Synopsis

In January 2024, after three months in South Korea and nine in Japan, I continued to Taiwan for two and a half months. It felt like the middle ground between the two countries, but with a myriad of cultural shocks. I began volunteering at a hostel in Taipei for one month, and clubbed so hard from day one, that I fell sick (“Nihao | 你好“).

Taoist temples, reptiles, memorial halls, mountains, and great dates made me wonder: was Taiwan better than South Korea and Japan? (“The Best of All Worlds | 最好的世界“). Every day brought it with fun mountains, dates, and parties. After months of social and romantic abandonments in South Korea and Japan, which made me loath humankind, I didn’t suffer one bad moment in Taiwan (“The Taiwanese Roll | 好運連連“).

I reunited with a Taiwanese friend from Japan in Donggang, where we explored Liuqiu Island and celebrated my first Chinese New Year on the day of my trip’s one-year anniversary (“One Year of Traveling | 旅行一年“). Back in Taipei, cherry blossoms, racy bars, and the best dating week of my life peaked on Valentine’s Day, when I fell in love with more than one local (“Falling for Valentine | 愛上情人節“).

Taiwan was a revelation for a Middle Eastern queer. I’d never been to such a sexually-liberated country, nor felt more courted and desired. Taiwanese people were the warmest and most hospitable on Earth.

I celebrated this discovery in Beitou hot springs, on my second birthday on this trip (“Birthday Boy | 生日“). Then I found myself ghosted by everyone in my life, and cursed myself for my stupidity at Pingxi Sky Lantern Festival (“19 Going on 29 | 十九歲接近二十九歲“).

Peak blossoms in Yangmingshan and a new romantic mission made way for better dates, as well as my bloodiest hiking injury yet. My head was bleeding as I resolved to understand the meaning of love, even if it traumatized me. I realized I was in love with multiple people at the same time (“Tantalus’s Playground | 坦塔羅斯的操場“).

After one month at the hostel, I went south. Yanshui Beehive Fireworks, the world’s most dangerous festival, resulted in one of the scariest nights of my life. The annual Lantern Festival, on the other hand, was accompanied by temples and divine food in Tainan (“One Month in Taiwan | 台灣一個月“).

I visited museums, salt mountains, snoozy Kaohsiung, and realized that love was the bravery in baring your soul and trusting someone. After condemning people in South Korea and Japan for playing games with me and disappearing, it hit me that a broken heart followed a warmed heart. Then, in stark contrast to every guy I’d dated, a new beau cried at the prospect of saying goodbye (“The Pain Applicant, Part 1 | 痛苦申請者，第 1 部分“).

But my body was starting to give into the pressure of being in love with multiple people who didn’t want me in their lives. An enlightening and disastrous temple stay, farewell to my best friend in Taiwan, and a new German-Palestinian friend from Gaza proved that I’d out-grown my social anxiety, and sought someone special who would challenge my new composure. I didn’t mind losing my peace of mind for someone who would ruin my day and then make it, as long as they stuck by my side (“The Pain Applicant, Part 2 | 痛苦申請者，第 2部分“).

At Guanzihling mud spring, the date that cried and I had to part. I hiked Alishan and Yushan, the tallest mountain in East Asia, on a winter night. Surrounded by pitch-black snow and ice, I realized I was too much in love to hate those that had left me alone in the dark. Moreover, every heartbreak and life-threatening lows on this trip had followed bliss and life-changing highs. As the sun rose above the summit, it dawned on me that pain was the fate of love, and the essence of life. I began to chase both adventures and trauma (“The Pain Applicant, Part 3 | 痛苦申請者，第 3部分“).

Sun Moon Lake, Taichung, and Baishatun Mazu pilgrimage continued Taiwan’s spectacular mix of beautiful nature, divine food, and extreme festivals. Improved dates showed who was willing to wait for me, and who would forget our time (“Waiting to Forget | 等待忘記“).

Back to volunteering in Taipei, lonesome nights out recreated my alienation in South Korea. A new Korean volunteer and I grew close in an instant, as he introduced me to the dark world of Asian beauty standards (“Two Months in Taiwan | 台灣二個月“). When we hiked Taroko Gorge together, he made me realize how strong it was of me to embrace pain, yet weak to flaunt its impact (“Beautiful World, Ugly Humans | 美麗的世界，醜陋的人類“).

New dates led to being told “I love you” for the first time. Yet this only emphasized how unrequited all my relationships had become. My trip was ending, and I was in love with an absent plural (“Tantalus’s Punishment | 坦塔羅斯的懲罰“).

A powerful earthquake and romantic Jiufen shook me into understanding the meaning of love. I wasn’t just in love – I also loved, despite the distance, despite the hurt, despite the time apart. On my final nights, I reconnected with the locals that had captured my heart, and wrapped up dating – and my trip – on a high note (“The Meaning of Love | 愛的意義“).

After fourteen months of unforeseeable adventures, I grew from a misfit robot in Israel to a sociable romantic in Asia. Instead of thumping in timidity around people, my heart beat in ardour now. I finished my trip proud and penniless, with my mission complete, and flew back to war in Israel (“Zaijian | 再見“).

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