The Taiwanese culture is beautiful, but only until this year's Duanwu Festival, did I shamelessly acknowledge and deeply appreciate and understand its beauty.
Knowing full well that I would not settle for a rather rigid means of education in France, my quest to learn Chinese — and to locate my true calling in the process — took me to Taiwan nine months ago.
I arrived in the country for work. Never a pleasant reason. Work is the bland intermission wedged between not working. It is the time of suits and polite manners and Microsoft Word. So I arrived in the country with no anticipation. I was arriving to continue something of no excitement.
I have written before for “Eye on Taiwan” of my ongoing “love affair” with Taiwan — an unhidden “secret” shared with and by my wife and one that has grown and flourished for very close to 40 years.
I recently took a trip to Yilan to help throw a bachelor party for a friend. We woke up relatively early and drove off in the morning sun. It didn't take us long to get there from Taipei.
When I made up my mind to become a travel blogger, I decided to begin my career in a country in Asia. I chose Taiwan as the first country for my blog as I had read many interesting things online and from fellow travelers that really made me want to experience life in Taiwan.
I'm a Malaysian-Chinese who has been living in Taiwan for more than six years. If you want me to describe the beautiful Formosa in my own words, I would say it has become my second home especially when I have married a Taiwanese.
2013/5/31, 4 Comments
As a foreign national who has spent over seven years living in Taiwan, I consider this country to be my second home. Having first come here when I was 23 years old, I have, in many ways, grown up here.
I am not a morning person. For years, I accepted early classes, lectures, and Chinese character dictation questions without complaint and without choice, but the arrangement was hardly optimal. I reached breaking point the summer after my sophomore year in college.
2013/5/24, 1 Comment
Riding on the back of a scooter is an exercise in letting go. Your ride shows up and leaves the engine idling; they hand you a spare helmet; you throw your leg over and before you can remember what you were so damn worried about ... it's happening. At some magical point of weaving through choked streets lit by illegible billboards — up and under narrow one-lane overpasses — passing chicken trucks and ever-menacing blue pickups, the secret fear of handing control over to a stranger slides away and gets left behind like an old self.