The Story of Five Months

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Best Wishes to you and your family, wherever in the world you may be!

Zhong Hua Elementary School

Now, this blog usually concerns adventurous ramblings around Taiwan and all the cool stories I stumble up along the way. But that's only a partial picture of what it's like living abroad. The truth is, I've been having some rough times the past couple of weeks. It's incredibly hard to be away from my family during the holiday season. As much fun as I'm having teaching my kids about Christmas in America and learning a lot about how they celebrate Christmas in Taiwan, I miss the warmth and familiarity of my traditions back home.

Performing a story at the school Christmas pagent

Besides the homesickness, I'm reaching the halfway point of my time here in Hualien and it's caused me to take stock of what I've done so far. There's a lot that's frustrating about teaching, especially teaching in another country. I only see my children for 1.5 hours a week, if I'm lucky, and that's not enough time to counter the political, cultural, and historical factors I feel like I'm up against. In the classroom, I often feel inexperienced and uncertain, and then I feel like my children deserve better than me stumbling through this process.

In periods of doubt, I hold onto the little moments I share with my students that make me feel like I'm having an impact, even a small one, on their lives. There's Tommy, a fifth grader who seeks me out in the hallways because we joke around about the gifs he likes and he found out that I'm learning Chinese just like he is learning English. There's also Jake, a fourth grader who I play "Up High, Down Low, Too Slow" with before after-school tutoring so that he goes into learning smiling. And in archery club, there's Zack, who really wants to be my buddy and has realized that if he wants to talk to me, he's going to have to practice his English. It's hard to get the students speaking English outside of class, but he's trying his best so that he can communicate with me.

A bracelet made by one of my students

Going to first grade Chinese class always lifts my spirits too. In Hualien, children don't start attending English class until third grade, so the only interaction I have with the first graders is when I am their classmate in Chinese grammar class. The students always come running when they see me, eager to show me that they can count to ten or say "Merry Christmas" in English. They are curious about everything about me. They gather around my desk to touch my hair, my earrings, even my scooter keys. I hope that in interacting with me, they begin to learn to welcome those that look different from them.

These past five months have been both wonderful and frustrating, welcoming and lonely. At the high points, I'm so glad I came here. At the low points, I try to remember my students, and they remind me why I am here in the first place.

The Story of Accidentally Climbing a Mountain

One aspects of Taiwan that surprised me the most is how quickly the land transitions from city to nature. You can be in the largest metropolitan area in the country, with a population of over 7 million people, and then travel less than 30 minutes and be in a wide open, nearly completely undeveloped green space. By contrast, in Minnesota, you can drive an hour outside of Minneapolis and still be in the suburbs. Last week, I had a free day in Taipei, so I took a bus out of the city to Yanmingshan National Forest Park 陽明山國家公園, for what I thought would be a day of sightseeing and light walking in this beautiful natural environment.

After the short bus ride, I arrived at the park’s visitor center late morning. The park attendant suggested I take the shuttle up to the beginning of the trail that led up and down the highest peak in the park. He described the hike as very scenic and very possible, so I thought why not and boarded the shuttle.

It’s not an overstatement to say that the shuttle ride was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. The bus was so packed I had to press against the other standing passengers just so the door could open at each stop. Several of the passengers had already been hiking and the cramped quarters smelled like it. The woman next to me spent the entire shaky, jerky ride hunched over, clutching her boyfriend’s arm. Thankfully, she didn’t vomit until immediately after we got off the bus.

As soon as the bus dropped us off, I smelled the familiar rotten egg scent of sulfur. To my right, gas erupted off the side of the mountain and floated down into the valley. Mt. Qixing 七星山 (in English, Seven Star Mountain) is Taiwan’s largest dormant volcano. This creates the hot springs and fumaroles that pop up along the stone steps leading to the top of the mountain. The trail snaked through tall Chinese silvergrass and Usawa cane, running over several peaks until it reached the highest one. The air at that elevation was clear with a slight chill. I began my ascent.

It turned out what on the map was only 1.6 kilometers to the peak was in reality a constant steep incline. At some points, my legs were bent into 90-degree angles climbing up the side of the mountain. Nearly every time I took a deep breath, I swallowed the pungent odor of sulfur. Dressed in jeans and sneakers and running on a few hours of restless hotel sleep, I was completely unprepared. But I had endured that hellish bus ride all the way up there, so I was going to make it to the top.

After about two hours, I did in fact make it. Standing on the peak, I could look out on the rolling green mountains of the park. On one side stretched the ocean and Taiwan’s northern coast, pointing towards China. On the other, I gazed down the valley to Taipei, the silhouette of Taipei 101 standing out among the skyscrapers. Beyond Taipei, the mountains spread on and on until they faded into the deep blue sky. Standing at 1,120 meters above sea level, I understood why the view was worth the climb.

I’ll try not to get obnoxiously metaphorical here, ala Miley Cyrus’s “The Climb.” But I will say that while living abroad, there are the mountains you expect, the ones you fret over the night before and meticulously prepare to climb, and there are the mountains you don’t realize you’re climbing until you’ve already begun. And by then, you’ve already came all this way, so you really have no choice but to keep going until you reach the top. The view from the top isn’t what you expected it to be, but it is vast and open and beautiful, and you are happy for the random combination of luck and effort that brought you there.