tracing personal conceptions of "real taiwan"
An (unpolished) entry I wrote on the flight to Taiwan this past winter. The research I plan on undertaking this summer in Taiwan (more on that later), which will be accompanied by a blog, will hopefully have a similar tone. Considering having this be the first part / experiment of an audio piece series, accompanied by some photos that would be uploaded on a youtube channel.
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Saturday, December 26th, 11:06 AM (LA time)
on EVA BR0010 LAX - TPE
I flew out of LAX on Christmas night. Here was the annual journey, migration, swim back upstream to the place that spawned not my, but my parents' youth. I can't decide if from place to place there were shades of gray between the dichotomy of black and white I had so clearly put in my head: American suburban Los Angeles, mostly a white, upper middle class Catholic school experience, versus “real” Taiwan, the southern province of Pingtung where my dad grew up. “Real” Taiwan, thick, hearty, authentic, local Taiwan was lush tropical greens against a misty day, narrow alleyways, walls and corners scratched with dirt, soft roaring of small engines (motorbikes, cars), and the local equivalent of a Kwik-e mart selling Nestea boxes for 10 NT. “Real” Taiwan embraced the outside, had this synergeristic relationship with nature, squatty stools for anyone to easily reside on the boundary between indoor residence and outdoor living.
Where do I even get these ideas from? I've been to Pingtung perhaps an all of three times, the first in the middle of March of my second grade year. We came home to my father's birthplace for a series of elaborate funeral ceremonies for my grandfather. I remember three things: my mom telling me to pack white and avoid bright colors, myself therefore not taking a pair of underwear with bright butterflies for fear of disobeying protocol; how one of my cousins wrote my grandfather a letter and burned it for him to read in the next world, along with mounds and mounds of paper money; and a ride to the ceremony area where I saw a pack of juicy fruit gum in the front compartment of the taxi and was too shy to ask if I could have a piece. I suppose these are laid against the background of the natural scenery, the tropical climate, the place we lived in for that week or few weeks. But where does this idea of “real” Taiwan of mine come from?
At eight, I doubt I was even thinking about whether Taiwan was foreign to me. Surely I was uncomfortable with the language (both Taiwanese and Mandarin), but it was a familiar discomfort - the sounds all things I've heard before, ones that I heard in the household all my life, even if I didn't comprehend them. Rather than being a symbol of heritage or home, Taiwan was - just - there - a place with relatives, a place that we traveled to, a place, where, when I was bored, I'd adventure to the top floor of the house and start mopping the floor.
So now, on flight BR1 en route to Taipei, I can't help but have this unsettling self-consciousness creep in when I get warm and fuzzy feelings from watching “聽說”。 The movie, made in Taiwan in 2009 (no doubt connected to the recent Deaflympics held in Taipei) details the love story of Yang Yang and Tian Kuo, both of whom assume the other is deaf. (Side note: The movie alludes to the conflict of dating between hearing and non-hearing persons without ever resolving it.) What was striking about the movie was the familiarity with which I regarded the places they went - the way they emphasized the street performance culture found near the Xinyi district, the wide walks between shopping centers near the 101 being the places where I wandered, sometimes with or without my sister, for hours at a time every year for the last four years. They turned at a corner I recognized, they ate in a small store with cramped quarters and parallel tables.
This powerful shared experience is one that pulls down and roots my identity, validates the shared existence of my memories, and defines with conviction and assurance a hybrid of consumerism and culture. This movie captures what I'm beginning to consider as a second home, and reaffirms a place that I love and regard with pride. Herein lies exactly my qualms, issues, and anxieties - firstly, for all I know, I have a shallow, misguided, distorted idea of Taiwan is and what Taiwan means: friendliness, the extra mile, creativity, family, respect, local integrity, a certain embrace of high technology and new ideas. But what might be misguided conceptions fuel my identity, ground me, give me peace, and let me smile. Secondly, I feel like I can trace the source of these ideas back - reading Taiwan Culture: A to Z, seeing Cape No. 7 (which is rather unaccessible to me in comparison to Hear Me), seeing MIT girl adventure through Taiwan, having news channels and talk variety shows thick with similar contradictions and tensions I find in myself - all, probably and possibly, funded by government dollars, articulating and reaffirming for me the things I'd like to believe about Taiwan, and by extension, myself. So what?
To be honest, I'm scared. This hyper-awareness of national identity has made me skeptical of the “system”, the powers that be, “They”, “society”, however you want to phrase it. There's a sense of loss when you encounter the idea that your love for a community is rooted in something contrived, unnatural, staged, and orchestrated. Isn't it frightening to think of a select, small group of persons sitting around a table, drafting a blueprint for “how to engender emotional response to what we represent” aka “how to manipulate people according to what we deem are national interests” aka “how to exert power”? How strange, how silly, how calculated! This is a form of politics, no?
This skepticism isn't fair! It's founded on my believing what I already thought might be true. But that's how people vote! So armed with that knowledge, now we can... have them “beat the system” by conflating their comfortable, conventional wisdoms with what we think is best for society in a single candidate, campaign, or platform, and voila! the answer, fueled by good intention.
Good intention only goes so far. I think political science probably has a lot of answers for me, examining the systemic flaws in governance. But less often do I hear “irony,” “contradiction,” or “paradox,” which define my reality, than “platform,” “campaign,” “interests,” or “demographics.” And to be honest, I hesitate to be embroiled in this game. Because almost all of the time, I stop and wonder to myself, why bother playing? Isn't this silly? Ridiculous?
----
Saturday, December 26th, 11:06 AM (LA time)
on EVA BR0010 LAX - TPE
I flew out of LAX on Christmas night. Here was the annual journey, migration, swim back upstream to the place that spawned not my, but my parents' youth. I can't decide if from place to place there were shades of gray between the dichotomy of black and white I had so clearly put in my head: American suburban Los Angeles, mostly a white, upper middle class Catholic school experience, versus “real” Taiwan, the southern province of Pingtung where my dad grew up. “Real” Taiwan, thick, hearty, authentic, local Taiwan was lush tropical greens against a misty day, narrow alleyways, walls and corners scratched with dirt, soft roaring of small engines (motorbikes, cars), and the local equivalent of a Kwik-e mart selling Nestea boxes for 10 NT. “Real” Taiwan embraced the outside, had this synergeristic relationship with nature, squatty stools for anyone to easily reside on the boundary between indoor residence and outdoor living.
Where do I even get these ideas from? I've been to Pingtung perhaps an all of three times, the first in the middle of March of my second grade year. We came home to my father's birthplace for a series of elaborate funeral ceremonies for my grandfather. I remember three things: my mom telling me to pack white and avoid bright colors, myself therefore not taking a pair of underwear with bright butterflies for fear of disobeying protocol; how one of my cousins wrote my grandfather a letter and burned it for him to read in the next world, along with mounds and mounds of paper money; and a ride to the ceremony area where I saw a pack of juicy fruit gum in the front compartment of the taxi and was too shy to ask if I could have a piece. I suppose these are laid against the background of the natural scenery, the tropical climate, the place we lived in for that week or few weeks. But where does this idea of “real” Taiwan of mine come from?
At eight, I doubt I was even thinking about whether Taiwan was foreign to me. Surely I was uncomfortable with the language (both Taiwanese and Mandarin), but it was a familiar discomfort - the sounds all things I've heard before, ones that I heard in the household all my life, even if I didn't comprehend them. Rather than being a symbol of heritage or home, Taiwan was - just - there - a place with relatives, a place that we traveled to, a place, where, when I was bored, I'd adventure to the top floor of the house and start mopping the floor.
So now, on flight BR1 en route to Taipei, I can't help but have this unsettling self-consciousness creep in when I get warm and fuzzy feelings from watching “聽說”。 The movie, made in Taiwan in 2009 (no doubt connected to the recent Deaflympics held in Taipei) details the love story of Yang Yang and Tian Kuo, both of whom assume the other is deaf. (Side note: The movie alludes to the conflict of dating between hearing and non-hearing persons without ever resolving it.) What was striking about the movie was the familiarity with which I regarded the places they went - the way they emphasized the street performance culture found near the Xinyi district, the wide walks between shopping centers near the 101 being the places where I wandered, sometimes with or without my sister, for hours at a time every year for the last four years. They turned at a corner I recognized, they ate in a small store with cramped quarters and parallel tables.
This powerful shared experience is one that pulls down and roots my identity, validates the shared existence of my memories, and defines with conviction and assurance a hybrid of consumerism and culture. This movie captures what I'm beginning to consider as a second home, and reaffirms a place that I love and regard with pride. Herein lies exactly my qualms, issues, and anxieties - firstly, for all I know, I have a shallow, misguided, distorted idea of Taiwan is and what Taiwan means: friendliness, the extra mile, creativity, family, respect, local integrity, a certain embrace of high technology and new ideas. But what might be misguided conceptions fuel my identity, ground me, give me peace, and let me smile. Secondly, I feel like I can trace the source of these ideas back - reading Taiwan Culture: A to Z, seeing Cape No. 7 (which is rather unaccessible to me in comparison to Hear Me), seeing MIT girl adventure through Taiwan, having news channels and talk variety shows thick with similar contradictions and tensions I find in myself - all, probably and possibly, funded by government dollars, articulating and reaffirming for me the things I'd like to believe about Taiwan, and by extension, myself. So what?
To be honest, I'm scared. This hyper-awareness of national identity has made me skeptical of the “system”, the powers that be, “They”, “society”, however you want to phrase it. There's a sense of loss when you encounter the idea that your love for a community is rooted in something contrived, unnatural, staged, and orchestrated. Isn't it frightening to think of a select, small group of persons sitting around a table, drafting a blueprint for “how to engender emotional response to what we represent” aka “how to manipulate people according to what we deem are national interests” aka “how to exert power”? How strange, how silly, how calculated! This is a form of politics, no?
This skepticism isn't fair! It's founded on my believing what I already thought might be true. But that's how people vote! So armed with that knowledge, now we can... have them “beat the system” by conflating their comfortable, conventional wisdoms with what we think is best for society in a single candidate, campaign, or platform, and voila! the answer, fueled by good intention.
Good intention only goes so far. I think political science probably has a lot of answers for me, examining the systemic flaws in governance. But less often do I hear “irony,” “contradiction,” or “paradox,” which define my reality, than “platform,” “campaign,” “interests,” or “demographics.” And to be honest, I hesitate to be embroiled in this game. Because almost all of the time, I stop and wonder to myself, why bother playing? Isn't this silly? Ridiculous?