Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, “Introduction, A Number of Articles about Russian Literature”

In part 2, I…

• Stay at the biggest monastery in Taiwan
• Pray, medidate, and dine with monks
• Get kicked out of the monastery after a heated argument
• Return to Kaohsiung disgraced
• Visit the Lotus Pond and Monkey Mountain
• Bid Kaohsiung and my best friend in Taiwan farewell
• Return to Tainan simply to indulge on its cuisine
• Befriend a person from Gaza
• Reach a new conclusion about love and my social advancement

4 March 2024

• 11:50-12:00 Kaohsiung main station to Zuoying station MRT (red line), 13:25-13:55 Harvard Express bus to Fo Guang Shan (from bus stop number 3)
• Volunteer orientation
• Sutra Depository (20m)
• 17:45 formal dining @ Cloud Dwelling Building
• Fo Guang Yuan art gallery (30m)
• Great Compassion Shrine (20m)

Fo Guang Shan

I left Kaohsiung today for Fo Guang Shan, the biggest monastery in Taiwan, and my fifth temple stay. Having befriended two ex-volunteers of the monastery, they’d linked me with the monk in charge of the volunteers, who had agreed to let me stay with them as a guest.

Fo Guang Shan was comprised of three huge areas: Buddha Mountain, where visitors flocked to a famous museum and gigantic Buddha; Dharma Mountain, home to a massive sutra depository; and Sangha Mountain, where pilgrims, monks, and volunteers lived and prayed. All featuring lavish halls, wooden walls, orange roofs, and empty space. In lieu of the Taoist horror vacui, the décor was restrained. Trees, flowers, bonsai, gardens, birds tweeting, and upbeat Buddhist music playing: a Buddhist treat.

I crossed an endless parking lot with flags of the monastery and every country until reaching the volunteers’ lodge inside the Three Goddess Building. Six new volunteers were being oriented by a head volunteer from Malaysia, her fourth stint here. She’d heard of my coming, and invited me to join their group. I felt grateful: pilgrims didn’t enjoy the luxury of participating in their daily activities (such as the morning prayer) or feasting with the monks.

There were a lot of rules to be taught. Masks were to be worn everywhere, and the formal dining involved many customs. The monastery offered in-between refreshments everywhere – inside the 3G building, inside temples (grabbing a candy equalled receiving a blessing), and at various teahouses.

I put my bag inside my dormitory, noticed shelves full of provisions, grabbed a Pocari Sweat and a small box of wet wipes, and returned to the lobby. The Malaysian and I talked while the new volunteers remained strangely quiet, as if they didn’t want to understand the monastery or speak.

After a long introduction, we went to meet the veteran volunteers.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “I know you!”

A twentysomething French girl with a tan skin and light brown hair. We’d met at a hostel in Naoshima, where we both stayed for one night on 24 March 2023. Having chatted for a mere hour, without even exchanging names or details, I hadn’t written about her. Yet now, I recognized her in an instant.

“How was housesitting in Shimanami Kaido?” I asked. We’d both visited different islands of this archipelago on the following week.

“How was cycling there after your bike injury?” she asked, recalling my accident a day prior. “You’re from Israel, right?”

Both of us had been traveling in Asia this entire time. This was her second time in this monastery.

I spoke mainly with her, because there were ten or so volunteers overall, from countries like Germany, France, Italy, Norway, Canada, US, and Spain. Their working conditions sounded enticing: three hours of cleaning once every two days. Prayers weren’t mandatory, and three meals were provided every day.

No wonder the French girl and Malaysian head volunteer had returned here to enjoy vegan cuisine, serenity, and all the free time one could wish for. There was even a running track and a basketball court by the 3G building.

“You should stay with us for more than one night,” the Malaysian said, seemingly disappointed. “The museum will also be closed tomorrow, you won’t be able to see it.”

I regretted not incorporating volunteering here into my itinerary.

Anxious by my scant time, I invited the other volunteers, such as a new French guy, to join me in visiting Dharma Mountain. Being sprawled on a mountain, traversing the monastery meant one thing: steps. A lot of them.

Also, a lot of sun.

We crossed the vast monastery grounds through the Non-Duality Gate, where hundreds of pure white Bodhisattvas welcomed visitors. Every person we passed, we greeted by lowering our middle fingers toward our thumbs like a Buddha and saying 吉祥 (“Jixiang”) – “auspicious blessings”. There were a lot of people out and about, since no less than 500 monks lived here, 75% of them women. (In stark opposite to Japan and Korea.) They always walked two-by-two.

The Sutra Depository

At 16:40, we entered the Sutra Depository, before it closed at 17:00. As the newest building in Fo Guang Shan, it was built seven years ago. An old Buddhist monk who spoke perfect English guided us.

She gave us yellow flowers to pray at the altar, where a realistic, life-sized sculpture of the founder meditating almost made me think it was him.

Master Hsing Yun, originally from China, had become a monk at 12, and immigrated to Taiwan at 23. He’d founded these headquarters, alongside 300 other branches around the world. At old age, diabetes had marred his sight and bound him to a wheelchair. He’d written the heart sutra in one-stroke calligraphy while an assistant had been moving the paper on his desk continuously. The result had been carved into the marble walls of the Depository, so that from afar, the characters resembled black ink.

It was among the most beautiful calligraphy I’d seen. Large, spaced out, simple. I wished I could’ve taken pictures of it.

Last February, the Master had passed away at 97 years old.

The Great Buddha Land

For sunset, we continued to the Great Buddha Land. With lanterns still hanging from the Lantern Festival, a comfortable winter weather, flowers beginning to bloom, and more birds than noise, I felt calm and happy. We struck the wishing bell at the Great View Shrine, where a golden-white Buddha was perched on an electric blue ox.

The Buddhist Hogwarts

At 17:40, we rushed to the Cloud Dwelling Building for the formal dinner. There was a strict no-phones, no-late, no-talking policy. A monk beat a gong; hundreds of monks of all ethnicities, mostly Taiwanese, Malaysian, and Chinese, walked inside.

It was like the Buddhist version of the Great Hall from Hogwarts. Instead of two oak tables to the right and left of the central aisle, there were fifty or so, longer and thinner, in light grey plastic. City-hall-esque foldable blue chairs were placed on one side of each table, facing the aisle. Instead of gothic stone walls, the walls where white with wooden ornaments. Instead of a canopy of floating candles, red and golden paper lanterns hung from the ornaments. Instead of the teachers’ table, there was an understated altar.

We walked to a table in a single file. Everyone bowed to the altar and sat facing each other, or rather, the central aisle. Monks in robes of various colours: light grey, brown, pale blue, black. The head monk, holding a microphone, was of African descent.

Young, trainee monks in aprons carrying buckets of food rushed to serve us. In front of me, on the top part of the table, there was a small plate with a tofu dish and three vegetable side dishes; a small bowl with rice; and a small bowl with soup. One ought to rearrange these at once, or else it signified a decline: move the rice from the top left close to you, to the bottom right; the soup from the top right to the lower left; and the plate to the bottom centre.

After a short prayer, a melody of clangs began. Metallic chopsticks against porcelain.

I wolfed down noodles, bok choy, rice, and radish. Some of the volunteers struggled to use chopsticks; others didn’t know that it was rude to leave leftovers. To request a second helping, one ought to leave some of the desired dish on their bowl or plate (and nothing else), move it to the top, and a monk would hurry to refill.

We ended the meal by stacking the bowls on the top left and placing the plate on the top right, with the chopsticks in the middle. Another bow to the altar, and we left in a single file.

After dinner, a young Malaysian monk with a surprising sense of humour showed us around. We cycled on electrical bikes at the courtyard to illuminate a Chinese pavilion; visited an art gallery, already closed to visitors, with artificial cave walls, dharma paintings, and an exhibition about Master Hsing Yun’s life.

At the Great Compassion Shrine, we offered incense to a white Boddhisatva. The walls were dotted with thousands of tiny, white, Buddhas meditating insides nooks with golden arches. We held the incense stick parallel to our forehead. The French girl was sitting crossed-legged in a corner, eyes shut in concentration.

As we strolled with the funny monk around the main shrine complex, I noticed the gentle breeze, occasional frog croak or cricket chirp, and relaxing atmosphere. I immediately asked to add another night here.

At 20:00, we retired to our dormitory: a large room with four Korea-thin futons on a deck. The new French guy, a new Indian guy, and a veteran Italian man shared the room with me. Hardwood floor, an en-suite whose shower was separate from the toilet: I could easily enjoy one month here.

5 March 2024

• 5:40-6:20 morning prayer @ Main Shrine
• 6:15-6:55 formal breakfast @ Cloud Dwelling Building
• Back to the Great Buddha Land (20m)
• Exploring the monastery grounds (1h)
• Tea break @ the Great Practice Shrine’s teahouse
• 11:15-11:45 formal lunch @ Cloud Dwelling Building
• Sutra Calligraphy Hall (30m)
• 17:45-18:10 formal dinner @ Cloud Dwelling Building
• Cab ride to Jiuqutang station (20m), 20:20-20:40 local train to Kaohsiung station

Morning Prayer

I woke at 5:00 and headed to the Main Shrine at 5:30. Three giant bronze Buddhas one-upped the white one from yesterday, while thousands of tiny, bronze Buddhas were meditating inside the same nooks. The sky was dark. A small bulb lit on each nook created the appearance of stars.

A hundred monks or so in black and dark brown robes walked inside two-by-two. We performed three prostrations on cushions, then chanted (or rather sang) the heart sutra. After a snoozy half an hour, we prostrated again, and left. Laughably shorter than in Japan and Korea.  

A pale blue sky welcomed us into the formal breakfast. The chanting was longer than yesterday’s dinner. Moreover, all the diners had to wait until the post-meal chanting to leave together.

Exploring the Monastery

Since it was still cool outside (mid-day would be 31 degrees), I returned to the Great Buddha Land, while the other volunteers retired to 3G for a rest. A tall, golden Buddha; a symphony of songbirds. I was the only person outside.

I continued to the museum area. It took me an hour to cross the temple grounds and soak in the view. With everything closed until 9:00 and all the passageways locked, I got stuck inside this labyrinth, and took a while to find my way back to 3G. The weather grew sweltering hot; I realized that raking leaves in a tropical climate would push my soul toward eternal meditation.

At 9:40, I climbed with a couple of volunteers to the Great Practice Shrine, up the most remote hill of the monastery. Stylish, quiet, with a sweeping view and free refreshments, it reminded me of an upscale teahouse in Kyoto.

Before I knew it, it was 11:15. The formal lunch started with the longest chant. Monks handed out pamphlets with a romanized sutra. Singing with everyone was nice at first – until it dragged and dragged. Fo Guang Shan began to feel too religious for me. I understood why some volunteers opted for the informal buffet.

Then I indulged on red rice, a vegetable soup, green beans, roasted tofu, and rice noodles. Dessert was a sugar-coated rice puff and a red pomelo.

In the afternoon, the head volunteer took me to the Sutra Calligraphy Hall, where she taught me how to copy a blessing. She seemed excited to help me make the most out of this monastery. The other volunteers were napping at 3G.

“I would love to come back as someday,” I told her. The last two days were amazing.

Dinner at 17:45 was so delicious, that despite being full, I asked for second helpings. One could eat very well as a vegan here.

My Only Fight on This Trip

Exhausted from hot temperatures, insufficient sleep, and meditations, I wanted to call it early, when the head volunteer urged me to join the evening prayer. So I rushed to my dormitory, asked the only other roommate around – a 37-year-old Italian man, the oldest volunteer – to use the shower, and rummaged through my bag to find my toiletries. I didn’t bother to close the zipper.

When I stepped out of the shower, the Italian and French volunteers were inside the dormitory.

“Hey, I have a question,” the Italian said. “Did any of you take some things from the shelves?”

The French shook his head.

“I did,” I said, returning my toiletries to my bag. “Some tissues and a Pocari Sweat.”

“Those are mine,” the Italian said.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t know that.”

His belongings were neither by his futon, nor labelled.

“Did you drink it?”

“I think so,” I said, not sure how to react.

“Did you or did you not drink it?” he repeated.

Fretting over my mistake, I tried to answer in a manner that would minimize it.

“I remember drinking something at the lobby, but I don’t remember what.”

This wasn’t entirely true. I had a feeling it was inside my bag. But I wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was yours,” I added and grabbed my wallet. “I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t know,” I said, growing nervous.

“Did you or did you not drink it?” he repeated.

“I think I did –”

“So it’s not inside your bag?”

“What?”

“Open your bag,” he said.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Look, it was a mistake,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know –”

He stepped onto the deck.

“Show me what’s inside your bag.”

I froze by my futon. The French guy was gawking at us without moving or saying anything. I realized the items in questions were inside my bag, and that I’d just made another mistake.

“I didn’t know it was yours, I’m sorry,” I said. My heart was starting to race; my voice was cracking. “I don’t remember what happened –”

“OPEN YOUR BAG,” he commanded, moving close to me.

I rummaged through my bag. My hands were shaking as I noticed that his items weren’t there.

“It was here, I don’t know, I guess I already used it –”

“Empty your bag,” he said, hovering over my shoulder.

I turned my bag upside down. Clothes and toiletries fell on the deck. No wet wipes or Pocari Sweat.

“See,” I said, “it’s not here –”

“Empty all of your bag,” he said.

I opened a second zipper – nothing there – I showed him all the contents – until his belongings fell from the laptop compartment.

“Oh, shit,” I blurted.

Silence.

The three of us stared at one another. I’d messed up. It was obvious to all.

“I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” I said and gave him his items. “I didn’t know it was yours, take it back.”

He didn’t budge to take his belongings.  

“You have ten minutes to leave the monastery, or I report you,” he said.

“What?”

“I have a video of you hiding it in your bag. If you don’t leave, I will report you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, incredulous.

“You have the leave immediately.”

“But – it was a mistake –” I stuttered, “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean it –”

“You stole from me,” he said. “You made me suspect all the other volunteers. You have to leave immediately.”

My heart was hammering. My chest was constricting. He’d filmed me before taking a shower, and waited with the French guy until I finished. They thought I was a thief.

I apologized profusely. He repeated his sentiment.

“YOU HAVE TO LEAVE.”

I’d already paid for tonight – I couldn’t afford to waste any money – and the time was 19:00, equal to midnight on an isolated mountain. There were no more buses running.

“But it was a mistake! I’m sorry! Take it back, I don’t want it! What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t care,” he muttered.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care. You have to leave.”

Shock glued me to hardwood. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I continued to apologize, to emphasize that I did not intend to steal.

“I didn’t know it belonged to anyone, I didn’t mean it –”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, as calm as a monk. “I don’t want to hear it.”

We both grew petrified, me like a stunned sculpture, he as hard as a rock. He stood by the door, waiting for my departure.

The French guy was blinking at us like a fish. This whole time, he didn’t move or utter a syllable. Now all the other volunteers would think I was a thief.

No amount of reasoning, apologizing, and pleading helped. I was practically begging the Italian to forgive me.

“What more do you want me to do?” I said. “Where would I sleep?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “You stole from me.”

“I’M SORRY, REALLY, I DIDN’T MEAN TO STEAL!”

“I DON’T CARE,” he yelled, “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE, NOW.”

“OKAY, OKAY –” I bellowed, shoving all my belongings into my bag. “I’m not arguing with you, I’m leaving, but please don’t call me a thief –”

“I didn’t call you a thief,” he muttered, “but you did steal from me.”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO STEAL!” I snapped, putting on my shoes. “I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOURS!”

“I HAVE THE VIDEO,” he said. “YOU’RE A LIAR. YOU HAVE TO LEAVE.”

“I am not arguing with you,” I muttered as I stormed out of the room, more distressed at this point about finding a way out of this monastery.

“I HAVE THE VIDEO,” he exclaimed behind me, shoving his phone toward me. “I HAVE THE VIDEO!”

“I’m not arguing with you, I just have to see if there is still a bus!” I said, rushing to the elevator.

I knew I was in the wrong. Not for stealing – for lying. It was hard to think straight.

Ever since leaving Israel, I’d had zero fights in real life. Disagreements, sure, but my only altercations on this trip were on the phone with former friends and family. I didn’t want to quarrel with the Italian. I didn’t want to stay here. I was mortified. And I was anxious about finding transportation.

He followed me into the elevator.

“Why are you coming with me?” I asked, my voice subdued by disbelief.

He answered again as calmly as a monk.

“I am making sure that you leave.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I didn’t want anyone else to hear about this.

He walked me out of the 3G building. It was the dark and quiet. The vein in my throat was louder than the monastery.

A holy place. One never yelled or argued here.

I hurried down the mountain in pure shame. Alone at dark in the middle of nowhere. Neither cars, nor passersby. The last bus had departed two hours ago, and everyone was either meditating or getting ready for bed. What was I to do?

This morning, Teddy had suggested driving here from the countryside in northern Tainan prefecture just to give me a gift. It sounded too far; I’d refused. Now, I called him.

“I will come right after work,” he said. “It will take three hours. Wait for me.”

I didn’t know it would take him this long. He was willing to make all this way and let me stay with him.

No. It was too much of a request. I cried on the taxi to the nearest train station. I’d never felt so humiliated. And I wouldn’t even get to visit the museum, for which I’d extended my stay here.

Ultimately, I managed to sleep at the hostel by Kaohsiung station, where I’d stored my luggage. Today was so long and eventful, that it felt endless; yet despite my fatigue, I couldn’t go to bed. It wasn’t until midnight that I managed to fall asleep.

6 March 2024

• 12:20-13:35 Kaohsiung station to Zuoying station local train
• Lotus Pond (1.5h)
• 15:15-15:30 Xin-Zuoying station to Kaohsiung station local train

Lotus Pond

I couldn’t get out of bed this morning. Guilt had drained all my energy. I pouted as I replayed last night in my head.

Yet I couldn’t waste my time in this country. Only one month left. So I took the train to the Lotus Pond.

It was a tranquil lake with ducks and rest pavilions. The famous Dragon and Tiger Pagodas, multi-storeyed and octagonal, were under renovations. A zigzag bridge led inside their mouths, in which colourful statues lined the sky-blue gums.

Further down the lake, I crossed a cave like a dragon’s body at the Spring and Autumn Pagodas. My conscience suppressed any potential interest. I couldn’t stop thinking about my behaviour, or appreciate the pagodas and adjacent temples.

I spent the rest of the day in bed, staring at the screen when not writing. Everyone at the monastery probably thought I was a thief.

In hindsight, the Italian man hadn’t had the authority to film me in secret, order me to empty my bag, and banish me out of the monastery. But I wouldn’t have stayed there anyway after such an accusation.

Today’s highlight: writing, by default.

7 March 2024

Mt Shou-shan

I spent today with Autumn, my best friend in Taiwan. In two days, he would embark on a working holiday in New Zealand. Going to the West for the first time for a year: I’d done the same last February, upon setting foot for the first time in the Far East.

We hiked around National Sun Yat-Sen University and Shoushan, AKA monkey mountain, where they roamed free. They were notorious for snatching any food you unsheathed. The view of the sea even on this cloudy day was pretty, particularly at a secluded spot with ruins of a fort and cacti. Who knew Taiwan had cacti?

Then we visited the former British consulate at Takow (overpriced and underwhelming). Lunch was noodles and a white gourd tea – apparently every boba shop sold one – a piece of information dangerous for my wallet and stomach.

The art pier was nigh deserted today, and all of Kaohsiung, for that matter. A dull, placid city.

At Formosa Boulevard Station, it was time for farewell.

“You are part of the reason I came to Taiwan,” I said, after we’d met in Japan in October. He was the local I’d met here the most.

It was like saying goodbye to my best friend in England on the campus of my university during lockdown. And to the British guy from Tokyo outside Ginza station. The Korean guy from Seoul outside Sangbong station. The Chinese guy from Sapporo inside Odori bus terminal. Places I would now associate with an end.

Sing Ren Garden Night Market

I took the TRA to Tainan. The temples of Kyoto, the food heaven of Sapporo, the looks of Jeonju – I had to come back here. My hostel, far from the main station, was Japanese-like, and close to the best food spots.

Teddy picked me up and took me to the best eel noodles in Tainan, way in the south. The bowl was huge and the soup was minimal, less viscous than last time. The double stir-fried noodles practically tasted roasted. Very garlicky, which the Israeli palate tended to favour.

After nearly fainting from hunger, I could barely finish this dish, as exquisite as it was fulfilling. He also ordered squid with onions. One of my best meals here.

We wandered around at night and then went Sing Ren Garden Night Market. Thai milk tea; candied strawberry and tomato skewers; a banana and marshmallow chocolate crepe. Neither he nor Autumn ever wanted me to pay for anything; such was Taiwanese hospitality. Teddy drove me around, treated me to food, and texted me everyday, asking for my well-being. He repeated how much he liked me, and even bought me medicine for my hiking injury.

It was my fourth time since the summer where someone brought up the subject of marriage.

Back in my hostel, before going to bed, I sent my application for a student visa in Japan. At long last.

Today’s highlights: Shoushan; lunch with Autumn; EEL NOODLES; dessert at Sing Ren Garden.

Stray observations:

• Taiwanese people don’t utter each other’s name while hiking, in case evil spirits that live in nature hear it.
• They also don’t turn around suddenly while hiking.
• In most public restrooms, the washbasins are located outside the structure, combined for men and women.

8 March 2024

An Israeli Jew Meets a German-Palestenian

I woke without any inclination to leave bed. Last night was wonderful – but I couldn’t forget the events of my birthday week in Taipei. It felt devastating to not even receive a reply from someone who had shown every sign of interest in me.

It was rare, finding someone you thought about every day. Even rarer when it was reciprocated. Until it wasn’t.

I wanted to cry and spend the day writing in bed. Then I heard a group of foreign exchange students in the hallway.

They were from Canada, Germany, France, doing a semester in Taipei and visiting Tainan for the first time. I gave them tips and suggested we grabbed breakfast. They invited me to spend the day with them.

After the obligatory “Where are you from?” exchanges, one guy hesitated to answer.

“I’m Palestinian,” he murmured. “My grandparents were murdered, and my dad escaped from Gaza.”

He was half German. Not a combination a Jewish person would marvel at.

“Half of the people I met when traveling in Georgia were Israelis,” he said in a low voice. “It was easier to pretend I was a white person called Jonas.”

He did seem fully Caucasian. Short, brown hair; big, blue eyes; an impressive bone structure. His past interactions with Israelis had been offensive, to say the least. As in, they’d wished death upon him and his family.

“My grandpa was a nazi,” he said. “He got what he deserved.“

It was my first time meeting someone from Gaza. He seemed charming and good-humored, someone I could already run jokes with. We stood in the hallway with the other guys and exchanged perspectives. Upon hearing my criticism of Israel, he grew visibly relieved.

Comparing our indoctrinations was eye-opening. He had been punished at school for addressing his ethnicity and wearing Palestinian garments; he couldn’t visit Israel and his grandparents’ village without risking indefinite imprisonment; and he worked for the German government, ergo couldn’t speak his mind without getting sacked.

I took them to an eatery by Chikan tower, where I tried coffin toast (filled with a delicious, milky vegetable stew and horribly dry meat), milkfish soup (overpriced few pieces of white fish in a clear soup), and white gourd tea.

The other guys didn’t know anything about the conflict. Jonas and I explained it to them in perfectly calm tones. No one got angry or raised their voice. Five guys from France, Canada, and Germany, plus me, just placidly discussing politics. Never with Israelis.

The most noteworthy detail about this conversation was something else altogether. The fact that it was a discussion, rather than an argument. None of us lost our composure. None of us got upset. We shared families who turned politics into a fight more than we shared political ideologies. But our voices were as calm as if pointing out the pleasant weather.

It wasn’t lack of interest in the conversation. On the contrary, it progressed without a moment of awkwardness, of animosity, of silence. Everyone spoke eloquently and appealed to reason rather than emotion. The German guy even brought out organic German chocolates at some point. We indulged on white chocolate with coffee while raising political assertions.

“Cogito Ergo Patior” (12 November 2024)

As we finished our civil meal, it occurred to me how much I felt at ease. I’d just met this group, and already delved into delicate subjects with them. Before this trip, I would’ve been too nervous and fidgety to do this.

My social anxiety was a thing of the past. I no longer trembled during new interactions. On the contrary, I’d grown to look for someone who would make my heart beat fast and my body twitch in attraction.

I wanted someone who would keep me up at night, and then stay with me through it. Who would ruin my day, and then make it. I didn’t mind losing my peace of mind for this; my control over my body.

Anping

We rented YouBikes and cycled parallel to the river to Anping. I’d already exhausted this district. After a 45-minute boat ride from the Fisherman’s Wharf, we returned to the hostel. They’d left for the HSR lantern festival, while I ate eel noodles again for dinner. This time at the original place, where they swam in a viscous sauce, sea-like with a hint of sweet.

As I dined by myself, I realized that love, like friendship, could come only when least expected. I didn’t know where and when it might happen. But I suspected that it would force me to make sacrifices along the way.

Today’s highlights: more local specilaties in Tainan for brunch; Anping with Jonas and the foreign exchange students; EEL NOODLES.