Joseph Shieh

Frances McCue
Honors 345A: Pilgrimages and Idle Travels: A Memoir and Travel Writing Studio
February 27, 2017
Taiwan
… As the years pass relentlessly, I often find myself more, more, and more disconnected
from my past until I can’t remember who I am and what made me who I am today, until I am a
ghost in a shell. No matter how forcefully I try to break the invisible barrier guarding my
memories, I am often unsuccessful. However, in those rare moments of success, a flood of
memories overwhelm me, and I remember…
…Who am I?…
…I’m outside of my grandparents’ apartment building in the Xindian district in the
outskirts of Taipei, the capital city of Taiwan. It’s early morning. Clouds cover the gray sky, but
sunlight weakly makes its way through the clouds. Rain drizzles from the heavens. The humid
atmosphere envelopes me. As I walk towards the main road, I notice that there is almost
complete silence that is only punctuated by the occasional zǎo (“morning”) that people use to
greet each other, a pleasantly odd sensation for someone who only heard Chinese at home and
English everywhere else. The constant immersion in Chinese allows me to remember the native
tongue of my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and ancestors. Sometimes, I fear that the
relentless, passing years will gradually erode away this cultural heirloom. However, in situations
like this, I remember and am assured, if only temporarily. Approximately a kilometer later, I see
the morning street vendors who sell a delicious variety of Taiwanese breakfast cuisine. However,
I’m only here to buy my favorite Taiwanese breakfast cuisine: youtiao and oamisua. Youtiao
is toTaiwan as the cruller is to the Western world. It is slightly sweet with a tad of saltiness in the
background; it is crispy on the outside yet soft on the inside. To the touch, it is slightly oily. And
then there’s oamisua, a Taiwanese culinary specialty. Roughly, it is a Taiwanese soup and
noodles. Specifically, it has very thin rice noodles in a sweet and salty thick soup complemented
by oysters and chitterlings, but my mother called it “Chinese bubblegum” when I was a child due
to its chewy texture. I take my breakfast back to my grandparents’ apartment, where I can slowly
enjoy these culinary sensations…
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…I’m outside of my great-grandmother’s farm, approximately an hour’s drive from
Xindian. It’s late morning. My great-grandmother’s house is several stories tall, and each story
has many rooms. Compared to my grandparent’s small apartment in Xindian, it looks like a rural
mansion. It was intended for immediate and extended families living together in the days when
Taiwan was still an agricultural society before its rapid transition to a high-tech society during
the 1980s. Dust blankets the ground everywhere, reminding me of the Dust Bowl of the Great
Depression. The field is nearby. It has seen better years. The plants are unattended. The animals
are gone. Once a place of vibrant wildlife, there is only silence. My mother’s family, who lived
their childhoods here, now live in the cities, a sort of diaspora. But for now, they are back, if only
temporarily, for this family reunion and to perhaps remember their roots. I’m surrounded by
them, my mother’s extended family: her cousins, aunts, and uncles. Despite our differences, my
mother’s extended family treats me warmly as if I had known them for years, as if I grew up
knowing them, as if I am one of them. I am pleasantly surprised. Interacting with them reminds
me of the time when Taiwan’s society was very community-oriented, now replaced by the lonely
existence of individualism. I hate leaving. It means another two years before I see them again. It
has been six years since I last saw them…
…Who am I?…
…I’m in Danshui, a northern coastal city of Taiwan. It’s night time. I’m walking down
wooden piers with my cousins and our parents. Simple, wooden fences line the sides, and the
intermittent lamp post softly light the piers, the water, and the reflections. As I continue walking
down the piers, I intermittently encounter simple wooden huts, each with a simple wooden
triangular roof supported by four simple wooden poles. It is almost completely quiet, only
occasionally interrupted by snippets of conversations from my family talking among themselves,
allowing me to think. Everything appears so organic, so traditional, so…Eastern. The fresh, cool
sea air fills my lungs; the gentle sea breeze flows past me. I can feel the freedom of flight. I
eventually reach the bridge that spans across the river that leads to the sea. Lights cover the white
bridge, brightly illuminating the bridge, making it stand out in the darkness; its walkway is
supported by hanging cables attached to the inverted “V” structure bisecting the bridge. This
bridge is so modern, so…Western. It is so incongruous with its peers. The East beckons me with
the night markets nearby…
…Who am I?…
…I’m in Kenting, a southern coastal city of Taiwan. It’s daytime. I’m swimming in the
sea, trying to catch those colorful tropical fish that swim among the tropical reef, living stones
that populate the shallow seabed. The water is crystal clear; I can see many meters around me. As
my fins rapidly propel me through the water, it reminds me of the years of sprinting down a
soccer field. I feel free, unhindered, even…powerful. I am speed. I am lightning…
__________________________________________________
…It’s night time. I am at the night markets of Kenting with my cousins and our parents.
The lights contrast with the surrounding darkness. I dodge the sea of bodies. I can hear laughter. I
can hear pieces of conversations in Chinese from nearby people; they are often jokes or
comments. I can smell night market food in the air. I taste the savory deliciousness of night
market food. This is my heritage. I belong here…or do I?…
…Who am I?…
…I’m in Hulien, a eastern coastal city of Taiwan. It’s morning. I’m outside of my
mother’s aunt’s house. A typhoon is approaching. The rain and mist obscure my sight. The winds
are fierce as if the Anemoi, minor Greek gods of the winds, opened a bag of storm winds like that
given to Odyssey. The oceans roar as if Poseidon were churning the waters. Thunder rolls in as if
Zeus were throwing lightning bolts in the distance. I know I should be wary. But instead, I feel
nature’s power, wild and untamed…
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…I’m hiking a mountain in Hualien. A heavy, humid mist covers its slope; I can feel the
cool moisture. Blooming flowers with bright yellow pigments cover the mountain entirely,
making it glow like the sun. Silence pervades the air, only occasionally interrupted from nearby
people. The scenery looks like to belongs to one of those magical scenes from
Kung Fu Panda. I couldn’t help but think that this place would be a great place for some quiet
meditation or contemplation…
 Other memories flood my mind. Some in the distant past that I thought I surprisingly
remember. Some in the recent past that are somehow important. Some painful memories that I try
to avoid. Some pleasant memories that I try to relive in my mind. All important. While I am not
the sum of my memories, they help define who I am.