Among limited books written in English at our local bookstore, I stumbled upon a poem by Instapoet, rupi kaur, titled together. It reads:
the irony of loneliness
is we all feel it
at the same time
If you were to ask my close friends about my biggest fear in embarking on this adventure, they'd tell you that I wondered whether we'd be lonely. We were leaving a tight knit community at home - one we'd built intentionally, even explicitly, filled with wonderful humans who knew and cared for us well. Would we meet new friends? Would we function as a unit of 4, navigating our new world in semi-isolation...could our marriage withstand such pressure?!?
And I have been pleasantly surprised.
While we are certainly spending a lot of family time alone (with mostly good but sometimes meltdown consequence), and I have certainly felt alone at times (particularly when navigating the bus system in remote places), I've felt surprisingly "un"lonely.
Da'an park is one reason. I have become a nearly daily visitor to this massive expanse of greenery in the middle of the city. And I have discovered it is an anything goes host of frolicking in nature. Joggers weave in and out of paths, adults push their older parents' wheelchairs, grandparents blow bubbles for their grandkids, children practice soccer or inline skating, teenagers challenge middle aged men to basketball, groups practice Tai Chi, and sword dancing, and fan dancing, and singing, and chanting, and stretching exercises that involve firm repetitive patting of all parts of your body to increase blood flow. And, even when you are alone, you feel with everyone.
We have also, in our honesty about being new and seeking friends, made connections with others similarly situated. Several families from the new school have invited us to meals in their homes, serving us authentic Korean food or Japanese food, and humoring our poor attempts at bringing watermelon popsicles for dessert. We've discussed parenting trials and tribulations not all that different than conversations at home - mostly about our own kids' finding belonging among their peers.
And we've begun exploring the city with another expat family here on a Fulbright - Ellen, Rube, Safia (12), and Charlie (10). Our kids watch street performers and play sports until it is too dark to see the ball. And we adults sneak away to explore top eateries around town while we commiserate on the simple tasks that felt overly difficult in a new country.
But, by far, one of my most cherished connections has been with my collaborator, Hsi-sheng Wei. He visits a local afterschool program with me on Thursday nights where we support a local social worker as she conducts a photo voice project with 20 very spirited middle schoolers. Hsi-sheng drives us both back to the city after the group, the students seeming to leave group with more energy and the two of us feeling exhausted. What began as formal and academic conversations on our long car ride back to the city have relaxed into sharing stories about or lives, our families, our careers. He tells me about social work in Taiwan, social policies and their history, and contested issues on the ballot for this January. I've learned that Hsi-sheng loves US sitcoms and Marvel movies, that he grew up and went to elementary school in our neighborhood and he remembers many long days frenetically studying for the many standardized tests. He messages me when there are typhoon alerts and advises me to go to 7-11 to get snacks.
Last week he took our whole family on our very own private half-day walking tour of the city. He told us the history of a small church we walk by everyday on the way to school. It consists of a small room on the bottom level of a high-rise building. It used to be the home of an activist who protested the martial law of the prior authoritarian government before he was arrested and his family was murdered, leaving the small space to the Christian church who supported progressive movements of the time. He described the religious acceptance and diversity of the area, walking us past temples and Jewish community centers, mosques, and a Buddhist statue tucked off in a corner of the park. He took us up an unmarked hidden staircase to visit a historic ice cream shop with basil flavored ice cream. Hours later, with aching feet, we took him to dinner and talked favorite Star Wars films. These deeper connections, this sense of being alone - but with new friends who generously share parts of themselves - is music to my introverted heart.
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