a short trip out of my element - but still in love...

The room had 12 fans blowing in all directions, buzzing to their own rhythm but I could hear each one of their murmurs and giggles. All 79 of them were sitting up straight and tall, staring up at me like thick strands of carpet packed tightly in neat rows. They were all wearing plastic flip-flops and white t-shirts tucked into faded blue shorts. Heads shaved, all their faces were so clear to me. Those that held energetic stares, glasses, or more wrinkles stood out more.

When I spoke into the microphone, I could feel my lips brush against the 1980’s spongy-mustard cover and all I wanted to do was bury my whole face into it, like the first moment you rest your head on a pillow at the end of an exhausting day.

Except it was 10:30am and I had 50 more minutes with them.

When they smiled, their faces lit up and their bodies shook, sending tattooed arms and legs flailing in all directions. I could have sworn each row twinkled then. I wanted their laughter to continue, to dance in front of them, to tickle them – anything that would hold their beam a little longer. When the laughter and smiles stopped, every once in a while I would catch someone nodding their head in agreement and it was enough to keep me going.

With broken mandarin and a stack of index cards, I spent the first day of June at a minimum-security prison, leading 79 male drug-rehabilitated inmates in a team-building/motivational activity. Only half a day has passed, yet I cannot remember how it started and how it ended - it was both a frightening and exhilarating experience. I was too overwhelmed to really grasp what I was doing and organize my process. I feel like I was improving through the whole workshop. Along with the buzzing of the fans, it was hard to ignore the weight of the room - the thousands of untold stories, the regrets, the bliss, the failures, the successes, the struggles and the hopes were floating around me, tugging at me sleeve, "Joy, you are in prison, you are a girl, a girl with bad hair, what can you possibly do? With your wack Chinese, what can you possible say?" Thankfully, it went smoothly and all I can remember are their faces, glowing with eagerness, laughter, and humility. If I am learning to love Chinese boys, I am learning to love them all – Chinese prison inmates included.

falling in love with chinese boys.

"I don't date Chinese guys."

I hear this very often. I might have spouted this one time and thought of this many times. But I have never truly asked myself why. Why was I rarely attracted to Chinese dudes? How has my idea of the Chinese male become so skewed that I'm so quick to accept stereotyping and blatant judgments on ALL the Mike Changs' and Chens' in the world. (just an example ;) Why do my father's friends embarrass and annoy me yet evoke empathy from me all at once?

Here's the irony: I am spending every waking moment at a boys' youth home surrounded by Taiwanese teenage boys and their twenty-something male teachers. Great.

There is a 26-year-old Taiwanese guy doing his military service here. We call him Jiao Gwan, which means something similar to soldier. He looks like a familiar combo of video-game-playing computer science majors from college and the many older Chinese men I was forced to call “uncle” during childhood. Tall and slender, he wears his navy pants high and his glasses low. He spends most the day sitting at a desk doing accounting problems from a textbook. My first day here I showed him how to spell “loose” with the story, “once there was this girl…she had 69 boyfriends and she did them all 3 times…” He laughed and now does it himself.

When the boys are in class, I often have long conversations with him about youth behavior and cultural expectations. I leave every single one of our conversations with a bit more understanding about Taiwanese culture and a lot more insight about myself.

There’s also Gabriel, the 27-year-old guitar teacher who comes on Tuesdays. He is shy, his movements are slow but concise, and he speaks between whisper and drawl, his words somehow coming out between his teeth or behind his tongue. The class is always rowdy when he is teaching, however, he is too gentle to say more than, “ssshh.”

I have gone on short walks with him and his compassion and thoughtfulness is always apparent. He walks between the crazy traffic and I, listening carefully and remembering what I miss about the states and often tries to relieve my longing with a Taiwan version, "there's a park that I can take you to that's quite similiar...we're near the ocean as well..."


In my past, I would never have taken the time to get to know them, to notice their many qualities and talents. I would have quickly disregarded them both as boring, lacking in passion, ideas and audacity. Glancing quickly, they are the epitome of what I have tried to avoid throughout my life and the epitome of what my mom considers “guai” (extremely good/marriage material).

But here I am in Taiwan after my life started, with past crushes and boyfriends “type-a-fied” and here I am in Taiwan before my life starts with more boyfriends to be had and memories to be made…I can feel the years of stigma and avoidance towards Asian men slowly dwindling as my stereotypes are confronted and questioned everyday.

As for Jiao Gwan, Gabriel, other adult males here and even some of the teenagers, I am learning their boldness, their audacity, and that they really aren’t that boring and passion-less. Their humility is captivating while their ideas are organized and carefully contained; they listen patiently and speak when necessary. Most importantly, their actions or inactions mirror their heart and mind and they have a bountiful supply of generosity and thoughtfulness.

I am learning to meet them in their entirety, free from my previous judgments and stigmas. I am understanding how their background, attitudes, fears, decisions and values complete their story - and how everyone has a pretty amazing story. And it's here, volunteering at a youth home in Taiwan, that I am learning to love Chinese men.