Musings by Tsai

Seven thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine miles.

That's the distance from New York to Taiwan. It's a world away, on the opposite side of the globe, yet for some reason, it's where I feel the most at home.

Taiwan to me, still holds the same magic as when I was a little kid. I love everything about it: the sights, the smells, the people, the food (seriously, the food there is ridiculously good). Having visited multiple times starting when I was two, and the place has become more or less a part of me.

I've hiked up some of the highest mountains on the island, visited countless crowded bustling night markets, ate at some questionable restaurants, and seen the occasional miracle (check out the Fire and Water Spring if you get a chance). Along the way I've learned a thing or two, most importantly that 1. If you want the best food, always pick the dirtiest restaurant with the longest line, and 2. Don't feed the packs of wandering stray dogs that have learned to read traffic lights (I still break this one occasionally).

I can still vividly remember my time on the island. The early morning wake up calls from the shopkeepers out in the street peddling their wares, the ever present smell of delicious food cooking somewhere, joking with my extended family that I only ever see once every two years, if I close my eyes it's almost like I'm back. Even the small things that one wouldn't think matter make all the difference. I remember going back when I was eight or nine and feeling a wave of relief that for once I wasn't the only Asian around me, that I wasn't the odd one out.

Don't get me wrong, I love New Paltz. I've been here my entire life. I have friends here, and my immediate family, but some days, a real sense of isolation sets in. You see, when my parents came to the States in '88 because of a scholarship my dad received from NYU, they left everything behind, and everyone. My grandparents, uncles, cousins, I was separated from them all, and while my parents tried to raise me and my brother like they were, a world apart, I was missing both the American experience and the Taiwanese one. Holidays would be just the four of us, and while my friends would come back to school recounting all the relatives they saw at Thanksgiving, or Christmas, I could only say I stayed at home.

When I go back I get to experience a little of the life I missed out on, see what could have been: arguing with my cousins, going out to eat with my uncles, hearing stories about my father from his parents. It just feels right. I don't know how else to describe it.

Perhaps the greatest thing about Taiwan isn't the food or the family, but the memories made. I've made seven trips total, spent one combined year there, but I have a lifetime of memories. I can remember trips when I was four, wandering around old temples with my cousins, travelling at 200 mph on the high-speed rail, feeding monkeys in the countryside when I was 14, and swimming in the Pacific. I can remember long nights eating exotic foods, karaoke bars, and renting paddle boats and getting lost.

Taiwan stays with me every time I leave, and every year I beg my parents the same thing:

Take me back.