Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

William Shakespeare, “Macbeth”

In this chapter, I…

• Return to Taipei
• Indulge on exquisite street food again and again
• Visit a hilltop temple famous for its unique pagoda and cherry blossoms
• Continue trying new things at bars
• Re-visit Chiang Kai-shek memorial hall for a history lesson
• Reach an agitating tipping point with my streak of successful dates
• Fall in love on Valentine’s Day

List of volunteers at the hostel:

• Bob, 24, a blue-eyed, blond-haired Russian construction worker from Michigan traveling Asia while home is too frozen for work
• Ewan, 21, an aspiring architect from Bristol with a buzz cut, a deep voice, and a piercing look, like the rugged version of young Ewan McGregor
• Jack, a twentysomething Brazilian from the US, tall and mellow “gentle giant” teaching English remotely while traveling the world
• Toby, 28, a graphic designer from Manchester with brown hair parted in the middle, who’d taught English in Hachinohe in the past
• Brother Neal, 75, a dubious Taiwanese volunteer who we called Big Brother Neal

10 February 2024

• 23:40-4:25 Kaohsiung station to Taipei main station night bus
• 11:00-12:00 shift

I slept on the night bus from Kaohsiung to Taipei (a hospitable bus! Unlike Japan) and walked to my hostel through dark and sleepy Ximen. The only time of day when it was barren.

The Date That Brought Back Memories

After a sweet and short shift, I met Heron at 16:00. We’d gone out on February 2, and chatted enthusiastically about a myriad of common interests.

He seemed quite nervous. We talked endlessly about literature, history, writing, academia, anything nerdy and intellectual. His breadth of knowledge was far and wide. He taught me much and more, and even gave me two valuable pieces of writing advice: when editing, always cut 10% off; and always axe the sentences you were most proud of. The former, to be sharper and more concise; the latter, to avoid tonal shifts caused by sentences that eclipsed the rest.

I’d missed these conversations.

The more we talked, the more idiosyncrasies came to light. He wore the same cologne used by Winston Churchill. Not only was the exact brand known, it was still manufactured – and bought by Heron. Churchill was my late grandpa’s idol. Every single time I’d visited him, we’d only discussed Churchill. 

Moreover, Heron always packed a fancy teapot with him when traveling, because he was very particular about brewing. He drank Japanese green tea.

He reminded me of the Korean guy from late July. Both came from a good background and studied at American Ivy Leagues. Both had a kind, innocent face. The Korean guy was shorter than me, with bleached hair and T-shirts; Heron was my height, with spiky black hair and dress shirts. The former majored in urban planning and spoke half a dozen languages; the latter specialized in Japanese temples and military history.

At the same time, I could already tell that Heron would be more straightforward with me. Back in July, the Korean guy had said we’d meet again, disappeared, and replied only after I’d left Korea. Heron seemed too shy and sincere to ghost anyone.

At 20:00, we noticed the time. Four hours had flown by.

I strolled around Ximen in search of street food. It had never been this busy. I couldn’t wade through the crowd, let alone stand in line to any vendor.

Today’s highlight: afternoon with Heron.

11 February 2024

• 11:00-13:15 shift

The Date That Stood Me Up

Today, after the shift, the manager of the hostel cooked more New Year’s dishes for lunch: Buddha Jumps Over the Wall (a shark fin stew with sea cucumber. The other volunteers called it “toilet water”); and Lion’s Head (pork meatballs). I appreciated the opportunity to encounter more oddities in Taiwan.

A new volunteer checked in: Toby, 28, a graphic designer from Manchester. He’d taught English in Hachinohe, Japan, when I had lived in the UK.  

I spent the afternoon brushing up my Japanese with him and working on my Japanese language school application. At 21:00, I took the MRT to Jiangzicui station. I was supposed to go out with someone who stood me up.

Ugh. Was this my first bad moment in Taiwan?

This sort of thing had happened to me in Japan. It angered me every time. Why message me again and again, initiate a date, and then block me without even showing up?

One minute of hatred later, I met someone else I’d been talking to, who happened to live across the street.

It was a stroke of luck that changed my mind about tonight. To my surprise, he was an engineer who had worked in Israel before COVID. The date wasn’t as enjoyable as previous ones, but it nonetheless proved to me that, in Taipei, I needn’t feel lonesome.

At 23:00, Bob and I scoured Ximen for some street food. I found an omelet radish cake so tender, that I wolfed it down while still hot. Then I stumbled across a stand selling fried quail eggs on a skewer. Just as decadent. The onion dumplings I finished with were okay.

Today’s highlight: Ximen street food.

12 February 2024

• 11:00-12:20 shift
• 14:11-14:15 Ximen station to Zhongshan station train (Songshan-Xindian line), 14:18-14:54 transfer to Tamsui station (Tamsui-Xinyi line), 15:35-16:05 bus to Wuji Tianyuan temple (lines 866, 875, 876, and 877 go there)
• Wuji Tianyuan temple (2h)
• 18:30-19:00 Wuji Tianyuan temple to Tamsui station bus, 19:03-19:41 Tamsui station to Zhongshan station train (Tasmui-Xiangshan line), 19:48-19:52 transfer to Ximen station (Songshan-Xindian line)
• Bar at night

Tamsui

Today I took the MRT to Tamsui, a fishing port town known for its deep fried street food and picturesque sunsets.

It was a blue day, and all the colors around me glittered under the sun: the sea, the cobblestones, the skyscrapers, the trees, the mountains.

Tamsui was also heinously crowded on New Year’s holiday, with a flood of picnickers, tourists, and people lounging under the shade of giant trees, watching the sea and musical performances.

Complete standstills. It would’ve taken me an hour to buy a skewer of fried squid. I decided to take the bus to my next destination.

Wuji Tianyuan Temple

Wuji Tianyuan temple, on a hill north of Tamsui, seemed fairly standard. I climbed past a formidable pagoda to a garden considered the best spot around Taipei for sakura.

It was past the peak. The lower branches were already naked. Tiny pink and white petals embellished treetops, yet the quantity, vividness, and size of these could not hold a candle to Japan. One row of half a dozen trees. Today was the height of the temple’s cherry blossom festival.

So I entered the pagoda instead. A massive, five-tiered cylinder painted white, yellow, and brown, it was nicknamed the Altar of Heaven. Each floor featured sculptures of deities that got holier and holier.

In the absence of explanations and a reliable Taoist friend, I focused instead on the impressive architecture with its many shapes and patterns: columns, circles, a light color palette. The exterior featured dancheong-like beams under each tier. The top floor boasted a lavish chandelier hanging from a rainbow ceiling. Several people were meditating on mats, eyes shut and legs crossed, seemingly forever.

I’d come to Wuji Tianyuan expecting to be wowed by cherry blossoms, and instead got a never-before-seen pagoda offering an explosion of color, patterns, and beams. The spectacular view improved after I waited half and hour inside the top floor for sunset. The sky blushed, the air darkened, and the Altar lit up. I couldn’t stop gawking at the heavens, a grand gradient of maroon to orange.

Partying in Ximen

Back in Ximen, I went out at 23:00 with Rom to a local bar. We’d gone out on February 3.

Tonight, I attended my first underwear party. I was worried about feeling cold on this winter night, but the bar was packed.

It felt curiously absurd. Brushing shoulders with someone passing by felt deceptively intimate.

“Finally, I’m not the only one here with chest hair,” a French guy approached me while ordering drinks with Rom at the bar.

We were the only two non-Taiwanese around. The three of us chatted throughout the night, which was unexpectedly tame.

Today’s highlights: Wuji Tianyuan temple’s Altar of Heaven; the bar at night.

13 February 2024

• 11:00-12:20 shift

After yesterday’s teeming Tamsui, I decided to scrap my sightseeing plans due to the holidays. Finally, a day of writing!

So much had been unfolding lately, that I ached to document it. A day without writing left my soul languished. Words were how I saw the world, remembered it, and made sense of it. I always itched to pause great moments just to write down the sentences already forming in my mind.  

For brunch, I returned to Emei street, my favorite alley in Ximen, lined with street food stands. I got a shredded cheese scallion pancake, another radish cake omelet, and a banana and condensed milk omelet.

Fatty and divine.

The Non-Date That Made Me Feel Like in an Onsen

I remained glued to my computer after lunch. My plan for today was to rest, write, and go clubbing at night.

At 17:00, I got invited to a coffee shop a ten-minute walk from me. Expecting it to be brief and casual enough to not interfere with my plans, I agreed.

An hour later, Eres, a stylish guy in designer clothes, was waiting for me outside the café.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” was the first thing I told him.

He had a short hair, a thin, trimmed beard that framed his jaw, and large eyes. An inch taller than me. I wasn’t used to such height.

We exchanged a few polite sentences before going inside.

“Is coffee okay at this hour?” he asked.

“I don’t usually drink coffee,” I said, “but I don’t intend to go to bed early tonight, so that’s fine.”

There was no chance of me saying no.

The shop was full to the brim, though, so we got takeout latte, and wandered around north Ximen.

The conversation was plain at first. Mostly about my time in Taiwan so far, and his impressions of Israel. When I informed him of my nationality, he chuckled in disbelief.

“I have an Israeli ex,” he said. “We met in Thailand.”

Suddenly, I was the one in disbelief.

“Can I ask how old are you?” I said, having forgotten his age.

He didn’t answer. I knew he was a few years older than me, but Asian skin was always hard for Caucasians to judge.

We found a hotel lobby and sat in a dim corner. Born and raised in Ximen, he knew this spot and those streets by heart.

Culture, history, politics, art, travel, religion. We covered a lot of topics. He was a dentist who lamented not dabbling in other fields.

“You talk about very serious things,” he remarked at some point.

I stifled my nervousness. It sounded like a bad omen.

Yet our conversation persisted with little change. I delved into the peculiarities of Taiwanese cuisine; he found kosher diet restrictive. He’d visited countless countries, and had his eyes set next on the UK; I recounted to him my life there.

The more coffee I sipped, the more I grasped one remarkable detail.

His demeanour. As calm and capable as a Zen Buddhist. His body language, his voice, his speech: all made him seem placid, composed, level-headed, like the embodiment of the word ‘落ち着き’. He seemed emotionally mature, sharp, serene, with a presence of mind fit for a medical field.

With a slope to lie on and gaze at snow falling on me from the dark sky, I felt complete. Hundreds of large yet soft snowflakes, not dropping in a flood, but twirling down. Nothing – not even the dizzying hotness of the spring water – could ruin this moment. Nor was there anything that could compare to a rocky, open-air onsen enjoying snowfall in winter.

Compared to sulfuric onsens, the spring water around town seemed plain, even if packed with minerals. But it was the atmosphere that mattered. The definition of 落ち着き: calmness, ease of mind, harmony.

“The Cold Spell” (22 December 2023)

I recalled this moment from Japan as it hit me: a person was making me feel the same way as an onsen.

“Do you get a lot of patients who are scared?” I asked, trying to deflect the conversation toward him.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “I have to calm them down.”

Perhaps this explained his air of composure. It was infectious, like the opposite of a cavity. I felt entirely at ease.

Yet it was hard to judge his level of interest. Whether his uninterrupted eye contact was a doctor’s or a friend’s. Whether his civility signified a sober personality, softened with time, or a polite veneer.

Likewise, his pronunciation didn’t sound Chinese to me. He enunciated quite clearly, almost like an Eastern European, minus their thick accent. Though his English was not a native speaker’s. I found it impossible to pinpoint.

“When my boyfriend –” he suddenly said. I couldn’t recall the full sentence, nor did it matter.

I’d forgotten this detail. The way he mentioned it, it sounded trivial, matter-of-fact. Just like this insignificant coffee date.

No, it wasn’t a date. I hadn’t come here expecting it to be. His partner lived abroad, and he’d stated that he was looking for some friendly company.

I wanted the ground to swallow me.

We continued talking. Once he brought up his relationship, I suspected it was rude of me to ignore it. But I didn’t want to know a single thing.

I kept the conversation light. He spoke slowly and softly, almost in a deep whisper. As if he had all the time in the world to be with me.

“Yes,” he would say every now and then in a sensitive drawl, full of closeness and tranquility. How could a single syllable betray so much emotion?

We stared at each other. The sight of his large eyes gazing into mine as he uttered the above and cracked a smile – in movements long and patient, blinking slowly in the dim light – I knew it would etch in my memory, in a box of first encounters.

The Japanese guy at the digital detox ryokan in Aomori on February 21.

The British guy at the nightclub in Tokyo on April 22.

The Korean guy at the drag club in Seoul on July 15.

The Chinese guy in Sapporo on September 15.

The Australian guy at the karaoke bar in Kochi on December 12.

There was something hypnotizing about Eres’s gaze. Intimate. But also something sad. Shadows were obscuring half of his pointed face.

He didn’t say anything in those moments. I didn’t, either. Words were unnecessary.

It felt as though time did not exist.

Was he always like this? I wondered. Did every pal receive such treatment? I felt as if we’d known each other more than a couple of hours.

“I like you,” he said at some point. “You respect me. You make me feel safe.”

It took me a moment to reply.

“I like you too.”

I wasn’t used to hearing this, let alone upon the first encounter. I’d already decided not to go clubbing tonight.

Then, out of the blue, we noticed the time. 22:30. Clocks had in fact continued to tick.

“I can’t wait till next time,” he whispered.

I wanted to say many things. But I didn’t want to sound crazy. So I just said, 「晚安.」

I walked back to my hostel with my eyes wide, brows knotted, and mouth agape. Ambling through bustling Ximen at night, I must have looked like a survivor of a disaster who had emerged unscathed, yet couldn’t erase the shock from his face.

Tears welled in my eyes. I did not understand a single thing that was going through my head.

“You look awe-struck,” Bob exclaimed, smoking outside the hostel. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

I recounted tonight to him. It was ironic how I’d befriended a heterosexual construction worker more than the other volunteers, including the gentle yet haughty queer, who barely deigned to exchange a word with anyone.

“This isn’t the first time it happened on this trip, over the past year,” I told Bob. “But this one might be the strongest.”

“Then it’s a good thing it happened early in your time here,” he smiled.

I shut my eyes in chagrin.

“The previous three ended badly.”

I rested my head on a table in the lobby and stared into space. My heart started hammering. I grabbed my laptop, anxious to write my thoughts down. Yet I blinked at the keyboard, unable to let the words out.

Today’s highlights: writing; Ximen street food; evening with Eres; the walk back to the hostel.

14 February 2024

• 11:00-12:00 shift
• 15:55-16:00 Ximen station to CKS memorial hall station metro (Songshan-Xindian line)
• CKS memorial hall (1h)
• 18:25-18:40 CKS memorial hall station to Nanjing Sanmin station metro (Songshan-Xindian line)

I slept quite badly, from 2:30 to 8:30, with frequent awakenings. Thoughts had besieged my sleep.

Another day of writing instead of sightseeing – the last day of New Year’s holiday, still too many tourists – and a lot of moments to organize. Yet I stared my computer, unable to do so.

Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall

In the afternoon, I forced myself to revisit Chiang Kai-shek memorial hall. I already felt like my time in this country was running short. Wasting it by missing Taiwan’s prime attractions would only make matters worse.

The permanent exhibition began with a wall-sized photo of Huang Hsin-chieh giving a speech in Liberty Square on 18 March 1990, to fight for democracy. Two days prior, the National Assembly (comprised of elderly representatives elected in China in 1947) had attempted to abuse their power. At once, students had begun protesting outside the memorial hall.

The March Student Movement had thus begun. Wild lily was their emblem. 6,000 students had assembled daily, until March 22. Taiwan had entered its democratic era.

The exhibition continued with CKS’s state cars, military uniform, wedding tux, medals, handwritten letters, photos of meetings with world leaders; and a recreation of his office.

I learned that, in 1913, he had joined the Chinese Revolutionary Party. During WW2, he had served as chairman of the Nationalist Government. On 25 October 1946, the first Retrocession Day, he’d visited Taiwan for the first time; and on 22 May 1948, become the first constitutional president of the ROC.

On the one hand, he’d opposed communism. On the other hand, he’d sentenced rebels to the death penalty. He’d implemented a nine-year compulsory education, yet shut down the Free China journal, which had called for democracy.

At 17:00, I hurried to the final guard change ceremony. The standing guards flexed their feet before descending the wooden platforms. They walked as mechanically as in Dr Sun Yat-sen memorial hall.

I sat on the 89 stairs outside the Bronze Statue Hall and watched the sun set over Liberty Square. The Gate and National Theatre lit up. Crickets were chirping; a gentle breeze was blowing. A fantastic and free way to spend an afternoon.

Not even this could ease my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday. The gaze, and my subsequent confusion. All through today’s exhibition. It was a wonder I’d managed to process any historical events.

The fire in the sky that dwindled into darkness seemed like the epitome of romanticism. I sighed while sitting on the stairs. Then I noticed the time.

The Date That Turned on the Light

At 19:00, I met Hope again in his area. I’d been waiting for our next rendezvous ever since our first.

He looked sporty in athletic tank top and shorts. He was bigger and stronger than me, but gentle and humble.

Talking to him felt effortless. We recounted our New Year’s holidays (mine was, ironically enough, more religiously Taiwanese than his). Every so often, he gave me a coy smile.

At some point, he mentioned reading my blog. This took me by surprise. Whenever someone had read my no-longer-private thoughts about them, I felt exposed.

Yet he complimented my writing style and word choice. This was so rare for me, that I exulted in it coming from someone whose company I sought.

Then the repercussions of my over-sharing shifted the tone. He asked about my recent dates with other people. This topic was something I’d learned to avoid.

I felt vulgar delving into this matter, especially because I’d never gone out on so many dates in such a short period of time. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t want to hear about others; that would make me feel inadequate. Still, I answered all his questions.

“It sounds like every time you meet someone new, you only think about them,” he said.

I wondered which was worse. The idea of me discarding someone like a tissue and moving on to the next, or the fact that I was still thinking about certain old flames every single day.

“Right now, though,” I said, “I only think about you.”

It was true. He made me forget about last night. And the dates before that. I could focus on one person, if I stopped seeing others. Between September and November, my two months with Cowboy, I’d done that.

“Did I pass the exam?” I asked.

He laughed.

“Yes.”

My relief was tampered with confusion. Last night was staid, solemn, and sombre. Tonight was frisky, facile, and fun. How could two consecutive yet opposing encounters feel just as well? The difference in lighting almost accounted for the difference in reaction. With Hope, it was bright.

We discussed life in Taiwan versus in countries like Japan (which drew me) and Europe (which drew him). Then we discovered that we’d both visited Mt Zao’ss Okama crater in Japan, Yamagata Prefecture, on August 10. Hope had taken the free shuttle bus from Kaminoyama Onsen tourist information center in the morning, and returned at noon. I’d taken the bus at 12:10.

“I can’t believe we missed each other!” we both exclaimed.

“But at least we met now,” I added.

At 23:00, we noticed the time. He grew anxious about an urgent work email. I hurried to leave, but couldn’t without one last sentiment.

“Hey, Hope,” I turned around and muttered. “Instead of meeting someone new, it would be nice to just see you again.”

He didn’t say anything. I went to the MRT station. A few minutes later, he texted an apology.

I returned to my hostel so, so satisfied. Life in Taipei kept getting better.

“What’chu been up to?” Bob asked, sitting in the lobby. “Oh, no,” he added after seeing my expression.

“I need to stop having good dates,” I beamed.

I knew that, from now on, if a date extended over four hours, it would be mind-blowing.

Then Heron texted me. He wanted to meet. Immediately.

“This would be our last chance to meet in a while,” he said. Starting tomorro,w he would be too busy.

I couldn’t do it. Not after what I’d told Hope. I lay in bed, physically and emotionally exhausted.

“I think we might not have a chance to meet again, but have fun in Taiwan!” Heron texted.

My elation deflated like a balloon.

That was it? He lived a ten-minute walk from me, but I would never see him again, because I was too tired at midnight, at a moment’s notice?

My chest ached. I went to sleep feeling more emotions than ever. Happy, smitten, flattered, doleful; jealous, disappointed, foiled, hopeful; charming, impotent, young, abandoned. My perplexion had never been this labyrinthine.

Yet there was one silver lining. One clarity, amidst this chaos. I wasn’t sure how, why, or who, but I knew that on this Valentine’s Day, I was falling in love.

Today’s highlights: Chiang Kai-shek memorial hall; sunset over Liberty Square; evening with Hope.