Taipei, Day One

It’s been raining in Taipei for the past two days, we were told upon our arrival to this small island. the language is mandarin, and the subject of Taiwan’s sovereignty or its attachment to the Republic of China is a touchy one. NT$32= $1 USD. the president is up for several corruption charges, which have led hundreds of thousands of angry Taiwanese to take to the streets in protest. our hotel is one built almost exclusively for adult companionship, a knocking shop, of sorts, but very clean and tastefully furnished. i have not yet, nor do i think i will check out the reportedly vast collection of free porn on tv.

I didn’t want to come here. I cried in Sarasota airport. And Atlanta, though not as much. I wept walking through LAX’s Tom Bradley International terminal, and on the plane, in the fluorescent washroom. The irony is not lost on me that, last time, I was weeping for coming home from Asia, not heading toward it. Rather, it was leaving home that broke my heart. There are few feelings I believe I will ever grow accustomed to, one being the physical sensation of heartbreak when I leave someone I love, the other walking down a narrow corridor between rows of seats, at some unknowable time and some unknown compass point 35,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean.

Once China Airways flight 005 took off for Taipei, however, I immediately calmed down. My heartbreak comes, in part, from the dingy swirl of what-ifs, those nasty heathen occurrences that could pop up and destroy my life. It was important for me to take stock of the ways I have been taken care of this far: safe flights, a man I love and who loves me in return, good food, a great job, opportunity of a lifetime after opportunity of a lifetime. So once I prayed fervently and took a few deep breaths, I switched Nacho Libre on the mini screen and, close to 13 hours later, arrived in hot, rainy Taiwan.

Stepping through the hotel door, I instinctively looked for a keyring slot, but the electricity was already on. Tubular packets of instant coffee were lined on a shelf above a water heater, something straight out of Star Wars. To my delight, the bathroom had no shower curtain, and the shower head hung from a clip on the wall. Showering without a curtain fulfills every childhood urge I had to douse the bathroom top to bottom, watch the water swirl down the drain, neatly centered in the tile floor. I relish using a plug adapter, I love fresh coconut yogurt from the convenience store, I’m salivating to get to Bangkok next week. My beloved’s voice on the other end of a calling card call eased my head, and his blue oxford, doused in cologne, is equally soothing. I’ll be home to him son enough.

I love Asia. When my feet are black from a short walk up the street and back, and Buddhist temples blend in with skyscrapers and neon-lighted signs.