a bit of whiteness, a bit of home

I met Nick and Chris today. Nick was riding on the escalator in front of me and I shouted out to him, “do you speak English?” Even with large headphones cupping his ears he instantly whipped his head around and said, “Yes” with just as much boldness as curiosity. I was delighted and relieved to have someone to talk to. I used Hella and Fuck about ten times. I loved every moment of our conversation and could have said rad and awesome ten more times.

He has been here two months and I have been here two days. He told me where the library and English bookstores were and I told him I wanted to know where the expats partied. Having heard grad school was strenuous he told me to relax and take advantage of all the neighboring beachy countries and I told him I wanted a routine. He told me to at least travel around Taiwan and I told him I was itching for a community. He told me that the building in front of us had 12 floors of Karaoke and the area across from it was the gay scene. We parted and 3 blocks later I met Chris.

Chris was waiting at a stoplight with a ragged backpack my size. He had a day pack in one hand and a laptop bag in the other. I said, “Hi, do you need help?” He laughed and said he was just looking for a backpackers on the same street. We crossed the street together and he looked up and said, “oh, here it is!”

Above us was a neon lit sign that said Taipei Ximen Hostel. We headed up a narrow staircase that led to a concrete wall and a door on the right. The door had a colorful plexi-plaque similar to the neon sign. It occurred to me that even their hostels could be cheese. Animated neon cheese.

I rang the doorbell and it broke out into a high-pitched welcome song/bird chant. A stout Chinese girl with black-framed glasses and a loose ponytail answered the door. She was wearing all black. She seemed annoyed to see us. Or maybe to see me since I had the aura of Snooper-McSnooperstin. It was then that I realized how eager I was to feel connected with someone who I felt embodies me and what I am familiar with. So much so I spent most my afternoon following strangers and prying at their story, eager to find community and commonality.

Its funny feeling alone when I’m constantly surrounded by people that look like me. The word “diversity” has added meaning to me now. I have never hungered so much for white faces and the opportunity to use dang and gosh and like and sick and even hope and wish with varying pitches. I think there is more risks I need to take - in another direction of course, as not to fawn too much over tall male anglos. But it's okay, because they probably think I'm gay.