Memoirs of Taiwan, Pt 1
Visiting Taiwan is always a treat.
I remember the many summers my brother and I would spend in our mom’s home country growing up. The wall of humidity that would hit as we finally step foot off the plane after a near 24 hour journey. Our uncle picking us up in his trusty green Toyota sedan, always with a boba and a fried chicken cutlet in hand. The comical struggle of maintaining balance of the boba while devouring the enormous cutlet, pounded to a size larger than my head and necessitated the use of both hands to handle it properly Pulling into the 3-story deep parking garage where every car (always back parked, of course) came paired with a scooter flanking its trunk. Skirting cockroaches (ugh, they can fly here) on the way to the elevator. Entering into the all-too-familiar three-bedroom apartment, it was always surreal for my younger self to grasp how it housed my uncle's entire family, considering our upbringing in the vast expanse of the American suburbs.
This time, the flight was longer than I remembered. I walk through customs alone, with a backpack, a carry on, and one check in filled with gifts for the relatives in hand (full of the usual culprits — Nike shoes, Kirkland vitamins, a couple cans of See’s Candies Toffee-ettes). I pondered the stress my mom must have experienced bringing two children 8000 miles away from home on such a lengthy flight. I see my uncle waving me down at the arrivals pickup. The air is chillier than I remember, surprisingly more crisp than sticky. A pang of realization hits — had I not enough clothes for March in Taiwan? I follow my uncle to the parking structure, a quick BEEP BEEP comes from a little red car. Red? It’s too early for boba and chicken, but we’re going to pick up breakfast after dropping off the luggage at home, Uncle says. Pulling in. No roaches, it’s not warm enough yet. As I entered the apartment, it felt frozen in time, surprisingly spacious to my older self who had just moved out of her cramped 300-square-foot New York City studio apartment.
The last time I was here, I was a fresh college grad. I had taken the opportunity to visit Taiwan as an adult, navigating the liminal time between graduation and my first adult job, which was going to require me to move across the country to Seattle. This time, I was back, even more adult than last time, and finding myself once again navigating liminal space.
Liminal space refers to an in-between or transitional state or place. It is often associated with a sense of ambiguity, disorientation, or uncertainty. Liminal spaces can exist both physically and metaphorically. Physically, they can refer to transitional areas like hallways, thresholds, or waiting rooms. Metaphorically, they can describe states of transition, such as moments of change, uncertainty, or personal growth. Liminal spaces are characterized by a sense of being neither here nor there, representing a threshold between different states or experiences.
Continue reading Memoirs of Taiwan, Part 2.