the journey continues

on Taking Flight.

i shed and shed

This is my last evening in Taipei.

That's right, the trip has approached its last moments, and the timing couldn't be better, as I am starting to become homesick and ready to renew my life - sans work, of course - back in San Francisco.

As I type this final entry, I am looking at my peeling, snake-like skin, a consequence of the sunburn from two weeks ago in Thailand and, while I succeed for just a minute at a time in resisting the urge to deliciously peel the flaky pieces off, wondering if I will return tomorrow a different person than two months ago.

To be honest, I can't remember if I set specific goals for this journey.  My guess is that I did not, although one glance at the title of this blog will tell me that I wanted to eat, prey, and write, not necessarily in that order.

Without a doubt, of the three items, eating was done the most frequently.  Just yesterday I stuffed myself to near nausea at a social event which my cousin Sophia's husband, Daniel, had planned for his alma mater, the school of dentistry at National Taiwan University.  Sophia had recruited me to be the unofficial photographer, which I most gladly accepted, for my target was the quintet "N's Fun," who was performing at the function.  Combining my love for photography and classical music, not to mention the opportunity to check out the skills of a professional cellist up close - how could I say no.  Besides, the cellist's husband just happens to be the star of my favorite Taiwanese sitcom from back in my high school and college days and one truly great comedic actor.  There were ulterior motives bouncing off every wall and ceiling when I accepted the task.

Now, I can't tell you what N's Fun really means, since I don't know it myself, but I can tell you 'twas Fun, great fun, to be up close and personal with other musicians, holding my Fuji X10 in hand and doing my best impression of a professional photographer.  As I hunted for the ideal angle to capture each musician while making a valiant effort to avoid the annoying, bright red banner posted just behind the pianist, I was also studying the right elbow of the cellist as she drew the bow up and down and the rhythm of the vibrato from her left hand and arm, thinking back to the more recent lessons I had with my cello instructor, Irina, which were too long ago.

Yes, I was eager to resume playing the cello and to reconnect with the frustrations of not having a smooth enough vibrato or a deep enough bowing.  I admit that I am a glutton for punishment, the type that comes inevitably from learning any and every skill, the continuing and never-ending struggle of always wanting to be better than you already are.  Not only a punishment, it is also an addiction, for nothing is more addictive than the exhilaration of being able to do something which you thought impossible one day, one hour, or even one minute ago.

Maybe I'm addicted to studying an instrument or a foreign language.  Maybe traveling itself is like an addiction.  The prospect of learning something new or finding someone new regenerates itself, even if it doesn't ultimately come true.

I can't say that I'm returning home tomorrow with a new set of best friends, a freshly completed script, or even the most unforgettable experiences of my life.  The significance of the past two months will only be measured by the person I will become tomorrow, next year, and next decade.  Who knows, maybe I am the exact same person as I was two months ago, plus five pounds.

At least I'll come back with a new skin.

the three sisters

You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your relatives.

Thank Buddha I couldn't choose my relatives; an indecisive Libra like me would have taken a whole lifetime to choose just one relative, debating whether a rich and generous uncle who happens to be a lousy serial gambler would be more beneficial than a beautiful and elegant first cousin once removed who lives up to her blond hair.  Instead, I got three aunts, my father's three sisters, who have turned out to be better than anyone I would have picked myself.

There are those uncles who love you and bring you the best Christmas present every year, for which you willingly sacrifice three hours of your life to sit through yet another devastatingly annoying dinner during which you listen to each relative talk in turn about his cheating boss, her gossipy neighbor, and their multi-talented children.  There are also the first cousins who live around the block from you who are the most suitable candidates to babysit your twin toddlers whom others have described as bratty but you know that the undeniable truth is that they aren't willing to recognize these incredible two-year-olds as anything other than geniuses.

And then there are my three aunts, three sisters whom I have looked forward to visiting every time I returned to Taiwan and who have never showered me with gifts but whose every advice, delivered with humorous anecdotes, and every gesture, given with the most comforting touch, tell me they care about me and want nothing more than my happiness and success.

Sadly, the second sister passed away last year, and the fractured trio's spirit has been wounded, but their humor and passion remain evident.

I am lucky to have had not one but three such people in my life (that's not counting the sisters' youngest brother).

How many do you have?