More on Taiwan

Taiwan felt like a place that was immediately familiar and welcoming, a far cry from Singapore’s notoriously robotic and rule-cemented society. Things just felt right; it felt like the country wasn’t trying to hard (and it really isn’t — it is hardly on anyone’s Asia itinerary, a hidden gem amongst other more exotic locations), letting its natural self shine out. When you’re in Taipei, you feel like you are just a part of an Asian city; it lacks the clear line between white-tourist-international, English-speaking, expensive areas and poor local areas. Everything in Taipei seemed to be local; our first stop, the famous Shilin Night Market, was apparently visited by tourists and locals alike.

FRIDAY NIGHT

The night market felt similar to the open-air markets in Hong Kong or in the Bugis area of Singapore, but was less crowded and more open than those in HK, and actually sold interesting stuff (unlike in Singapore). Anna and I weren’t really sure what to expect when we were walking around, but we picked up a dinner of pork sausage in a rice bun, something we imagined to be very Taiwanese. (The number of stalls that line the street with unknown items with shop owners who don’t speak great English make it tough to know exactly what to get.) The bubble milk tea in Taiwan is a known classic, so I also indulged in my first of many to start the night.

The night market is essentially a solid block of streets too narrow for two cars to pass, brightly-lit shops on both sides selling the most Asian stuff you’d come to expect, with iPhone cases in the shape of sandals or bunnies with appendages coming off the main part of it, no doubt a step backwards in portability; right next to a store selling discount clothes; another displaying Nikes and Pumas and all the Western fashions; the next with two ladies twirling and throwing umbrellas, with speaker-enhanced Chinese intending to draw us in but doing quite the opposite; the next, a simple juice stall; the next, with five masseuses, disguised as maroon-colored chefs holding what looked like spindles of incense. We wandered around the market for a couple hours, attracted to all the interesting (and useless) things we could buy, while for some stuff marveling that someone would actually buy that. There was this distinct sense of getting lost in the market, the wonderous feeling of immersing yourself in the city without a need to ever be found again. A main road made way to another interesting side road, which split into a four way intersection; we ended up once at an exit to the market district, entering the nighttime of the real world, before doubling back into the maze. We tasted the dumpling something, and what looked like and tasted like a fruit but whose name we still don’t know, a beef stew noodle, a deep-fried chicken cutlet. Anna kept a keen sense of direction as we unfurled ourselves from the night market, heading back home after a great first night in Taipei.

SATURDAY MORNING

Saturday morning ended up being more of a wash than anything else; we got breakfast (finally, a Western breakfast with toast and eggs and coffee) then wandered around the hostel area a little, before meeting up with Grant and Meghan (who were fresh off what looked and sounded like a day of bliss riding a motorcycle around the Taiwanese countryside, and an incessant reminder of some fabled buns that were just to-die-for and more). It was a lazy morning, a much-needed rest after a long week of work and a late night before.

What we did manage to see that morning, though, we loved. Behind the National Taiwan Museum — which we entered for around $0.30 and whose exhibits we felt were worth around $0.30 — was a beautiful garden, an open green space of trees and a pond with goldfish and turtles frozen with their necks stretched towards the sun, a natural nature with a whiff of Asian-ness (the Asian pagoda, etc.) but nothing that reeked of Asian stereotypes (see: almost everything in Singapore). The trees haphazardly dotted the grass, providing enough shade to foster children playing and people reading. (A comparable scene in Singapore would have the trees meticulously lined up in rows, aesthetically organized but functionally useless. Surprising that for all the green space in Singapore nobody uses them, for the equator heat and humidity without shade is oppressive. Gives a greater incentive to study, I guess.) The other Taipei wonders — a geological park, hiking trails, the mountains — showcase Taiwan’s natural nature, its inherent beauty it has set to capture without mutilating. Singapore’s Botanic Gardens hardly provides nature in its truest form, nor do the paved hiking trails at Bukit Timah and MacRitchie, nor the famously artificial Gardens by the Bay whose highlight is a few futuristic tree-shaped but metal-and-glass constructions.

The other things that made Taiwan really great: it uses US outlets, a luxury I had come to accept I’d never have until December. Also, they drive on the right side of the road, really confusing me and making me realize how instilled I have become with Singapore’s left-hand driving. I had to double take to remember which way to look first before crossing the road, hugged the left side of escalators, and took the left-side path whenever presented the opportunity. We laughed at how we unconsciously drifted to the left hand side.

The other small wonders: the place breathes, the buildings have life, the people have life. A guy sparked a conversation with us on the subway, the usual conversation of where-you-guys-from and we’re-here-for-only-two-days, what-should-we-do. The houses in the north — actual houses — were one-room affairs that made us want to voyeuristically peek inside the windows to see the lives of the “real” Taiwanese, simple two-story house of stone with a rooftop terrace for plants to grow. The city seemed to have grown organically, houses built to personal tastes as opposed to rigid functionality.

And, most surprising to me was the affordability of the food. It was perhaps cheaper than Cambodia because in Taiwan, we were confident that we could eat anywhere and not get sick. (Cambodia — the safest bet was to eat at the places catering to Western people — and Western wallets — or risk playing diarrhea roulette.) We could also go into almost any restaurant along the street and know we’d be paying no more than $5 to $10 for a good meal — in Singapore, the restaurants in reality start at $15 to $20 and go up. And, best of all, the food was delicious all around. We have yet to be disappointed by any food that we tried in Singapore; even Anna, the picky I-don’t-eat-spicy Spaniard constantly lamenting the absence of bread and jamon iberica loved the food.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON + NIGHT / SUNDAY EARLY MORNING

Detailed before (in a different post), but we went to the Taipei 101, ate some of the best food we’ve had in Asia, were treated like royalty at Spark 101 night club, then crashed at around 5 or 6 AM.

SUNDAY MORNING

Our flight out of Taipei unfortunately left at 8 PM, so another lazy morning would mean a wasted day in Taipei. The three others had to literally drag me out of bed and lure me with coffee, but we got up by 9 (somehow) and made our way to the Beitou hot springs. We again weren’t really sure what to expect; we just knew what station we needed to go to and hoped to follow the signs. What we found was a little creek with warm water trickling down it, and a bunch of resorts and hotels flanking both sides of it. Without any advice, we decided to avoid the hot springs you had to pay for (it was also already super hot and humid) and opted to go into the stream itself, as the other locals seemed to be doing. Also, completely free. We splashed around the water, the warm water perfect after a long night and abbreviated sleep. But, as afternoon approached, we decided to move on to our next stop.

We made our way to Chengdu on the MRT, as we were advised to bike along the river, which sounded awesome. Again, though, we went without clear direction and only a vague notion of where we needed to go. What we had was an iPhone that told us our location but didn’t have the roads clearly loaded, and a map at the train station that showed us where the bike to rent were, but didn’t tell us where we were. We wandered. We walked down what were undoubtedly local roads, lost but the three of us together, past locals who must’ve wondered how these people ended up there. Our waking led us to a surprise temple — surprise as in we were completely surprised to stumble upon this massive and beautiful Chinese temple, fortuitously with a view of the river and the place we needed to go to get bikes. The bike ride itself was pretty unremarkable, in that it’s impossible to describe the feeling of finally riding a bike after so long without it, breeze blowing through your hair and over your inevitably sweat-dampened body, the river to the left and a moving gallery of Taipei buildings to the right, with a bunch of other Taiwanese people — friend groups, what looked like serious bikers — going along the same path, everyone with a certain joie de vivre. A perfect end to really a great but tiring day. We were sad to depart the city that felt so immediately homey, a place we agreed we would love to spend an internship in, a city however oblivious to its own charm. We grabbed a strawberry smoothie, a Taiwanese bubble tea, and a taxi and headed back to the little red dot.

Graduation Reflection

We had a special little graduation reception/ceremony for us four sailor seniors who would not be able to make the real graduation due to Nationals. Here are my notes for the little talk:

—

Hello everybody, and for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mike. First, I’d like to take the time to thank you all for coming to celebrate our graduation, especially on this Tuesday afternoon. 

For me, the story is a little bit different than Tommy’s (the other senior reflect-er), but it ends in the same place.

Now, I am graduating as the only really science-y guy in the group, but I think the thing is that academics play such a small factor in my memories of the past four years. I think what my time at Brown boils down to is chance — the people you meet, the things you do all by the power of chance.

We’re all here in part to celebrate the success of our sailing team, but when I came to Brown, I barely knew how to sail. The only reason I learned was because my mother by some stroke of genius decided to sign my brother up for sailing lessons — and drag me along. My first sailing practice at Brown, then, was understandably intimidating. I’m not going to lie — the first time I met Colin, Tommy, and Ashley, I thought they were crazy. 

As cliche as it sounds, the past couple of years have truly flown by. It is by sheer luck I stumbled into such a great group of guys. From going down to V15 Midwinters with Colin and Drew; to the random trips to the Virgin Islands, New York, skiing, and sailing parties all over; to that ABC party at the Rog; to the always-fun Spring Training Trips; to, of course, the marathon van ride back from Hampton just a couple of weeks ago. 

It is by chance that I’ve become a part of this craziness, and I’m truly going to miss everyone.

We’ll be headed down as a team to Florida in two days — hopefully to win a National Championship or two — and there is no better way I can imagine spending my last days at Brown. 

Thank you. 

Yale ER Work

Some thoughts on working this past summer in the Yale Emergency Department taking surveys …

—

Some are easy; others make it impossible. In room 18, a dude who could be my friend in another place and time. In 10, a 50 YO man with a neck brace, dying for company, mobility, grateful for conversation. In 15, the story is familiar — the tests are too long, and I just want to leave. I’ll answer your questions, but in all seriousness, kid, all I want to do is leave. 

On the other side, a Korean professor who works at Yale for something. I pitch him simple questions, and he snaps back at me. 

“Do you own a computer?”

A mixed look of grogginess overridden with irritation, disgust. He fires back, “I’m not even going to answer that question.” I laugh it off — the last patient was still trying to hop on the band wagon, still others can’t afford a computer.

Softball questions, emotionless, slightly apathetic — scientific, met with sarcasm and fiery annoyance. I ask, “Have you been homeless in the past year?”

“Leave. Just get out. Nurse, set him out of here.”

My 3 AM patience hobbles, it’s for the sake of science. I respect the question, and say, well I assume that’s a no. Two more questions, I subdued plead with him. In a different setting, he’d be kicked through the face, or perhaps exiled by his peers. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue.

The night recedes. People heal, beds empty, new anxious faces fill the void. So it goes. 

Girl (Part II)

Singing in the shower. If she sings in the shower, she is a keeper. Period. 

Graduation

Perhaps the word that best summarizes my graduation is bitter-sweet. As the saying goes, everything good must come to an end, but this however does not make it THE end. For every door that closes, three more larger doors open. It is just a matter of seeking them out.

There are so many good things finally going on here in my senior year, but of course, that is how it always goes. The future in Singapore holds the prospect of exciting adventures — new places, new people, new everything. But yet it always seems like I’m leaving something behind — there are so many people here that I love, so many people here that are close, so many people I will truly miss. Singapore is a place full of strangers, a frightening idea, but an opportunity for true exploration. Also, if Brown and the sailing team have taught me anything, it is to be open-minded and embrace anything and everything.

But back to graduation. I feel like I’m losing so much, but perhaps what I am gaining is what is the value of true emotion, of true friendship, of true love. The people who I stick with, the people I stay close with — those are the true friends. Those are the people I will know forever. It never is goodbye to those you love most. They will exist forever in your heart and memory if not in person. Perhaps, then, the doors to the past never truly close; more doors only open. Graduation is a time of reflection for sure, but also a time for transient sadness but profound happiness at what the future holds. The end of today is but the beginning of tomorrow.

Certainty

The balance between confidence and certainty is a hard one to control. Certainty — an aggressive assertion of ones rightness — often compensates for a deflated confidence. How can you be so certain when the world is full of probabilities and human fickleness? The certainty can only get you so far.

This is where I stand on graduating college and going to Singapore. I have confidence in what I do and what I think, but the jarring realities of graduation have slowly begun to erode this foundation. There are just so many things you think you understand that you just do not. This is learning.

As to certainty, I have so little of it. The days ahead, Nationals, my trip itinerary — all of it remains up in the air. Confident but not certain. Principled in schedules, but in need of so much flexibility.

Girl

There is something strong to be said for a genuine smile. A smile that lights up when the person is happy, a smile that makes you unable to not smile — a smile that reflects real happiness. The fake smile at a mild joke is insincere; the fake smile is contagious, a facade. A true smile that reveals the soul — a genuine smile — truly makes a girl.

Infographics

Science research (and research in general) seems content with itself. Papers and posters have no need to be dressed up; the research findings are simply reported, not communicated. The poster UTRA presentation I went to this summer was a whole hall full of rather dull posters – colors mismatching or lacking taste, blocks of dense text, impenetrable and simply unattractive posters. The information may have been interesting, but it is only as good as the look are. I’m no graphics expert, but a designer would find that the posters’ best use would be fire kindling.

I have to make a poster for my chemistry research early next week. The internet is abuzz with really interesting graphs and pictures; the so-called “infographics” artfully couple interesting information with interesting design. The simplicity of the design – clean text, great colors, simple pictures – are what make them so elegant and attractive. The viewer cannot help but to look and read and follow the picture.

Why does scientific research not adopt this design paradigm? First, science research is content, a disasterous quality. The information is accessible only on a need-to-know basis; seldom does someone voluntarily read a full research paper. Even to those who need the information, reading a full journal paper is mildly easier than reading Foucalt. In short, the authors write journal papers not necessarily for others to read and understand but for their own prestige.

Equally important is the chasm between research and graphic design. The fields are mutually exclusive; one roots itself in concrete results, the other in abstract aesthetic. Infographics have become so common and striking online, though; science research would be foolish not to adopt infographics as the new standard. In my poster, I hope to adopt the infographic style, perhaps shocking a few but intriguing many more.

I spent a little time researching infographics today. The graphics and design are a small part of an infographic; content is paramount. Again and again, clarity and organization were the most important aspects. Build a logical flow; tell a story. In a sense, then, the infographic is like any other form of communication – magazine article, speech, etc. – in that the message triumphs the medium.

Of course, there is a definite designing aspect. Colors and shapes require balance; paring complex pictures into simple ones require a special experience; placement demands a trained eye. But new websites have begun to make the design aspect easy; one site boasts a thirty minute experience. So the question lingers: what is stopping us from ushering in the infographics age?

Death of a Loved One

“I’m sorry for your loss,” so the line goes after the loss of a loved one. The phrase is nothing more than a reflex; like the “Sorry” after stepping on someone’s foot, or the “You too” after the cashier tells you to have a nice day. The troubling thing is that the five words have become so conditioned, so trite, so vague, that they hardly mean what we want it to. Perhaps it is that we can say them without actually feeling anything that makes it so external and cold.

Why do we choose to use such meaningless words? If a picture is worth a thousand words, how can we distill death into such a compact phrase? Perhaps it is just the convenience of the phrase; it is the tried, true, and accepted way to cope with death. Perhaps it is that the phrase allows people to block out the one universal fear. Perhaps it speaks to the inadequacy of the English language; there are synonyms for the feeling of death – “sorrow”, “sadness”, “despair”, “wretchedness” – but none of these words can quite strike the heart and rattle the brain like a death can, no word can really make you feel death.

Artists of all sorts have long realized that emotion cannot be captured by words, that comfort can seldom be found in transient words. Comfort lies in the presence of close friends; funerals show not just respect for the deceased but his friends too. The singer can shape his melodies to pluck the heart strings; the painter can paint a scene more realistic than real life that it evokes feelings that have long been bottled up inside.

The meaning of “I’m sorry for your loss” has always eluded me. As a child, I wondered what it is I should be sorry for. I myself have used it, in a state of shock upon hearing of death. Avoiding the feelings, turning to let the death have a glancing blow, at once seemed right. For that, I apologize to Hannah and Sarah.

Now, I realize that it is a vacuous phrase, a canned expression meant to simplify and detach a true feeling. I imagine it could just be a shorthand way of saying something more meaningful. Perhaps the expression continues on: “I’m sorry for your loss; I do not know how to put into words how you must feel. She was a great person, who loved you more than you could ever know. I cannot begin to imagine how I would feel to lose someone so close to me. If you ever need anything do not hesitate to let me know. I’m here for you.”

Three Days in Barcelona

Recounting a detailed itinerary of Barcelona would do it no justice. What made Spain so special, so different from anything I can imagine up in the northeast, is the lifestyle. Spain lives to live — plans without times, dinners without promptness — without a sense of urgency, because life will continue on, whether or not the work is done. Europe understands this, that we should live as if the time were a good friend on his death bed. We should savor it, relax in it, bathe in it, make it count, not let it count us down until the clock goes brring and the game is over. To lose a game that you didn’t know you were playing would be pathetic.

Somewhere across the Atlantic, the way of life was lost. The parties that start at eleven and run until the sun rises are no more — bars all over close down at midnight, one, two if lucky. In the US the body is working in the now — shots, dancing, music blaring — but the mind is racing in the tomorrow, the next week, the two months from now. A fortunate meet up with a pretty face is marred by an impending text, a response to a comment so trivial, but enough to make make the person right next to you a world away. There are no cafes, the epitome of the European lifestyle. Family-run cafes serving cappuccinos and latte macchiatos alongside croissants open to patrons hoping to sip down their drinks and chat with friends within two hours — and if not, who cares? No, these were replaced by chain store monoliths run by robots and machines, faceless people in the larger corporation of fast food cafes. Cafe tables replaced by drive-thrus — a culture of now replaced by one of mindless hustle.

So to be short the time shouldn’t matter when Mark and I explored the cities. Our gameplan was simple: wake up in time for breakfast (breakfast ended at 10, so we woke up at 10), wander the city until we got hungry, eat tapas wherever we could find, and take a siesta afterwards. Sleep until we were tired no more, go exploring some more, and try to make it to a restaurant in time for the soccer game (in time for the Euro Cup, which started at 8:30). Bed or partying after the game ended, depending on the night. Unregimented, unplanned — life without a watch, without a cellphone, a life in Europe.