Less about Taipei, more about being tired
Taipei, Again
I think there are too many Germans in Taiwan and they forgot to leave the Berlin fog at home. That is to say, Taipei is now grossly overcast, drizzly, and chilly. Depressing.
I’m volunteering at a new hostel near Taipei 101 (used-to-be world’s tallest building). On paper, it’s a good spot. Close to NTU campus (where I get cheap lunches), and well situated in the city. However, the work load is much more than either previous stays, mandating 4 hours a day, 5 days a week. Changing sheets over and over and bending to wipe off surfaces is, unsurprisingly, physically exhausting. It’s not endorphin-producing like a workout— just exhausting. The (paid) staff here all come for different reasons. One is a mother from the Philippines who has come to earn more (up to double her wages back home). She agrees the work is taxing, but she is trying to hold out as long as possible since the wages would make a substantial difference for her family at home. Another is a PhD student from Nigeria. Since coming for her Masters, she has yet to return home. I do not know why Taiwan has become her destination, but I could probably make a few assumptions.
Unlike other hostels which are littered with privileged tourists (like myself) putting in half-assed attempts at maintaining the place, here I am a character in the book Nickel and Dimed. I am an imposter showing up here without needing to collect wages. At the same time, I do feel overworked for not collecting a wage. Certainly 4 hours does more than cover the cost of stay in my room? Or am I naively privileged again here, believing that my labor is worth anything?
The point is, I am tired. Whether I should be tired or not, I do not know. I just know the state I exist in. Deprived of nutrition, fatigued, and wishing to be elsewhere but so tired of moving about. I want to go home but “home” is no longer a singular place. I want stability with people I care about and things to do that interest me at a cost that is affordable and not anxiety inducing. Maybe I am describing a nonexistent paradise. Or maybe I just need to have one inkling of patience and work to build something somewhere, instead of everywhere.
Becoming “unfluent” in English
Demotivation also sets in with my language learning. I have substantially more vocabulary than where I started, but with so many words to choose from, I am less confident that I am choosing the correct word for the situation. So many words are pronounced with minute changes and substantially different meanings. A native would say they are clearly different, as I notice in my own language. Right, write, right? Practicing more is consuming time with little return on investment. I know these are natural growing pains. I won’t see any progress, and then one day things will all make sense. Patience. Patience. Patience.
I am also convinced that my English is getting worse. I dumb down my English for people who aren’t fluent, and thus I am becoming not fluent. My grammar is getting all turned around. Instead of artistically breaking the rules, I am forgetting the rules. Yikes. In pursuing a new language, I am becoming mediocre at both. Hah.
A refresher on my Direction
To the outside world, and to describable English, my path makes little sense. I am decently confused and disoriented yet deeply directed and purposeful in my core. There is a sensation beneath my rib cage, somewhere in my chest, that indicates that I am doing just as I need to be doing in this moment. While my work is not lucrative (yet), I am working.
LEss about Taiwan, more about Kazakh food
Today’s work was a film day. As a companion piece to a cookbook, a friend and I are developing a docuseries around international recipes documenting the histories, cultures, and personal stories tied to recipes from around the world. As the cookbook’s motto states: “food [is] a gateway to empathy, compassion, and understanding.”
The recipe today was a type of Kazakh fried dough (Baursaki).
Most Kazakh households, from what I understand, will make this every couple of week, served with something like sour cream. Tea may also be served alongside. The dish also ties to traditions and pagan religions before the country’s Islamization. I am missing the correct vocabulary, but eating the dough on a particular day is a way of honoring past ancestors as they move into the next life. One Kazakh girl wore traditional jewelry when she found out we were filming. She is trying to wear the jewelry more often as a way to find home away from home. Her face lit up at the smell of the Baursaki as she was coming downstairs. It’s this multi-sensory capacity that transform a food from a necessity to a fundamental way of being. Food, from the smells to tastes to memories and routines, shapes our perception and how we engage with the world.
From appearances alone, the dough looks like any other fried thing. But the unique ingredients and way of preparation creates a particular smell that allows these homesick girls to find their feet in a foreign place. There were a few moments where my eyes wanted to shed a tear. To be able to curate this moment for them and capture some of this nostalgic comfort on camera is the utmost privilege. For me to know this dish beyond the taste and recipe, is a gift that I, frankly, did not expect when I started engaging with this project. And this is only the beginning.
Red Bean Pancake Update
As I have mentioned many previous times, I love red bean pancakes. My muse has officially transformed into a little art product. This is a demo… the beginning of something bigger, but I’ll give you a little sneak peak, anyways.
