head over this for the whole day, and pretty much forgot about until the next morning. The breakfast tray came into the class and it was full of cake. Each student got a slice of cake that had some sort of pudding filling.
Once I was reassured that the kids needed to drink some water after they finished their cake, I confirmed with my co-teacher that they weren't going to be eating any fruit that day.
Amazing...
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Fountain of Youth
Well, I finally discovered why Asians age so well. Fortunately, it's not the squid, the stinky tofu, or the chicken feet. There's a simple practice that we can all take part in to make ourselves look younger: Lying.
After a lengthy conversation with my co-teacher about age recognition in Chinese culture, I found out that although I am actually only 23 years old, in Chinese years I am going to be 24 this Chinese New Year.
Years, as we know them, are based on the solar calendar, giving us 365 days. Contrary to the system used by the rest of the world, the Chinese use a lunar system, so the "years" aren't ever the same length. (Even on official documents at banks they use the lunar years. It is currently the year 98, marking the 98th year since the founding of the Republic of China.) Chinese New Year usually falls between January 20 and February 20.
The Year of the Tiger
Back to the age thing... it's to my understanding (making this not very credible at all) that everybody gets a year older at the start of the new lunar year. For example, my 24th birthday falls during this upcoming lunar year, so for this entire lunar year (Feb.-Feb.), I will be 24. In my situation, for 10 months I would be saying I'm older than I am according to the solar calendar. Tricky, right?
Some of the very traditional Chinese are also convinced that you are 1 year old when you are born, which is just a false idea. Using that, err... logic, when I was born (December), I was 1 year old already, and the following Jan/Feb, I turned 2 on Chinese New Year.
So at the ripe age of 2 months, I could actually have claimed to have been 2 years old. If I knew then what I know now...
To add to the confusion, some of the really traditional folks skip the age of 4, because the number 4 is bad luck in Chinese culture (the word for "four" sounds almost exactly the same as the word for "death"). I guess this is on par with buildings that "don't have" a 13th floor?
So there are students at school that claim to be 6, but how can I believe that? Add 1 for the time spent in the womb, add 1 for Chinese New Year, and that one that you might have skipped because it was bad luck, this 6-year-old is only 3 if he's anywhere but Asia.
Don't feel bad if you are confused, I feel your pain. Just know that this February 14th is not only Valentine's Day, but it is also Chinese New Year and we are ringing in the 99th Year of the Republic by relaxing for a government mandated one week!
After a lengthy conversation with my co-teacher about age recognition in Chinese culture, I found out that although I am actually only 23 years old, in Chinese years I am going to be 24 this Chinese New Year.
Years, as we know them, are based on the solar calendar, giving us 365 days. Contrary to the system used by the rest of the world, the Chinese use a lunar system, so the "years" aren't ever the same length. (Even on official documents at banks they use the lunar years. It is currently the year 98, marking the 98th year since the founding of the Republic of China.) Chinese New Year usually falls between January 20 and February 20.
The Year of the TigerBack to the age thing... it's to my understanding (making this not very credible at all) that everybody gets a year older at the start of the new lunar year. For example, my 24th birthday falls during this upcoming lunar year, so for this entire lunar year (Feb.-Feb.), I will be 24. In my situation, for 10 months I would be saying I'm older than I am according to the solar calendar. Tricky, right?
Some of the very traditional Chinese are also convinced that you are 1 year old when you are born, which is just a false idea. Using that, err... logic, when I was born (December), I was 1 year old already, and the following Jan/Feb, I turned 2 on Chinese New Year.
So at the ripe age of 2 months, I could actually have claimed to have been 2 years old. If I knew then what I know now...
To add to the confusion, some of the really traditional folks skip the age of 4, because the number 4 is bad luck in Chinese culture (the word for "four" sounds almost exactly the same as the word for "death"). I guess this is on par with buildings that "don't have" a 13th floor?
So there are students at school that claim to be 6, but how can I believe that? Add 1 for the time spent in the womb, add 1 for Chinese New Year, and that one that you might have skipped because it was bad luck, this 6-year-old is only 3 if he's anywhere but Asia.
Don't feel bad if you are confused, I feel your pain. Just know that this February 14th is not only Valentine's Day, but it is also Chinese New Year and we are ringing in the 99th Year of the Republic by relaxing for a government mandated one week!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
So this is Christmas...
Post-Christmas thought: What just happened?
In surreal, dream-sequence fashion, Christmas came and left, just as all of the other days here. All around Taipei, there were Christmas decorations, but everything felt so disconnected. 7-Eleven was playing Christmas music, but the atmosphere was still lacking in the Christmas "spirit." It felt, and was, just a commercial holiday implanted somewhere it doesn't belong.
For starters, Christmas fell on Marathon Friday this year. Which means I worked from 8:30-3:30, 4:00-5:00, and then a quick 5:00-7:00 to finish off the day.
When I woke up Christmas morning, everything just felt wrong. There was no tree, no family, no excitement. As I walked to school, I noticed that nothing was different outside. It was as if everybody else forgot it was Christmas. The confusion and resentment was starting to build up as I walked into school humming "Blue Christmas."
The confusion didn't subside when I saw all of the students. They were dressed up in costume. Thinking I somehow entered a terrible nightmare, I said "good morning" to students that looked like bees, dinosaurs, princesses, and cowboys. My body went through the routine motions, just like everyday, but my head was spinning. Was it Halloween or Christmas?
Although it was pretty much an assassination of the holiday, it had its cute moments. Each class screamed a Christmas song, everybody got to sit on Santa's lap, and we just colored and played the whole day. Amidst the carnage, there was a five minute period where I felt Christmasy: when the kids opened their presents they screamed and jumped up and down like... well, like a kid on Christmas.
Unfortunately that wasn't enough Christmas cheer to keep my spirits up for the next 7 hours of work. I'm glad I don't have to do that everyday.
In surreal, dream-sequence fashion, Christmas came and left, just as all of the other days here. All around Taipei, there were Christmas decorations, but everything felt so disconnected. 7-Eleven was playing Christmas music, but the atmosphere was still lacking in the Christmas "spirit." It felt, and was, just a commercial holiday implanted somewhere it doesn't belong.
For starters, Christmas fell on Marathon Friday this year. Which means I worked from 8:30-3:30, 4:00-5:00, and then a quick 5:00-7:00 to finish off the day.
When I woke up Christmas morning, everything just felt wrong. There was no tree, no family, no excitement. As I walked to school, I noticed that nothing was different outside. It was as if everybody else forgot it was Christmas. The confusion and resentment was starting to build up as I walked into school humming "Blue Christmas."
The confusion didn't subside when I saw all of the students. They were dressed up in costume. Thinking I somehow entered a terrible nightmare, I said "good morning" to students that looked like bees, dinosaurs, princesses, and cowboys. My body went through the routine motions, just like everyday, but my head was spinning. Was it Halloween or Christmas?
Although it was pretty much an assassination of the holiday, it had its cute moments. Each class screamed a Christmas song, everybody got to sit on Santa's lap, and we just colored and played the whole day. Amidst the carnage, there was a five minute period where I felt Christmasy: when the kids opened their presents they screamed and jumped up and down like... well, like a kid on Christmas.
Unfortunately that wasn't enough Christmas cheer to keep my spirits up for the next 7 hours of work. I'm glad I don't have to do that everyday.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Just to give you an idea
After a long day of window-shopping and wandering around Taipei, Mike and I wound up in the XinYi area (near Taipei 101). In the food court of one of the malls, we found an interesting food venue.
It was very similar to the concept of a Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins and KFC/Taco Bell joint restaurant. Only this place served some gourmet-looking ice cream and frozen yogurt on one end of the counter, and squid shavings on the other end.
Allow me to explain what I mean by "squid shavings." Imagine yourself peeling a potato or a carrot with a peeler. Now imagine a squid in your hand instead of that potato or carrot. Now imagine putting the shavings in a little french fry pouch.
To be honest, I didn't even notice the squid shavings at first. Not because I'm used to seeing such, how can I say, delicious treats (who remembers Tuna Tidbits?), but because I had a jonesin' for a strawberry/vanilla swirl and was damn focused on getting it.
While my soft serve ice cream was being caught by my swiveling wafer cone, Mike and I heard what was, although in Chinese, undeniably the sound of a child begging for something. A parent was being dragged to the Ice Cream/Squid counter, and to my amazement, the child kept pointing at the little bags of squid shavings until one was in her hands.
Mike and I watched the girl happily walk off, leaving us standing there dumbfounded holding ice cream cones.
It was very similar to the concept of a Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins and KFC/Taco Bell joint restaurant. Only this place served some gourmet-looking ice cream and frozen yogurt on one end of the counter, and squid shavings on the other end.
Allow me to explain what I mean by "squid shavings." Imagine yourself peeling a potato or a carrot with a peeler. Now imagine a squid in your hand instead of that potato or carrot. Now imagine putting the shavings in a little french fry pouch.
To be honest, I didn't even notice the squid shavings at first. Not because I'm used to seeing such, how can I say, delicious treats (who remembers Tuna Tidbits?), but because I had a jonesin' for a strawberry/vanilla swirl and was damn focused on getting it.
While my soft serve ice cream was being caught by my swiveling wafer cone, Mike and I heard what was, although in Chinese, undeniably the sound of a child begging for something. A parent was being dragged to the Ice Cream/Squid counter, and to my amazement, the child kept pointing at the little bags of squid shavings until one was in her hands.
Mike and I watched the girl happily walk off, leaving us standing there dumbfounded holding ice cream cones.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Q & A: Part 3
Q: Do people dress differently?
A: Eh, not really. But flamboyant trucker hats are very big over here.
For girls- your shorts are going to be shorter and tighter, but you are more likely to have the stems to pull it off.
For boys- it's not uncommon for you to be on the subway fixing your hair in a pocket mirror.
For couples- you might find yourself wearing matching t-shirts when you go out.
For children- there are some very, very cruel parents dressing you in the morning (there is a 7-year-old boy in one class that I refer to as Daisy Duke).
For women- "Back home I'd think the women are prostitutes. But here I think it's just women in their Sunday best." -Mike
For men- either business attire or a stained white tee.
Overall, there isn't anything that really that shocking. Just like back home, you've got your oddballs that march to the beat of some intergalactic transmission they are picking up.
As for me, I keep it low-key with a red polo and mouse ears:
A: Eh, not really. But flamboyant trucker hats are very big over here.
For girls- your shorts are going to be shorter and tighter, but you are more likely to have the stems to pull it off.
For boys- it's not uncommon for you to be on the subway fixing your hair in a pocket mirror.
For couples- you might find yourself wearing matching t-shirts when you go out.
For children- there are some very, very cruel parents dressing you in the morning (there is a 7-year-old boy in one class that I refer to as Daisy Duke).
For women- "Back home I'd think the women are prostitutes. But here I think it's just women in their Sunday best." -Mike
For men- either business attire or a stained white tee.
Overall, there isn't anything that really that shocking. Just like back home, you've got your oddballs that march to the beat of some intergalactic transmission they are picking up.
As for me, I keep it low-key with a red polo and mouse ears:
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Do you miss me?
I had a chat with one of my co-workers the other day about what in fact is so appealing about living in Taiwan. He is one of the many people I know who planned to stay for a year and now has been here for about 5 years. I think he really hit the nail on the head with how he worded the situation.
He basically said that because we don't really live here, or speak the language for that matter, we aren't really involved in Taiwanese politics, drama, and other domestic issues that would normally strike our nerves back at home. On the other hand, we aren't at home to have to deal with those certain issues mentioned above. We are more or less isolated in our own worlds. It's a liberating feeling being a foreigner who is far away from home and politely ignorant to the immediate surroundings. It really gives you time to focus on yourself and your own life.
Speaking of reasons why I love Taiwan, apparently it's pretty cool if you have zits and are balding. Allow me to explain...
A few weeks ago I was chatting with my boss' husband and another of my superiors, both of whom are Taiwanese. I had just recently shaved my head and was telling them how I didn't really like my new hair cut because of how obvious it makes the fact that I am bald(ing).
"Not to worry," they assured me. "In Taiwanese culture, balding is a sign that you will be very successful. If you lose your hair it means you think a lot." (This is right on par with Billy Joel's thoughts on balding: "It's not about less hair, it's about more head.") Then, of course, they referred to the very man I was speaking with, who owns the school. He is, of course, very successful. However, his 40-year-old hairline has only receded approximately the diameter of 2 strands of hair. If that's all the hair-loss it takes to be successful, then at age 22 I should be ready to open a Swiss bank account in no time.
Also recently, I was talking with my co-teacher when she stopped mid-sentence and stared at my nose.
"Do you have a zit?" I hadn't seen a mirror in about 10 hours and she had a pretty good view of my face, so I presumed I did.
"Uh... I guess so," I answered sheepishly. In general, back at home, I think people politely pretend not to notice blemishes on their friends' faces.
"In Taiwanese culture that means that somebody misses you."
Well, I've had very clear skin since I've been in Taiwan, so that belief is either a really clever way to avoid embarrassment throughout middle school, or nobody really misses me (especially since that "zit" didn't even turn out to be one). You tell me...
.
He basically said that because we don't really live here, or speak the language for that matter, we aren't really involved in Taiwanese politics, drama, and other domestic issues that would normally strike our nerves back at home. On the other hand, we aren't at home to have to deal with those certain issues mentioned above. We are more or less isolated in our own worlds. It's a liberating feeling being a foreigner who is far away from home and politely ignorant to the immediate surroundings. It really gives you time to focus on yourself and your own life.
Speaking of reasons why I love Taiwan, apparently it's pretty cool if you have zits and are balding. Allow me to explain...
A few weeks ago I was chatting with my boss' husband and another of my superiors, both of whom are Taiwanese. I had just recently shaved my head and was telling them how I didn't really like my new hair cut because of how obvious it makes the fact that I am bald(ing).
"Not to worry," they assured me. "In Taiwanese culture, balding is a sign that you will be very successful. If you lose your hair it means you think a lot." (This is right on par with Billy Joel's thoughts on balding: "It's not about less hair, it's about more head.") Then, of course, they referred to the very man I was speaking with, who owns the school. He is, of course, very successful. However, his 40-year-old hairline has only receded approximately the diameter of 2 strands of hair. If that's all the hair-loss it takes to be successful, then at age 22 I should be ready to open a Swiss bank account in no time.
Also recently, I was talking with my co-teacher when she stopped mid-sentence and stared at my nose.
"Do you have a zit?" I hadn't seen a mirror in about 10 hours and she had a pretty good view of my face, so I presumed I did.
"Uh... I guess so," I answered sheepishly. In general, back at home, I think people politely pretend not to notice blemishes on their friends' faces.
"In Taiwanese culture that means that somebody misses you."
Well, I've had very clear skin since I've been in Taiwan, so that belief is either a really clever way to avoid embarrassment throughout middle school, or nobody really misses me (especially since that "zit" didn't even turn out to be one). You tell me...
.
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