Mapquest

I collect maps dot WordPress dot com. Mandy travels. That’s this blog!

I haven’t written in months. Currently I’m not collecting maps, and I’m not traveling, save for the driving I do around Texas.

North Texas. I’m currently living under all that red. That night was a special occasion: it was the first time I’ve ever heard a tornado siren. Outwardly I kept my cool. Inwardly, I was cowardly.

It’s kind of been nine months of a pity party, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t know what to do with myself, with my career, with the next several decades I have left.

Texas. It’s hard to see, but that sign has a person riding a horse with a red circle-slash over it. That means No riding horses in this park. Yeehaw!

Then, one day last week, while perusing my feed on Facebook, I came across a blog with a not-for-the-fainthearted-or-children title, full of self-help without the floofy sugarcoated baby talk. She cusses. It makes me laugh.

Monday the 13th, she posted “Fill In The Blank: I’m Not a ‘Real’ ____”, and I laughed, nodded along, and got back to work. In the back of my mind, though, it sat, and I thought about it. I read it again later. I found myself wondering what my Real ____ was.

Texas. 15,000 people can fit in this building. It’s not a community college or a sporting arena: it’s a church. Welcome to the South, where churches are larger than most towns.

Yesterday I was late to work and in a slight panic because I couldn’t find my ring. Thin, gold, unremarkable… but I bought it, and it has sentimental meaning behind it; it’s my ring. I bought it. I wear it when I want to feel like I’m in control – I can take care of myself. It’s my Me ring.

The room was set to be vacuumed fifteen minutes after I found it. Can you see it?

I was explaining to my coworker the significance of the ring, and I figured it out… I think. I figured out my Real ____. I’m not the Real Me. Kind of. I’m not the me I want to be. Nicole Antoinette (ALLB’s author) asks this: ““What are the top three things that I believe make someone a real ____?”

I read self-help blogs and, instead of seeing an expensive therapist, I go punch things.

What are my three things?

1. The Real Me is an athlete. She regularly participates in endurance events and grins when she feels the muscles in her arms from doing perfect-form chest-to-deck pushups.
2. The Real Me has a full passport. My current one expires January 1, 2015. I need to hit up a bunch of little countries all in a row or something.
3. The Real Me doesn’t live paycheck to paycheck. She has a savings account, and she saves! She has money for a rainy day! She has money to hit up a bunch of little countries and fill her passport!

None of these are surprises, I know. The title of this post could be “Mandy says stuff I already know”, or “Duh”. But this is my new map: my map to me. It’ll have to do until I get back to the passport business and blog about Mandy traveling and collecting road maps, instead of psychological maps.

You know who probably doesn’t need a map? This limo’s driver. He parks at the end of my friends’ street. I wonder what his life is like.

I’m working hard on the athletic thing. I go to boxing/therapy twice a week and try to get a jog or two in the other days. I have a 10K on June 9th -

- but wait, Mandy! I thought you were signed up for a half marathon! Well… I am. Yeah. But I’m “downgrading” to a 10K. If you’re going to judge, I’ll meet you out there June 9th and you can jog next to me and tell me all about your feelings. -

- and I want to get back into triathlons.

Post run. I’m wearing toe socks. The saleslady told me they would make me run faster. Lies. Or maybe she just said they were comfortable. I dunno.

Later this year, after my sister gets married, I’ll hopefully be taking a trip with a friend of mine. The wanderlust monster has me in its clutches. And as far as the financial stability goes… well. Buy me dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.

My dream is to put all this space to good use. An athlete would have a bike or a canoe in here. Sweaty boxing wraps and my workout bag don’t really fill it up.

In the meantime, I’m happy. Great friends have taken me in give me a bed and a place to shower. I love being within walking distance* of my sister; especially after my grandfather’s passing, my priorities have changed, and my family and close friends are more important than ever.

It’s an interesting time, and I’m struggling with being impatient. I want to know how everything’s going to turn out. Until I know, I have my map. Mandy travels – to realness and emotional stability! Huzzah!

 

*6.5 miles. Walking distance for an athlete.

Just out of reach

I’ve been in bed since 10:20pm. Between then and now I wrote a cover letter and applied for a job, then tried sleeping. It refuses to happen. According to Gmail, where I received a confirmation email from the company after I submitted my application, I finished at 11:34pm.

Seeing how it’s 1:04am now, that means I tried to sleep for an hour and a half, to no avail. I’m sleepy, my eyes warm with the urge to stay closed, but I toss and turn. Left side, right side; on my stomach with my legs in marathon-runner position; arms under the pillows, on top of, hanging off the edge of the bed.

It doesn’t come. I blame myself. Earlier, I ate and drank what I knew would keep me awake so I could work on some applications. When I decided to quit after just one, I thought I could handle the caffeine searing through my system, and I lay down, in a state I would describe as “extremely tired”.

And then my mind started its gymnastics, leaping over thoughts and tumbling through every idea.

Me: “I’m tired. Calm down.”
Brain: “THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS. What was that noise? Feelings! Overthinking.”
Body: “I’m cold. This position is uncomfortable.”
Me: “Quit staring out the window. Fall asleep, please.”
Body: “I’m hot.”

This is the idiocy I’m facing right now. It’s 1:13am. Nine minutes, and all I’ve typed is absolute nonsense.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be dreading tomorrow because it would start in less than five hours, as I would be crawling into the shower and getting ready for work. In Unemploymentville, there’s a different dread. It’s the dread of waking up and having no purpose. I’ll wake up, carry my phone and laptop downstairs and, after checking various sites, face down the job applications for the day.

People who haven’t ever visited Unemploymentville are a little in the dark about what it’s actually like here. Imagine showing up for a class every day, putting forth a ton of effort, and failing the class. You spend hours on assignments, but you fail. After a while, it’s all you can do to keep going; it all feels like a waste of effort.

I’m applying to jobs for which I’m fully qualified. I study company sites and make sure they know why I want to work there. I include facts and figures and references. If I want a good job, I need to put in the effort in my application. There are 36 unique cover letters on my computer, and those don’t include several more letters written online, instead of in Word.

Trust me: I’m trying.

Being unemployed doesn’t mean I’m lazy. It doesn’t mean I’m weak, underqualified, undereducated, or unworthy. It doesn’t mean I’m not trying hard enough. I get the feeling sometimes that people who have never been unemployed think it’s a matter of not wanting it enough. I hope they never have to go through what I’m going through. It would be nice if they could “get it”, though.

I’ll be fine. It’ll happen. I took a risk in moving back to the States without a job, and I don’t regret it. That said, it’s been scarier moving back than it was to move abroad. I’m home-of-my-ownless, gratefully filling guest rooms at friends’ houses for weeks at a time. My savings from Taiwan are slowly draining.

This “time off” isn’t relaxing or fun. I’m not able to focus on myself or do much beyond think about how I’m going to make it past this month, then through November.

Unemployment is lonely. It’s rejection after rejection and hours of time alone working on job applications. First, I was the weirdo because I lived in Taiwan for two years, so my thought processes are a little different now. Now, I’m an even bigger weirdo because I’m also unemployed. Very few people understand one or the other. Fewer still understand both. It’s ostracizing.

It’s being awake at 1:35am, knowing that the only item on the docket after I finally do fall asleep, then wake up late tomorrow morning, is job applications.

1:41am.

Still wide awake. Maybe I’ll write another cover letter now.

Caitlin! in Hsinchu.

This gallery contains 16 photos.

Temples and night market food: what else is there, really?

It’s scary to go “home”.

Describing what it’s like to live abroad, then plan a move back to the United States, and all the feelings and fears that accompany the move: it’s hard to put it into words.

If you haven’t gone through it, it’s confusing. It doesn’t really make sense. What could possibly be so difficult about moving home?

The thing is, for a lot of expats, it’s not really home. It’s “home”.

I suppose the best way to describe it is if you had the opportunity to go back to college, with all the knowledge you have several years later. You’ve been there before, but it’s different this time. It doesn’t feel the same. Sure, some things have changed, for better or for worse, but overall it’s the same experience.

Once you’ve been out of college for a while, going back would be a strange experience. Same with returning home after being abroad: you’re not the same person anymore. At least, I’m not.

It’s reverse culture shock. You become acclimated to this new culture and way of life, and then it’s over and gone. There are plenty of stories of expats returning home, having some trouble, but being okay. Then they go to the grocery store.

“After adjusting to a new culture for an extended period of time, your body is physically, emotionally and mentally required to make another switch when you return home. The result? What once seemed to so familiar now seems foreign, and you may be experiencing an unexpected learning curve.”

You’ve already lived in your home country before, so why is it so hard to move back? And what’s the deal with the grocery store?

For some reason, that’s just where reverse culture shock overwhelms you. All the choices. So many. Too many. It happened to me last August when I went to HEB with my mom. She was getting other groceries, and I jogged over to the drink aisle. I remember staring at the long shelf. I’d see one option I liked. Then another. Then I got frantic I’d choose the wrong one. Did I want root beer? But there were three kinds. Would I rather have Cherry Coke? Or cherry limeade? Maybe Vanilla Cherry Coke. Which root beer do I like better? And what’s that drink on the far end of the shelf?

There’s a similar scene in The Hurt Locker. It makes a lot more sense to me now. You’re overwhelmed by something that used to be completely normal and you want to run away. I managed to move to Taiwan and live here for two years, but a bunch of two liters make me want to curl into a ball on the floor?

I leave Taiwan in 43 days. I’m excited, but scared. I’m terrified (No. Don’t gloss over “terrified”. Read it. TERRIFIED.) of not having a job, not finding a job and, therefore, not having income. I don’t have Daddy Warbucks financing my life. If I don’t make the money, I don’t have the money.

I’m also worried I’ll be bored. “On the road, each day brought new faces, new places. Back home, you may feel you’ve plunged into ‘same old same old.’” I ran away from the “same old same old”. I can’t go back.

My past two trips back to the United States, I’ve exhibited nearly every sign of reverse culture shock. It’s not that I don’t love America. It’s just hard to come back “home”.

There’s a brilliant article on Thought Catalog called “What Happens When You Live Abroad”. If you want to understand me better, read it.

“Living in another country, in another language, fundamentally changes you. Different parts of your personality sort of float to the top, and you take on [new] qualities, mannerisms, and opinions…You wanted to evolve, to change something, to put yourself in an uncomfortable new situation that would force you to into a new phase of your life.”

I have changed. From the way I talk to the way I view the United States and the way I view myself: I have changed. So has everyone else while I was gone.

“To live in a new place is a beautiful, thrilling thing, and it can show you that you can be whoever you want — on your own terms. It can give you the gift of freedom, of new beginnings, of curiosity and excitement. But … you cannot be in two places at once, and from now on, you will always lay awake on certain nights and think of all the things you’re missing out on back home.”

It’s going to be strange not speaking my broken Mandarin to the cashier, or breaking up my English so it’s easier for my coworker to understand me. It’s going to be strange driving a car instead of a scooter. Fixing my hair instead of putting it into a low helmet-ready ponytail. Growing out my fingernails, which have to stay short here because they get disgusting from exhaust. Understanding commercials. Walking on carpet. Not taking my shoes off at the door. Not having concrete walls. It’s going to be strange to be part of the majority again. Not seeing stray dogs everywhere. Not calculating the time difference when I call my family. Leaving voicemails. Using my debit card instead of cash. Drinking milk again. Eating American cake and pie. Seeing my friends still in Taiwan going about their normal lives when I’ve left. Seeing my friends and family in the US whose lives continued on even after I left, and realizing just how much I missed.

I’ll be a stranger in a strange land, because it’s true: I can’t go home again. It’ll be good to go “home”, though. I just need a chaperone for my trips to the grocery store.

Disposable Camera Project: Doris’s Taiwan

I gave my coworker and friend, a 24-year-old Taiwanese named Doris, a disposable camera.

39 exposures. No zoom. No chimping/deleting. Click and go.

She loves photography, so I figured she’d be perfect for my little art project. Her instructions were to take pictures of what she thought was interesting, special, unique to, or important to Taiwan.

I’ve given out 16 cameras. Even if no one else finds this project as fun as I do, I’m going to post some of the pictures here. It’s my blog, after all.

A rat ran into the sewer, and now a stray cat is waiting for it to come out.

Some days at work we all order drinks from a local drink shop. This is Doris’s bubble milk tea. My new favorite is caramel milk tea.

Doris took this to show how easy it is to live in Taiwan. Almost everything is convenient. Need a quick lunch? Family Mart, 7 Eleven, Hi Life, or OK Mart is right around the corner.

Parked scooters outside a residential building. The flowers are in full bloom right now.

Sitting outside a small, neighborhood temple. Temples are relaxed, communal areas.

Kids playing hide and seek. Doris: “They called me paparazzi!”

A very small plot of corn and a vegetable garden

Narrow, blind corners are a Taiwan staple

Doris took this picture because of all the exposed power lines. “Other countries try to hide them, but in Taiwan, they’re really obvious.” I also love that this showcases the blind spot mirrors that are all over the place.

No matter the size of the temple, the roof will have some kind of elaborate decoration.

At a local theater

Rice fields in Taiwan are as common as corn fields in the US.

Inside an open-air breakfast shop

This cartoon character, Tatung, is famous in Taiwan. Apparently they don’t make these porcelain figurines anymore, and the day after Doris took this picture, this one broke.

Before washers, clothes were hand-washed using wooden boards like the one in this outdoor sink

A “loofah” is an edible vegetable that looks a lot like a cucumber. After it dries out… or it’s baked… it’s ready to use to scrub dishes or skin clean. Yeah, so LOOFAH = VEGETABLE. Who knew? Apparently every Taiwanese person.

Old Japanese coins and makeup tins in her grandfather’s bedroom

Betel nut trees, which I initially mistook for palm trees, behind a clothes-drying rack

An unkempt field, once a vegetable garden

A field near Doris’s grandfather’s house. There were once more trees, but they were cleared.

The two red tins hold tea leaves.

Doris’s grandfather’s work truck. He puts up the roadside signs and announcements around Miaoli.

These leaves are cooked, then wrapped around Taiwan’s famous rice dumplings.

Rice paddies with new and older houses built next to and on top of the fields

A pedestrian bridge in Miaoli

Two blind men practicing using their canes near the pedestrian bridge

Huge lily pads, except not. Doris told me they were something else, but I don’t know what they are.

Bei District in Hsinchu (55 pictures)

This gallery contains 55 photos.

Bei, pronounced “bay”, means north in Mandarin. This is the fourth neighborhood I’ve lived in since moving to Taiwan two years ago, and it’s a quirky, traditional area with so many pictures begging to be taken. Yvonne and I followed … Continue reading →

Combating language barriers

Originally published on ExploreThere. New thoughts in blue.

Language barriers are tough. You have to pay attention to body language, read the person’s comfort level, and converse without accidentally being rude to the other person (which, let’s face it, is really easy to do). Communication in general is pretty difficult anyway. Ask 90% of divorcing couples. 

Following are my thoughts and tips – what’s worked for me both when I’m speaking to someone in English and when I’m trying to communicate in a language other than English. Or when I’m talking to an idiot… or when I’m the idiot.

Separate words – enunciate – but don’t be idiotic about it.
Make sure you’re speaking words clearly, with a tiny bit of extra space between words. Speak with a normal, just slowed, rhythm. I used to mumble a lot. Now I get in trouble for over-enunciating words. Where’s the happy medium, Self?

Say a few words, have a slight pause, then continue.
This saved me in the Dominican Republic. With all the translating I was doing every minute in my head, having a brief moment to concentrate on what the other person had just said was always appreciated.

Use fewer words.
I’m in a restaurant. The person I’m with just told the waitress, “Oh, my gosh, I’m so thirsty! I want water. Can you bring me water right away?”

How about, “Water? Fast!” And say it with a smile. Depending on how the server responds, you might get some insight on how much English she knows.

There are a lot of unnecessary words thrown into sentences in every language. Non-native speakers do better with fewer words. It’s less to translate and reply to.

It’s interesting when you notice just how many unnecessary words are used in everyday conversation. Add to that the sound fillers like “uh” and “um” and there’s a smorgasbord of fluff. I’m personally a big contributor to the fluffplosion, but I’m trying to be more mindful of my fluffiness.

LISTEN. Nod. Smile. Encourage.
Do this anyway, no matter who you’re talking to. You’re going to miss talking to Grandma when she’s gone.

When they talk to you, pay attention. Unless they’ve asked you to, don’t correct their grammar. Let them consider their words – don’t finish their sentence unless you can tell they want your help. This isn’t a lesson; it’s a conversation. Be polite.

DON’T TALK LOUDER.
TALKING LOUDLY IS LIKE READING ALL CAPS. IT’S ANNOYING FOR EVERYONE, AND IT’S RUDE. They’re not deaf, and you look like an idiot. A culturally obtuse foreigner just yelled at some guy – was that really necessary? Normal speaking volume, no megaphone voice.

Avoid colloquialisms.
“Dude, I wanna go Mortal Kombat on that guy that just cut me off.”

That doesn’t even make sense to some English speakers. My Canadian roommate and I get into little debates all the time about ridiculous things he says and things I say that he claims make no sense. If English speakers have trouble understanding each other – British English, Scottish English, Irish English, Boston English, Valley Girl English, Louisiana Bayou English, Surfer English, Prep School English – imagine how hard it is for non-native speakers.

Raise your hand if you make up random words and phrases on the spot and expect people to understand exactly what you mean.

…only me? Okay. That’s cool.

Don’t give up.
Maybe they don’t understand what you just said. Reword it. Use hand signs and body language. If you think you need to, slow your speech. Be friendly and understanding. The person you’re talking to isn’t stupid; you’re just using words or an expression he or she doesn’t understand. Don’t react negatively or make them feel like you don’t want to try anymore. It’ll leave them feeling slighted.

Don’t ever let language barriers get in your way.
Most people are a lot smarter and more interesting than we’ll ever know. When you have the time, use everything at your disposal to converse with someone, no matter how difficult it may be. Chances are high it’ll be worth it.

My experience with culture shock

Originally published on ExploreThere.

I was a mess. Cursing as I angrily scooted through notorious Taiwan traffic, I jolted to a stop at the 7-Eleven and kicked my kickstand down as hard as I could. Without taking off my helmet, I went inside, ignoring the greeting from the cashier, and headed straight to the goods. In moments I was at the register, staring down the cashier as my Pringles, Sprite, Fanta, M&Ms, and two packs of Hi-Chews were scanned. Once the transaction was over, I stuffed all my purchases into my tired, faux-leather purse and climbed back aboard my two-wheeled transportation.

Within minutes I was letting myself into my apartment, then into my room, where I lay on my bed, checking Facebook and mindlessly consuming my feelings. Soon I was fighting back tears, and then I was crying. Pathetic, gaping-mouthed, wrappers in both hands, crying like my world was ending.

Several pounds later, I finally figured it out: culture shock. My emotions were as predictable as the weather and often changed even more quickly. The one book I’d read that would supposedly help me with my transition assumed my family had moved with me, and it was about as helpful as a hangnail. I’d quote its sage words, which were written back in the nineties, but I threw the book out during one of my “angry at the entire world” fits that come with culture shock.

It wasn’t until I Googled “culture shock” that I finally figured it out. There are four stages, but they’re not a magical staircase I climbed at an even pace until I reached Perfectly Adapted Foreigner Status. I catapulted from one extreme to the next, one minute angry, the next unbearably sad, and the next relatively happy and civil.

It was a mess I had to go through. Once I stopped feeling guilty for my culture shock and allowed myself to handle it however it felt best, I began to feel better. I met others going through the same emotional turmoil and had a group of supportive friends who held my hand through the most difficult times.

Moving to a new place is starting a new relationship, except one partner does all the compromising. For some people, it’s the perfect fit; it’s the relationship they’ve been searching for, and they fall in love. It takes a few tries for other people to find the right relationship and settle into their comfortable love.

My first love was Austin, Texas, but it wasn’t meant to be forever. Austin taught me more about who I was and who I wanted to be. I love that city, and I always will; maybe, one day, I’ll return. Hsinchu has taught me more than I ever expected, but it’s not meant to be forever. It’s a healthy, but challenging relationship, and some days are more emotionally draining than others. I have no way of knowing where my perfect relationship exists, and I’ll likely go through culture shock again no matter where I move, but hopefully next time I won’t self-medicate with sugar and caffeine.

[Catchy Project Name]

I bought 12 disposable cameras. Each camera has 39 exposures.

I gave each of my students a camera, and gave my Taiwanese friends Doris, Polly and Yvonne each a camera as well. I told them to take pictures of whatever they think really symbolizes Taiwan. Once a camera is done, I’ll get the pictures developed. All the pictures will go into a photo album for me to keep, copies will go to their respective creators, and the best photos will be posted here.

This could either turn out to be an awesome project or a total dud. So far everyone’s really pumped about it, and it’s been a lot of fun, but it was also

IDEA!
(6 hours later) 8 cameras in hand!
(20 minutes later) hand out cameras!
(2 hours later) buy 4 more cameras!
(the next day) hand out 3 more cameras!
exclamation point! woo!

I haven’t really thought it through is what I’m getting at. All I know is

• There will be a lot of pictures. So far, 468 of them.
• I only want photographers who have lived here their entire lives.
• Maybe it’ll inspire some of the kids to pick up photography.
• Maybe it’ll inspire my photographer friends to think outside of the box. Take away the ability to review each picture, change settings, zoom, and delete, and photography gets interesting.

If it all works out and goes well, maybe I’ll expand and include more age ranges. I’d love to include high school and college students, since my age range right now is 6-12 and 23-27, but I suppose I’ll first see how this part pans out. That and I’ll wait for my next paycheck. Yikes.

But first I need to define “works out” and “goes well”. Because I don’t know. End result equals what?

What to call this experiment? The Disposable Camera Project is taken. I googled it. So is The Disposable Camera Experiment. Those don’t really tell the whole story anyway. My ideas so far (both good and international-incident terrible):

Operation Taiwan
My Taiwan: the Disposable Camera Project
Shoot Taiwan!
Disposable Taiwan
Taiwan on Film
I Shot Taiwan (but I did not shoot the deputy)
Simple Photography: Taiwan
Pictures of Home: Taiwan
My Pictures of Taiwan (My POT for short. Easy to remember, right?)

Stay tuned.

Life as a Foreigner

Originally published on ExploreThere. New comments in blue.

There’s a difference between traveling through a new place and starting a chapter of your life there. Especially when you’ve relocated to a culture fantastically different from your comfort zone, life doesn’t come close to resembling Eat, Pray, Love. Going along with that statement, it can definitely resemble Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas if you choose. This can be the case no matter where you live, but the major difference in Taiwan is that it’s a lot easier to get away with it. Responsibility takes a backseat to fun, and drugs are easier to find than a good haircut. That’s a terrible truth for me right now, because I’m in desperate need of a new hairstyle.

Transplanting my life from Austin, Texas, to Hsinchu, Taiwan (basically the Taiwanese version of College Station, Texas), was a decision I made in mid-2010; by August 27, 2010, I stood in the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, three suitcases and a backpack surrounding me, and I was nearly overwhelmed. I’d never been to Asia. My friend Gretchen was coming to pick me up, but she was nowhere to be seen. I had no phone, zero knowledge of Mandarin, and very little money. At that moment, I doubted myself. I vividly remember sitting on one of the chairs in the receiving hall, stealing wifi from somewhere, and hopping on Facebook to message Gretchen. Whine all you want about it, but Facebook is awesome for a foreigner; it makes it so easy to meet new people, find out about events, keep in touch with friends and family, and feel connected to wherever home is.

I decided to move because I knew I’d regret it if I never did. I’d considered teaching English abroad for over five years, South Korea being my primary target. It never felt right, and I was concerned about my financial situation; with over $20,000 in student loans and debt, I couldn’t flit about carelessly. I had to be smartish. It wasn’t until Summer 2010 that the option became real and, dreading the potential regret of both going and not, I bought my one-way ticket to Taiwan. I was also anticipating the Layoff Hammer at work and, quite frankly, was tired of the dead-end nature of my job.

Once I finally climbed into a cab with Gretchen, I relaxed a bit and took in the passing scenery. Taiwan, my new country of residence, brimmed with color. Giant Buddha statues peeked out of untamed trees and sat on pedestals next to the highway. I remember looking at her, all tanned and island-lifey, and thinking I had moved to an island paradise. Today, at the beginning of my third summer here, I’m still as pale as I was in Texas. Let’s face it; I’m never going to be perfectly tanned. My students called me a vampire today. True story.

After a few months, I stopped feeling like a foreigner. Now, over a year later, I speak a bit of Mandarin, with “Thank you” and “I’m sorry” being my two most-used phrases. Add to that, “mmm!”, a grunt that means yes. My sister called me out on that habit when I visited in March. I know the back roads and can give directions using road names and proper pronunciation. I’m a regular at some restaurants. I volunteer with an animal shelter in Taichung. I ride the metro in Taipei like a local, even though I still have to hold on so I don’t fall over when it starts or stops.

(Locals get on the wrong train sometimes, right?)

I’ve not fallen in love with the handsome, rich man who lays in a hammock with me on perfect afternoons. I don’t need handsome or rich. The hammock, however, is non-negotiable. Better than that, I have a family of other foreigners and local Taiwanese; I celebrate holidays with a close group of friends from around the world, and that gently fills the void of being away from loved ones. You know what else fills the void? My cellphone. I can text and call my family back home no problem. Thanks, Nokia.

I keep in touch with friends and family back home through Skype, texts, Facebook, emails, and my blog (shameless self-promotion that didn’t work). Living so far away from the VIPs of my life is a daily struggle. It’s hard, but my Taiwan family and friends make it easier. Nothing matters as much as the people in your life, which is one of the most important lessons you learn when the shininess of your new home fades into normal. Or when culture shock grabs you by the hair and goes toddler-super-tantrum on you. Those days are fun.

Everyone has his or her own reason for moving abroad, and mine was to pursue adventure… and escape the mundane… and get out of debt… and travel… and to stop living in self-imposed limitations. Of course, now that Hsinchu has become more routine, I’m contemplating the next possibility. Why limit myself to Taiwan?

Believe it or not, my move to Taiwan doesn’t feel extraordinary or crazy or epic. I don’t feel like I’ve had a great achievement in my life. Perhaps that’s because of my Rubik’s-Cube love life, or because my career trajectory keeps hesitating.

So… the question I dread: What’s next?