“As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life.” -Buddha
Most of my blog posts are about me running around the island of Taiwan doing fun things. Taipei. Alishan. Hualien. Taizhong. Sun Moon Lake. While my goal was always to travel a bunch in Taiwan, I think some of the reason I was able to see so many different places was because I was constantly trying to escape my own city: Changhua. It's small and out of the way, but it also deserves its time in the spotlight. So now that I've left it behind, I want to say goodbye.
Dear Changhua,
You kind of suck.
There. I said it.
You're small. You lack essential city components like skyscrapers, malls and sidewalks. Businesses open late and close early, which means people who work weird hours (like me) sometimes find it hard to eat. You have no variety in food choices. Don't get me wrong, I love dumplings and noodles. But sometimes I want Mexican food too. And I'm going to be honest, you're a little grimy. The cars I pass idling on the street, puffing out heated exhaust fumes? The betel nut rinds spat on the ground? The packs of stray dogs? Doesn't do a lot for your image, just saying.
Also, we need to talk about the elephant in the room. There's no foreigners here. Not really your fault I get it, but you see, people like me (the whole blond hair, pale skin, blue eyes thing) really stick out. People stare. Unabashedly. They stare and whisper and point. To the point where I want to use my rarely utilized Chinese swear words and tell them to mind their own business.
Really though, it's not you, it's me. You weren't what I dreamed about before I moved to Taiwan. I didn't know I'd signed up for a small town, while I was dreaming of big city lights. So that one is on me.
For all my nagging, you have some good points. You were my home, whether I liked it or not. And so I accumulated my favorite spots:
The elementary school track where I had to hop the fence to workout. It was always quiet in the morning. Just me doing sprints or burpees or stretching in the shade of overhanging trees, sweating in the muggy heat. In the evenings I could run miles between the locals walking the track, circling around the group of women dancing in the center. In the dark, I could flash by people so quickly, I didn't stand out as a foreigner any longer.
All the cafes that became my home away from home. Where I would escape the heat and boredom of my room and hunker in to sip on tea and be creative. I bullet journaled. Painted. Read. Dove into my novel. Discussed philosophy and politics. Studied Chinese. Each cafe a little haven of good food and good vibes.
The local market. I had my fruit stand. I had my bao stand. I had my dessert stand. I had my pineapple man. Every once and a while I'd dawdle through different roads and see what lay in the nooks and crannies. But every time I loved the raw authenticity of being in Taiwan.
The restaurants and the families who owned them. I was brought into the fold of a few families as they served me veggies or breakfast. Sometimes their company, and knowing that I wasn't completely alone in this city, made the food taste all that much better.
The temples. I loved turning a corner and finding a temple tucked into a side street. Or squashed between two buildings. Or commanding an entire street corner. The glow of red lanterns, the haze of incense, the silhouette of dragons against the fading sky, will always hold a special place in my heart.
My apartment. It didn't have a kitchen. It was basically a box with a bed. But from the giant window I could look out at the sun set painted on fluffy white clouds. I could watch a thunderstorm roll down from the mountains. I could watch the funeral processions and festival celebrations that occasionally passed down below. I could catch a glimpse of the train station. Despite its flaws, I loved that little spot.
The bridge over the train station. For a long time, the bridge made me anxious, because it was always a symbol of going to work. Everyday I climbed the steps (at least two times), legs aching no matter how many days in a row I did it, and a tight knot would settle into my stomach. But once work was over, I started to love it up there. Artists painted flowers along the panels. A breeze whipped down from the mountains on the horizon and offered a moment of reprieve from the heat. Trains chattered down below, whisking people away. Everyday I would cross over to adventure and live and explore, and every day I would cross back, tired and road weary, ready for my bed that was mere minutes away.
And finally, the Buddha. The giant buddha that has, for the last year, kept watch over me. Biking between streets, I'd often catch a brief glimpse of his gentle gaze from up on the mountain top, before he disappeared behind a building. While no longer bearing the title of largest buddha in Asia, he is still captivating. The whole temple, with pagodas and shrines behind him, oozes a quiet power.
When I am restless, I often find myself walking the hill to sit on the steps in front of Buddha. I had many long conversations with friends on the steps. I enjoyed whimsical light installments. I ate cake and drank bubble tea and laughed and nearly cried. With Buddha behind me and all of you, Changhua, in front of me, a calm settled into my chest. Sometimes I walked quickly around the viewing platform. Sometimes I sat on the steps for ages, watching all traces of light from the setting sun seep away. I never failed to find the stillness that I was chasing.
So thank you, Changhua. It has been in the shelter of your arms that I have realized teaching is not what I'm meant to do and writing is. I've endured a pandemic, a breakup, a bout of depression and a strange spot of swelling on my face. I've made new friends, and new enemies. Now it's time to move on. I've got a vague idea of where I'm headed and what I'm chasing. What I know for sure is that this time around, it doesn't include you. No matter where I end up though, you will always be the first place I called home in Taiwan.
Sincerely,
Charli
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