July 14 2013 9:12 pm Taipei
I am on a bus, returning from the Danshui Fisherman's Wharf; it's standing room only, and from the press of humanity around me I catch the scent of sanitizing lemon, most likely from the diminutive woman standing in front of me. I mentally exchange her spectacles for a headscarf, garb for green janitor-wear, and imagine her working in the sparkling halls of the international hotel we just left.
My aunt calls to me, points to a window to the right, past the cliff and out to the darkness of the after-dusk waters. In the distance, a river ferry glitters merrily on its way towards Lovers' Bridge, that slender ivory arc I gazed at from the air-conditioned hotel lobby. Perhaps one day I'll get to walk across it, and sweat under the tropical sun and humidity, but not today-today, I am held back by my grandmother's loving, well-intentioned shackles. "Too far! Too tiring! Some other time," her Shanghainese echoes in my mind.
The bus continues, rumbling down its hilly descent. A few stops before the Danshui MRT Station back to Taipei, Lady Lemon-scent leaves; my suspicions that she lives and works here at the harbor instead of in the capital are confirmed. Six card swipes, six familiar beeps, and our family convoy is through the gate; a gentle push and a silky whisper from the MRT later, we are gliding through the night back into the city. Comforting Taiwanese-accented Mandarin goes rippling through the car, as the cool, collected announcer recites each passing station in Mandarin, then Hokkien, then Hakka, and finally English.
[忠義] [Loyal Righteousness], Zhongyi Station. 明德 [Virtue Brilliant], Mingde Station.
I make faces at the infant sitting on her sister's lap next to me; the baby stares back, doe-eyed with dispassionate innocence, while his sister smiles in embarrassment for me.
士林 [Scholar Forest], Shilin Station. [劍潭] [Sabre Lake], Jiantan Station.
I pause, and ponder again the river ferry. A ship at sea is its own world: peer at it from the distance, it is a festival of light; gaze out from its deck, it sails in an empty expanse of loneliness. I look up to see the glitter in people's eyes, merrily chattering away in the idyll of a Sunday night. Such brilliant vessels people make.
[中正紀念堂], Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall Station.
Home, our harbor after returning from harbor. We disembark, and the train whispers away. I take my grandmother's hand as we cross the street; I ask her how she's doing. "Too far! ...but I'm feeling alright," she jests with a chuckle.
My aunt calls to me, points to a window to the right, past the cliff and out to the darkness of the after-dusk waters. In the distance, a river ferry glitters merrily on its way towards Lovers' Bridge, that slender ivory arc I gazed at from the air-conditioned hotel lobby. Perhaps one day I'll get to walk across it, and sweat under the tropical sun and humidity, but not today-today, I am held back by my grandmother's loving, well-intentioned shackles. "Too far! Too tiring! Some other time," her Shanghainese echoes in my mind.
The bus continues, rumbling down its hilly descent. A few stops before the Danshui MRT Station back to Taipei, Lady Lemon-scent leaves; my suspicions that she lives and works here at the harbor instead of in the capital are confirmed. Six card swipes, six familiar beeps, and our family convoy is through the gate; a gentle push and a silky whisper from the MRT later, we are gliding through the night back into the city. Comforting Taiwanese-accented Mandarin goes rippling through the car, as the cool, collected announcer recites each passing station in Mandarin, then Hokkien, then Hakka, and finally English.
[忠義] [Loyal Righteousness], Zhongyi Station. 明德 [Virtue Brilliant], Mingde Station.
I make faces at the infant sitting on her sister's lap next to me; the baby stares back, doe-eyed with dispassionate innocence, while his sister smiles in embarrassment for me.
士林 [Scholar Forest], Shilin Station. [劍潭] [Sabre Lake], Jiantan Station.
I pause, and ponder again the river ferry. A ship at sea is its own world: peer at it from the distance, it is a festival of light; gaze out from its deck, it sails in an empty expanse of loneliness. I look up to see the glitter in people's eyes, merrily chattering away in the idyll of a Sunday night. Such brilliant vessels people make.
[中正紀念堂], Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall Station.
Home, our harbor after returning from harbor. We disembark, and the train whispers away. I take my grandmother's hand as we cross the street; I ask her how she's doing. "Too far! ...but I'm feeling alright," she jests with a chuckle.