I realize that I’ve neglected to tell you about th…
I realize that I’ve neglected to tell you about the Wei-ya party down in Hsinchu on Thursday. I can’t believe it slipped my mind, because it was one of the absolute lamest things I’ve seen in a long long time. We piled into a VW van and endured rush-hour traffic on the highway down. I was trapped next to a couple of co-workers who were still in that “I find you very interesting because we haven’t had sex yet” phase of their relationship, but I tried to ignore the inane drivel they were talking about and get some sleep.
The next thing I knew we were in Zhubei, north of Hsinchu, at the restaurant. Hardly anyone had arrived for our department’s thing, but the room next door was full of revelers at another company’s Wei-ya. You had to make your way through that party to get to the bathroom, and when I was doing so one of the partygoeres, obviously drunk, stood up and greeted me like an old friend. At least, I hope it was just the alcohol. God forbid actually was an old friend and I just didn’t recognize him. That would happen to me, of course.
Back at our Wei-ya, the head of our department gave some boring speeches and the two co-workers who were acting as host and hostess exchanged nervous banter on stage. Dinner was served in stages. The food wasn’t too bad and served as an important distraction to all the “entertainment” going on, i.e. a guy who couldn’t play violin, another guy who couldn’t play the piano, several people who couldn’t sing, and competitions to see who could make the biggest fool of themselves on stage. They were giving out prizes for singing, and I was almost desperate enough to attempted Wu Bai’s Hong Diong E Xio Ho”, but 1) the Karaoke machine didn’t have it, and 2) the prizes were only NT$200. My pride is certainly worth more than NT$200 (at the moment I believe it’s hovering around NT$500).
None too soon, it was all over. I hadn’t won anything in the raffle, of course. By a strange coincidence, all of the rich bigwigs sitting at the center table won all of the large prizes. Imagine that! At least I got a free meal out of it.
Sandy’s wife Jojo had informed me when I was down there on Saturday that there was an exhibit on Taiwan in the 17th century, with all kinds of maps and things, at the National Palace Museum, so yesterday afternoon I took the MRT up to the Chihshan Station and walked through the neighborhoods along the Shuangxi River, which is lined with a nice series of parks and woods punctuated by piles of burning garbage. Along the way I wandered into Zhide Park and beyond it to find a row of old two-story houses along a babbling creek. Birds wheeled around in the sky along the ridges of the encircling valley walls, and a chorus of insects accompanied the sound of the running water. It was most pleasant.
When I finally arrived at the museum, however, I was told that the exhibit doesn’t start until the 24th. The woman gave me a refund for my ticket and I walked back outside amongst the milling tourists, wondering what to do next. A group of Falun Gong practicioners had set up an exhibit to show to mainland Chinese, so I walked over to take a look. Among the various articles showing Chinese police gassing old people, there was a picture of a group of very blonde children in Falun poses. “See, even white-skinned people follow Falun Gong,” an enthusiastic man in a black suit standing next to me said.
“So?” I asked him.
“Well, it shows how great Falun Dafa is!” he said.
“Because a handful of white people do it?” I replied. “Doesn’t the fact that millions of Chinese people do it matter?”
“Oh, yes, of course. We are all the same, yes!” he said. We talked a bit more about it. The reason they had set up at the National Palace Museum, he told me, was that mainland Chinese tourists often visit there, and they wanted to make an impression on them. I wished him luck and made my way back towards the MRT line, taking a detour to walk around inside the Dongwu University, aka “Soochow University”, campus before returning to the river. Along the banks people walked their dogs, practiced martial arts, played badmitton and basketball, and fished. As I passed a pet shop with kittens in the window I overheard two young women talking as they fawned over the sleeping piles of fur.
“Yeah, they’re so cut, but don’t they get bigger?” one said.
“Don’t be silly, of course not!” the other replied. God, I hope they were being sarcastic.
I recently finished Bruce Chatwin’s The Songlines, in which he not only explores Australian Aboriginal Dreaming customs, but also explores the roots of nomadism in general. I found it facinating because, on a personal basis, it helps explain why I often feel the need to go to new places and walk around exploring them all the time. Apparently, according to Chatwin’s research, this was simply the way things were for millions of years, and we have not only grown accustomed to it, but we have also accumulated an actual need for it. Now, obviously, this applies more to certain individuals than others, and I wonder how much of this need can be addressed via non-ambulatory modes of transportation such as cars and airplanes, but it is an interesting way to see travel in general, something deeper and more basic than all of the superficial excuses we normally come up with for our migratory impulses. The book also made me want to go out and buy a Moleskine notebook, but fortunately they’re not being made anymore, and I couldn’t afford one anyway at this point.
In fact, my financial situation, I fear, is going to result in some changes around here. Exactly what kind of changes I can’t say yet as I am still waiting for confimation that I will indeed remain employed at my present position for another year’s time, but it’s likely that I will have to move yet again, as I simply cannot afford to live where I do and eat. Sandy suggested moving out of the city, as he has, and I am inclined to agree, though I would want to be close to an MRT stop. My recent string of bad real estate choices makes me wonder if I can actually find a place I won’t hate, but I don’t really have a choice; I will just have to be extraordinarily picky this time I guess. Shouldn’t be too hard, as I tend to be that way anyway. Probably explains why I’m still single.
