I’ve been teaching English in Taiwan for 6 months now and I still haven’t made any white people friends. I set out to fail and I have failed admirably. I’ve got a handful of Taiwanese buddies instead and spend my free time carting around with some local church folk or the girls I work with. My only real guy friend is only a language exchange partner named Li-Lin. He plays basketball religiously but I’m hesitant to make a habit of the one sport I truly loathe. I’m content with my peripheral existence for the most part. I haven’t decided to dive in to anything that I know won’t possibly last. Noel, my sole confidante, has suggested as much: “Fall in love! You’ll find a great girl and everything will be okay.” I’m a man, though. The idea of some other person magically appearing and solving all my problems, apart from being juvenile, simply hasn’t ever popped into my imagination. Instead I have visions of Hemingway-esque relationships in content ruin tied together more by style than constant affection.
There’s always a church, to be sure. When I first came here I thought I’d find Buddha. I’ve met a couple of seemingly devout believers but the evangelizing I suppose I’ve come to expect from all religions has been completely absent. Apart from some sutras with helpful bopomofo there really isn’t any wide gate through which a foreigner might come to Buddha. So, with an eye on my future back home, I’ve gravitated back to the eager embrace of a Christian fellowship. Still haven’t told any of them about William. My revelation, my testimony as it truly deserves to be called, will be quite a present for my brothers and sisters with their hearts set to kingdom work. Only I’m not exactly pumped about ‘acquiring the fire’ again while I’ve got so much work to do on my own before I go back to reality and take up my real father/son role. In other words, so long as I’m hear what’s the point in having a God to rely on?
That’s harsh. I’m re-reading this and seeing that, as my Writing: Research, Theory and Application monograph would say, the voice is writer-oriented. I’m talking as if to myself; you’re a silent observer to my self-concerned ramblings. Before pointing out the comment box, though I think it would be wise to expand the scope of my entry.
I’m reading too much. I read too much in college and during most of my time in New York. I go out with friends and I’m always thinking about a book. But I rarely talk about the books to any real end. This past weekend I met Noel in Taichung and sat in a city park to watch dogs. There were two cats but no Jack Russel Terriers. Noel’s friend’s friend was a Frenchman with a great sense of himself. I decided like sharing what I was reading. It was Borges. My second time through. I was in the middle of the first story from Labyrinths: Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Teritus. I told him the plot twice but that was it. Later I said something about symbolism in FLCL. It was the first time I’d talked like that to anyone in Taiwan. I’d been waxing poetic some late nights with Noel but never with any invitation to ponder any philosophical enigmas. It’s a language thing, of course, but I’m also wondering just how much of my life in America really lived up to all the books. I’ve had great conversations, no doubt, but never sustained to any meaningful conclusion, any plan of action. Confucius say the man of action, who, thinking a thing a also does that thing, is a true master. By this measure I am a worm.
So with regards to Jesus, my church family and building up friendships I can really rely on I don’t suppose I’ve ever been any more successful than my current state of stalemate.
My next post is going to be about books. That makes me happy
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Location:HéXiàn Rd,Hemei Township,Taiwan
