Amidst the rush of worldly comings and goings,

observe how endings become beginnings.

Lao Tzu, “Tao Te Ching”

In the final chapter, I…

• Rush to the emergency room on my last day in Taiwan
• Recreate my first night of partying in Taiwan on my last night
• Wrap up dating in Taipei on a high note
• Mark the end of my trip
• Fly to Israel

5 April 2024

• 11:00-12:30 shift

The Garden of Earthly Delights

Over the past few nights, I’d been waking from strange dreams and thinking very clearly: Someday, I will be dead.

So I felt too fidgety after my shift to do anything. Nervous from the end of my trip; incredulous from last night’s epiphany; and excited by my impromptu decision to change my plans for tomorrow.

My original plan was to do nothing and be alone on the last day of my trip. But then Chill, who I’d gone out with on my first night in Taiwan to a techno club in Ximen, suggested going out there tomorrow for my last night. Teddy from Tainan prefecture announced he would come to Taipei tomorrow to see me. Luciano offered several times to accompany me to the airport. Jake from Taichung texted that he was back in town.

Suddenly, I had too much going on.

I spent hours in the lobby on edge. I couldn’t leave the East with things unsaid. Better to fail than live with regret. I hadn’t heard from Eres since the earthquake, despite my attempts to reconnect with him. I cursed myself for being too late and indirect. At the risk of sounding pathetic, I needed to communicate my feelings. So I told Hope and Heron how much I missed them.

Some people insisted on seeing me before my departure. Others ignored me. I felt both chased and rejected. Burned by fire that I was igniting. Tantalus’s playground had expanded into Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.

All my life, I’d worried that I was incapable of love. I was certain beyond doubt that I would never get to experience it. That there was something wrong with me. This was how I’d felt in Israel.

Now, there was so much love and yearning in my heart, that my chest hurt. I’d even developed platonic crushes on people I ached to be friends with. I couldn’t calm down or write. I couldn’t focus.

The 3 A.M. Rendezvous

At night, Heron replied. Our first conversation since I’d left Taipei in late February. The narrative I’d formed in my head about his disappearance turned out to be false. There was a huge misunderstanding between us. I’d assumed he hadn’t wished to speak to me again. He turned out to miss me as much as I’d been missing him.

Then, history repeated itself.

Defeated, I returned to my hostel at 23:30 and sat outside on the pavement.

Now what?

Not just tonight. Now what would I do with my life. I still hadn’t figured out my Hokkaido itinerary; fitting everything on my list into one month was an impossible task. If I couldn’t properly see the island in this timeframe, when would I be able to? When would I return here?

I barely had any money. It was now or never.

This was supposed to be a night of partying. A weekend of celebrations. Instead, I grew anxious and afraid on a deserted pavement at night.

I texted Cowboy. He was working the graveyard shift. I fought against my exhaustion and stayed up until 3:00, after which I went to say hi at his hotel. I didn’t want tonight to end with me alone on a pavement.

“Hokkaido Homesick” (16 September 2023)

At 3:00, so tired that I was looking like a zombie, I went to meet Heron in Ximen. I could sleep, or use my last chance to see him.

It was drizzling. His presence warmed my body and woke me. To reunite with someone no longer in your life who you thought about routinely – to discover requited feelings after convincing yourself you were hated by him – what could be more gratifying?

At 5:00, I fell asleep.

Today’s highlights: being loved, being rejected, feeling restless, feeling love; the 3 AM rendezvous.

6 April 2024

Emergency Room on the Final Morning

I woke at 9:30 to meet Teddy. He texted that something had happened, and that he couldn’t make it.

I was as confused as I was relieved by the opportunity to catch up on sleep. Had he changed his mind about coming all this way to meet me?

Then, I ran to the emergency room. Not exactly how I’d intended to spend the last day of my trip.

The doctors assured me I had no cause for concern.

Distraught by this scare and emboldened by last night’s auspicious reunion, I texted Eres.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry, this holiday I stay mostly with my family and my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I said, “of course.”

Perfect timing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I added, afraid to cross a line. “Last time was great, so I just wanted to say hi. Happy holidays.”

“I understand,” he said. “It’s super sweet of you! Thank you.”

That was it.

I didn’t want to leave the East with dead ends. I wanted an open door, the option to stay in touch with the people who had made my trip. I returned to the hostel, and invited Jeong-Ho to lunch.

Letdown at Lunch

After spending my first week back in Taipei together 24/7, growing very close very fast, and hiking Taroko gorge together, something had shifted. If I hadn’t spoken to him, he wouldn’t speak to me. If I’d asked him something, he’d answer tersely and dryly. He had stopped smiling in my presence. We’d gone from endless, intimate conversations, to none.

Now, we looked around Ximen for street food. I didn’t want anything. The area was even busier than usual, with a parade for some kind of a festival. Costumes, dragons, drumming, children handing out free snacks.

Jeong-Ho suggested I ate the dish I would miss the most. Yet eel noodles were a Tainan specialty, while fried water chestnuts were a Fengyuan specialty.

He stuck to his usual 7-11 meal. I picked a truffle and scrambled egg sandwich, like on my first day in Taiwan. I’d reached a point where I didn’t care about food or landmarks; only about my friends. I preferred spending more time with someone special to throwing money on a special dish.

Life came down to the people you loved. Everything else was background noise.

After lunch, I tried to nap. It didn’t work. So I packed my luggage, and hugged the staff at the hostel farewell.

A Baffling Last Night of Partying

Right before midnight, I went to the techno club in Ximen. There was already a line. Tonight’s kinky event had drawn a lot of people wearing leather and revealing fetish outfits. I wished I could join their ranks.

The staff at reception covered my phone cameras with stickers. I took the elevator to the roof as I recalled one of my most memorable bouts of partying.

Being on the ninth and highest floor, the club was singular in featuring both an indoor dance floor and an outdoor rooftop lounge. Shivering uncontrollably on one of the coldest nights of the year, we sprawled on a couple of couches and talked about life.

The Danish girl was leaving Taiwan in three days. She was so sad, that she planned to settle here in the future. Just like me and Japan.

The guys were showing each other dirty videos of themselves while reclining together in an affectionate way.

“They’re very, very good friends,” the girl remarked.

I believed her. The situation seemed nothing more than platonic. In looser Taipei, even friends could act like them.

As witching hour cast its spells, the couches filled up. I sat on Chill while his friend lay his head on me. Cuddling platonically, we discussed drugs again. Half of the crowd was comprised of users and dealers.

“I’m learning so much today,” I said.

The plants and walls on the rooftop lounge were lit neon green, while the sky above us was purple and foggy.

I couldn’t believe how drastically the last few days had changed my circumstances. From straw tatami and obaachans to neon pollution and substance abuse. I recounted my last week to the girl while the guy was showing us nude photos of him. What was this sex-positive land of amity? I found this friend group both enviable and refreshing.

“If a girl is very tight down there,” she said soon after, “it can rip a cord on the guy’s foreskin. He will need a circumcision surgery.”

I burst out laughing. A few days ago, I was volunteering at a temple on an obscure mountain most Japanese people hadn’t heard of, cleaning, stargazing, and napping in the afternoon, for lack of a better activity. Running jokes with Japanese grandmas while cooking in the kitchen. Now, I was at a rooftop techno club in a metropolis, engulfed by neon plants, cigarette smoke, and a lavender haze, talking about a torn foreskin due to tight penetration.

I laughed so much, that I was in hysterics. Life!

Everything about this scene felt so funny and intimate, but at the same time, not a big deal.

“Nihao” (26 January 2024)

My first night of clubbing in Taiwan. I simply had to return here for my last.

Yet midnight was too early for Taipei. Chill was running late. I grew bored.

Then someone approached me.

“Oh my god,” I exclaimed in instant recognition. Chill’s “very, very good” friend.  

I remembered everything about him. He didn’t remember my name and nationality. But he introduced me to his Norwegian friend, clad in a theme-appropriate harness, who I immediately chatted with for an hour that was gone in a blink.

A guy wearing a puppy mask and a latex outfit was being walked on all fours on a leash. I approached an 18-year-old Ukrainian model traveling the world by herself while working. She’d lived in Tokyo for ten months at the same time as me, and gotten free entry to the VIP, models-only clubs in Roppongi.

We talked for half an hour. She seemed calm and confident in her mini skirt, while I was shivering from the cold breeze. I admired her maturity. Then I spotted a familiar face not far from me.

Eres.

What? Here?

Why was a mellow dentist at a kinky techno club?

He wore grungy designer clothes, monochromatic with heaps of silver jewelry, like a fashion model from Berlin.

My knees grew weak. I tried to focus on the model’s words. But I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t want to become annoying or clingy, like I had with Jeong-Ho. I’d gone through enough friendship breakups to know that people often got tired of me.

The model left to dance. I sifted through the crowd, searching for the Norwegian guy. Then someone greeted me before I could notice him.

Eres smiled and hugged me. He spoke softly. I recalled his interesting, Eastern-European like accent. I couldn’t pinpoint it. Never had I heard someone Taiwanese talk like him.

He introduced me to his Paraguayan boyfriend, who looked Middle-Eastern to me. I’d never met someone of his nationality. He had Moroccan and Jewish roots, and said a few sentences in Hebrew to me.

What.

He could read the Hebrew I was typing on my phone. Not fluently, but still.

I quivered on my spot, cold and confused. What was happening?

“My social anxiety was a thing of the past,” I’d written on March 8, after meeting the half-German, half-Palestinian foreign exchange student from Taipei and his group of friends. One of his grandfathers was murdered in Gaza; the other was a nazi. Yet we’d instantly become friends.

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

For the first time in recent memory, I found myself fidgety. The scene at present was the last thing I’d expected from my final night here.

A drunk, French man approached us and hijacked the conversation. Eres left with his boyfriend. I stood in a corner and tried to process this. Then someone hugged me.

It was 2:00, and Chill was finally here. We embraced so tightly, that I lifted him off his feet. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed him.

He’d come with a guy he’d been dating. Thus, we acted platonically. I had no problem with this.

I met more friends of Chill’s, such as a sassy Taiwanese girl wearing an incredible leather and handcuffs outfit. To my bewilderment, they all knew who Eres was: the co-founder of this club.

I hadn’t deemed it possible for tonight to astonish me more than my first time.

He was a dentist who soothed his patients with his speech. The co-owner of a kinky nightclub who partied shirtless. A host who greeted guests graciously. He wore stylish clothes, had thousands of followers on social media, and sounded Eastern European, despite being Taiwanese.

It wasn’t often when someone puzzled me.

At 3:30, it started drizzling. The throng in the lounge petered out. I stood alone on the edge of the roof and let the rain hit me.

Gray buildings filled my view. I recalled the Japanese guy from the second week of my trip, in February 2023. After he’d done all in his power to signal his interest in me – asking to spend more time together, buying me his favourite treats, teaching me how to act Japanese, trying to make concrete plans to meet in Tokyo – I’d feared rejection too much to ask for his contact details. Remorse had pushed me to search for him for half a year.

My efforts had ended in vain. Losing him had become my only regret. I would spend the rest of my life wondering who he was, and what could’ve been.

Now, dazed and shaking, I felt similarly. Sometimes my overthinking truly ruined things.

At 4:00, I entered the dance floor to bid my companions adieu. I stepped outside to the lounge, when Eres stepped in. He embraced me before I could acknowledge him.

“I’m very happy to see you again,” he grinned.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He went inside to grab an umbrella.

I stood by the entrance and recalled the moment the Japanese guy and I had said goodbye. We would never meet again, I had lamented, as he’d tapped my hand in affection. An intimate gesture unheard of in Japan.

I refused to make the same mistake twice.

“I feel like it’s a crazy coincidence to see you here,” I said, following Eres inside the club. “And I already know I’ll be back to Taipei someday…”

We stood in the cramped passageway. Neon lights were illuminating the darkness. Loud, electronic beats were blaring in my ears. I felt tranquil.

“And?” he asked.

I asked for his contact details.

“Oh, we didn’t exchange!” he exclaimed in concern, and prompted to do so.

His palm held onto my torst as I squeezed through the mass of bodies to go outside. In the dim light, his face was beaming.

My inability to read some people never ceased to frustrate me. I’d never been able to predict my friendships that had lasted, versus those that had expired.

I said goodbye. Eres bent over to meet my stature. He was shirtless, and I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. Yet my side hug felt awkward when he responded with a full one.

“Have a good night,” he said.

“晚安,” I said. “Oh, and 再見.”

“That’s right,” he laughed. “See you again.”

I strode toward the elevator and glanced back. His grin stayed on while I cracked a smile. I went to bed at 5:00, feeling at peace by this trip’s last night.

Today’s highlights: every single thing that happened at the club.

7 April 2024

• 9:25-10:20 Ximen to airport bus number 1961A
• Lunch @ Taoyuan airport
• 14:15-17:45 Taoyuan airport (Taiwan) to Suvarnabhumi airport (Thailand) flight

Farewell at the Airport

I woke at 8:00 and left the hostel at 9:00. Jeong-Ho didn’t leave his bed to say goodbye, even when I asked for a hug. I knew I would never hear from him again.

Luciano was waiting for me outside my hostel. I couldn’t believe he’d actually come east all the way from west New Taipei City to take the bus with me westward to the airport. We held hands the entire time.

He gifted me Taiwanese style Mugwort mochi and black sticky rice mochi, deliciously softer than mochi in Japan; and pineapple cake from his family’s bakery in Changhua. His aunt had planted the pineapple tree fifty years ago.

I checked into my flight. Buddhist monks dressed in robes were standing in line. No attendant interrogated me about the contents of my baggage. “Did someone bring you something to deliver? Did you pack everything yourself? Did you leave your luggage unattended? What is the purpose of your trip?” were some of the questions always inquired in Israel. Boarding gates for flights bound there were always situated at the far end of terminals, for reasons of security.

Tomorrow, after exactly fourteen months in the Far East, I would return to this. 8 February 2023 to 8 April 2024. I was parting with safety, convenience, love, and friendship.

When you opened your heart and wallet, there was no limit to the wonders you could experience. If only everyone could afford this luxury.

Luciano and I grabbed lunch at the food court. Boba tea with brown sugar, which granted it a roasted flavour; and oden from 7-11. It was about time I tried it. Tea egg, braised tofu, braised taro ball, daikon, fish cake, instant noodles, and more dishes I didn’t recognize: they were fresher and infinitely tastier than cold onigiri.

I was ravenous. Yet jitters had quelled my appetite. I could barely finish this meal.

At 12:30, we walked to the escalator that led to boarding.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I said, growing nauseous.

He chuckled.

“I know.”

Standing by the escalator, I gave him the longest, snuggest bear hug.

“I never expected to meet someone like you who would do all this for me and come with me to the airport,” I said. “No one’s ever done that.”

He smiled.

“I’m happy to do it.”

We embraced. Again. And again. So tightly, that I was blinking back tears.

“I’m gonna go before I start crying,” I said.

I rode the escalator. We watched each other grow smaller. Until his head disappeared under the ceiling, and his legs stepped away from the scene.

As the plane took off, I broke into tears. Soft, silent ones, indicative of defeat.

Life. It all came down to this.

Clouds were engulfing the plane outside my window seat. I pictured myself miserable in Israel. I pictured myself the opposite in the Far East. This part of the Earth marked the first time I had felt happy.

I pictured myself as a published author, as a filmmaker, as an artist. I pictured myself with stable friendships and people who sought my company. I pictured myself in a relationship. It would never happen, I realized; the person I wanted the most didn’t seem to hold the same opinion.

I shut my eyes. Fatigue was making them sting.

For my layover in Bangkok, I wrote on the floor of the airport, instead of traveling to the city. I already missed the Far East for all of its differences from the West and Middle East: the food, the convenience, the mentality. I missed the culture and nature, the landmarks I’d seen, the danger I’d found myself in. I missed my freedom and new identity.

Most of all, I missed the people I had grown to love on this trip.

The vast majority of them and I no longer spoke. I didn’t know if I’d see them again. But we were all out there, on the same planet. I hoped they were okay.

Today’s highlights: everything I ate at the airport; farewell to Luciano.

Summary of the Taiwanese Leg of My Trip

List of favorite places in Taiwan:

• Ximen, Taipei
• Sun Moon Lake
• Taroko Gorge
• Yushan
• Alishan
• Guanzihling
• Tainan

List of unique experiences in Taiwan:

• (9 February 2024) Donggang: Chinese New Year festivities in the countryside
• (12 February 2024) Wuji Tianyuan temple: cherry blossoms and a unique pagoda
• (16 February 2024) Beitou: sulfuric valleys and Japanese-style hot springs
• (17 February 2024) Pingxi: climbing crags, visiting Shifen waterfall, and participating in the Sky Lantern festival
• (24 February 2024) Yanshui: Beehive Fireworks Festival
• (26 February 2024) Tainan: Cicao Green Tunnel
• (27 February 2024) Tainan: the best food in Taiwan and the Lantern Festival
• (29 February 2024) Tainan: salt mountain and fields
• (4-5 March 2024) Fo Guang Shan: staying at Taiwan’s largest monastery
• (9 March 2024) Guanzihling: mud hot springs
• (11 March 2024) Alishan: colossal, misty woods and local specialties
• (12-13 March 2024) Yushan: climbing East Asia’s highest peak
• (18 March 2024) Changhua: Nantien temple
• (19 March 2024) Taichung: Baishatun Mazu Pilgrimage
• (27 March 2024) Taroko gorge: the most beautiful place in Taiwan
• (2 April 2024) Yehliu: Martian rocks and an abandoned UFO village

Every leg of my trip hurt like my hiking injuries. But the Taiwanese ending twinges the most, because it is the final. This morning, I returned to the country I happened to be born in. The last time I was here, fourteen months ago on 8 February 2023, I had planned the ending.

How Japan and South Korea Predicted Taiwan

At this juncture, one moment from Japan came to mind.

For the final song, the staff turned off the lights, until one light bulb shone alone in the middle of the hall. As we sang 旅の終わり (“end of trip”), dancing and clapping inside a dimly lit wooden structure by an ocean so blustery and ferocious that the crashing of waves from outside was just as loud as our voices, I understood the gist of the lyrics. (Amateur translation by me)

山高くして夢があり
山高くして歌がある
ここ最果ての利尻よ礼文
君を訪ねて姫沼悲し
我ら島を愛して旅を行く


桃岩たどる君の手に
エーデルワイス花ひらく
ここ最果ての利尻よ礼文
花に口づけ峰ふりあおぎ
我ら島を愛して唄う歌


岬に今日も鳥が鳴き
しぶきに嘆くトドの島
ここ最果ての利尻よ礼文
何を語るかあのカラ松よ
我ら島を愛して北を行く

Where mountains are tall, there are reams
Where mountains are tall, there are songs
Here in the farthest ends of Rebun and Rishiri
I'm sad to visit you, Himenuma Pond
To love the islands, we’ll go on a trip

In hands that trace the Peach Rock
Edelweiss bloom
Here in the farthest ends of Rebun and Rishiri
Kiss the flowers, behold the peaks
To love the islands, we’ll sing 

Even today, birds chirp on capes
Islands where sea lions mourn in the splash
Here in the farthest reaches of Rebun and Rishiri
What do those larches speak of?
To love the islands, we’ll go north

The dim light, the loud waves, the louder singing. Deep in nature, frenzy and camaraderie. No internet, no skyscrapers, no outsiders. Just the hostel staff and guests.

It was such an unexpectedly moving moment, in conjunction with the above lyrics, and the inescapable notion of being forced to bring this trip to a close.

I was exhausted from 4.5 hours of sleep, 1.5 hours of vomiting, 3 hours of hiking, and nearly fainting in an onsen. I was exhausted from a 3-hour rambunctious meeting. I was exhausted from 7.5 months of minimizing my sleep in favour of sightseeing. I was exhausted from worrying about the end of this exhaustion, and this trip.

Yet at this moment, in this location, nothing mattered, apart from the current scene. Somewhere on the northernmost island in Japan, closer to Russia than to Tokyo, on an isolated cliff, a party took place, in tones and decibels all too fanatic, in a dark, wooden hall, in vigorous spirits and infectious joy. I was the only foreigner in the bunch – of all the faces I’d seen today, not one belonged to a non-Japanese – and I wanted to keep it this way, to stay on this island, and in this country.

This moment instantly became one of my highlights in Japan.

Then it was over. End of meeting; end of trip.

“Somewhere on the Northernmost Island in Japan” (20 September 2023)

Another moment, from Korea, had also predicted Taiwan.

I mark the end of the Korean leg of my trip with my favourite Korean song: Waiting by Younha. The original version is fantastic (I’ve been listening to it for weeks on repeat), but it’s the acoustic version that I heard first, while feeling lonely in Jeju Island, that captures my feelings.

“I took the bus back to my hostel, where I ate my pastries for dinner. The staff was throwing their daily, lively dinner party. A sad Korean song was playing. I looked up a translation of the lyrics to English. It was about unrequited love. I wondered if I’d experience it someday.”

This is what I wrote in “A Blue Day”. The unofficial English translation I found online was so poignant, that I decided, back then, to make it my last song.

How did I fall in love with you
How can it hurt like this
I have never wanted anyone like this
I miss you about a thousand times
If I tell you, will it reach me?
If I cry and throw a tantrum, will you know how I feel

Should I hate that name 10,000 times?
Should I just count the disappointing things?
Already my love has grown so much
Because you are not me
You can't feel the same as me
That's right, I liked you more

Even if my heart gets hurt nine times
Once I like smiling
Because I'm happy when I'm by your side
I never even made an unpleasant face
I never felt comfortable
I felt like I would do anything if you said it

Even the long wait that felt like a thousand years
Seeing you I like it
A day, a month, a year like that
Knowing you won't come
And tossing and turning endlessly
Waiting, waiting, falling asleep

What didn’t go as planned, however, was the song gaining a new meaning for me. A couple of lines from the lyrics – I feel them now. I would like to understand the original version someday.

“Annyeonghi Gyeseyo” (2 August 2023)

Now, I marked the end of my trip with my favourite Taiwanese song: Moonlight Serenade by Tsai Chin. The original version was great (I’d been listening to it for days on repeat), but it was the acoustic version that I’d heard first, at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Taipei, that captured my feelings at present.

Then I heard a song playing on a screen. “Moonlight Serenade” was the name of this adaptation of a classic film song called “Sayon Bell”. It was a sad torch song about a person confused by the emotions in their heart, unable to tell love and nervousness apart. It moved me so much, that I recalled a key moment from Korea […] I wondered if I’d get to understand the serenade someday.

“The Taiwanese Roll” (3 February 2024)

The official English translation at the museum had sounded so unfamiliar, so recognizable, that I had decided, back then, to make it my last song. I had always understood the first verse well. Ten days later, I had come the closest I’d been to understanding the second.

The moon lingers in front of my window
Casting its radiant light of love
I bow my head and quietly ponder
Unable to fathom your heart's intentions

Like the moon tonight
It shines, dims, and shines again
Ah, is it love or restlessness?
Ah, moonlight

I could finally answer the singer’s question.

It brought me a deep sense of fulfilment to write this. I had grown from a misfit robot to a sociable romantic. My heart used to thump in timidity around people. Now, it beat in ardour.

I couldn’t have accomplished this without leaving the West and finding my tribe in the East. Nor could I have done it without writing on a daily basis and documenting every single date I’d gone out to on this trip. My biggest passions in life had united and given birth to a new mentality.

I finished this trip proud and penniless. My words had never produced me any money. Yet they had developed my psyche, even when left unread.

My mission from the past year was complete. I felt restless as I realized: it was over.