Welcome to my blog! Hey James, what's a blog? Well, the term is an abbreviation of “web log,” and it's an online forum for one to share personal stories, pictures, or anything else of interest with family, friends, and millions of strangers who firmly believe that web-surfing should qualify as an Olympic sport. The idea of “blogging” came from my roommate, Elliot, whom I moved in with almost a month ago. He is a tall, thin Floridian with curly black hair who enjoys writing and posts articles to his blog daily. Since my mass emails to home have dwindled to about once a month in frequency, I decided to combine the two time-consuming efforts of writing in a conventional journal and composing mass emails into this one venture. A mass email usually takes me about three hours to organize, draft, reconstruct syntax, and revise. So hopefully this blog will reduce my three-hour, three-page mass emails to brief updates regarding various ministries. Without further ado, I give you a glimpse of what the Portuguese first named the “Ilha Formosa.”
Quite a few things were strange to me upon arriving in Taiwan 9 weeks ago. The humidity on my first night made the air seem closer to a liquid state of matter than gas, the pollution was so thick that microbacteria were throwing up, and the plethora of raw seafood and other alleged comestibles barely fit within the definition of a concept Westerners like to call “food.” A short list includes: fish-flavored crackers, flower-flavored tea, strips of dried seaweed, “yogurt” that has the taste and consistency of soured milk, pizza topped with corn and squid tentacles, and, last but not least, stinky tofu (that's its real name), which can most unfortunately be inhaled several blocks away. All six of these are very popular. (Tofu, by the way, is a word borrowed from the Chinese “dofu,” a dish of bean curd that is prevalent in Chinese cuisine as a staple in dozens of varieties). And then there's a snack native to Taiwan called “mua ji.” It is the size of a large apricot, has the consistency of raw dough, yields little discernible taste, and is sometimes dusted with a fine, white powder – which, due to the availability of hallucinogens on the curbside here, could be cocaine for all I know. After my first taste two weeks ago, I determined that it would be my last. And yet, I recently scarfed down 10 nebulous balls of this indistinct gelatin in one day alone, (perhaps lending credence to the cocaine theory).
The point is this: the discordant sounds and peculiar sights that were once palpably foreign are now all but comfortable. There are, of course, one or two remaining exceptions. The garbage trucks that roll slowly down the street playing music reminiscent of ice cream trucks still bring to mind a foul concoction of rotting refuse and a favorite dairy dessert. And the Mandarin “r” in words like rong, (pronounced zhrohng), still sounds a little alien, particularly in alliterative sentences like “rong rao de ri ren,” which I have postulated, through circumstantial data and careful analysis, could be translated as, “A hot pepper has arrested my tongue's motor function.” But for the most part, I am actually enjoying the things that I swore I'd never try when I got here. While in California for those 2 weeks of teacher training before coming to Taiwan, some of my teammates would chant a phrase from a song I'd never heard: “I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese...”
Well, I think I'm turning Taiwanese. I'm going to turn into a lump of mua ji here in a month or so. I eat a decent amount of the food available at shady little kiosks. I drank and enjoyed a rose tea, despite the fact that it tasted like flower petals and milk with only a hint of tea leaves - the latter of which included so the Chinese would have an excuse to drink it in large quantities. And yesterday, I spoke Chinese in a dream for the first time. It wasn't anything big, just a “ni hao” (hello) to two Asian women standing on a street, but the psychological implications are significant. Now, if you'd like to know exactly what those implications are, you should ask someone who knows more about psychology – say, for instance, the cockroaches scurrying around my bathroom – but suffice to say that the Taiwanese culture is beginning to permeate my skin. Just wait: soon I'll be munching on chicken feet like a champ, and then dislodging stray bits of food from my teeth with the leftover claw. Soon I'll nonchalantly drive a motorscooter through 6 red lights in a row, beeping to let oncoming traffic know I'm there if I'm feeling gracious, all the while hauling on my tiny, burdened vehicle no fewer than four people and a dog. Ok, so I'll never do that. But those are famous last words.