Sad Foreign Lady
When Helen and I got on the No. 236 bus this afternoon at NCCU there was a foreign woman sitting towards the back who appeared to be in her forties. We sat down in the seats opposite hers. Stealing a sideways glance, I saw that she was very thin and her face was creased and brown, but she was nice-looking. Clearly not an American (or Canadian, British, etc). After a while I stole another glance and realized with shock that she was wearing blue-and-white rubber sandals. I whispered my scandalous observation to Helen. It was pouring rain outside -- decent people aren't even supposed to wear those outside in Taiwan, let alone in the rain.
For some reason, her choice of footwear inspired me to start daydreaming about the kind of adorably sand and lonely life of a humble, clueless foreign woman of 40-something years to live in Taiwan. She looked confused as she gazed in wide-eyed wonderment at the scene outside the window. I mused that she could have been a Russian teacher at Zhengda. Besides the sandals, she was wearing a loose white hand-knit cardigan (anything she had worn would have been loose) over a simple black shirt and a red and white flower-patterned skirt that fell just below her knees.
Again my eyes were drawn to her feet. The sandals were so incongruous with the rest of her plain, tasteful outfit. Had her other shoes maybe been destroyed by the rain, forcing her to buy the sandals by a roadside shop and make do with them until she got home? Was she even going home or was she going to work? Surely she didn't imagine she was appropriately shod for any kind of job. But then I thought if that was the case, it would make her so wonderfully tragic.
She got off the bus around Guting Station. We were stopped at a red light and I craned my neck for a good minute and a half as I watched her walk down the road and disappear into an alley.
Helen fell asleep to her mp3 player, and I instinctively, almost unconciously, began to scan the roads and sidewalks for other woeful characters to daydream about.
For some reason, her choice of footwear inspired me to start daydreaming about the kind of adorably sand and lonely life of a humble, clueless foreign woman of 40-something years to live in Taiwan. She looked confused as she gazed in wide-eyed wonderment at the scene outside the window. I mused that she could have been a Russian teacher at Zhengda. Besides the sandals, she was wearing a loose white hand-knit cardigan (anything she had worn would have been loose) over a simple black shirt and a red and white flower-patterned skirt that fell just below her knees.
Again my eyes were drawn to her feet. The sandals were so incongruous with the rest of her plain, tasteful outfit. Had her other shoes maybe been destroyed by the rain, forcing her to buy the sandals by a roadside shop and make do with them until she got home? Was she even going home or was she going to work? Surely she didn't imagine she was appropriately shod for any kind of job. But then I thought if that was the case, it would make her so wonderfully tragic.
She got off the bus around Guting Station. We were stopped at a red light and I craned my neck for a good minute and a half as I watched her walk down the road and disappear into an alley.
Helen fell asleep to her mp3 player, and I instinctively, almost unconciously, began to scan the roads and sidewalks for other woeful characters to daydream about.