Teaching middle and high school kids allows one a rare backward glimpse into one of the defining moments of youth: first love. In a way it's like observing animals at the zoo; every now and then I have a vague idea of what they must be going through, but for the most part I'm just fascinated by the irrational tumult.There is a sudden shift that occurs for every adolescent. One day she's perplexed over the meaning of a sonnet (Why is Shakespeare insulting his girlfriend? Does she really have wires for hair? And gross, reeking breath? Ew. I don't get it.) The next she's contemplating the slow maddening that can only be explained by the crushing weight of love. Some students treasure discretion: the adorable couple that you know are just thrilled to see each other at the start of each SAT class, and yet never sit together. Others wear their hearts on their sleeves: the boy who refers to the "tragedy" of being "friend-zoned" with tears in his eyes and a catch in his voice.
One of my students recently insisted that I had no understanding of what it truly meant to "lose your mind". He then proceeded to describe at length the obsessive pain that accompanies unrequited love. I laughed and assured him that he would get over it as soon as he met someone new. As I uttered those words I wanted to jump up and catch them before they reached his ears. Of course I understood this feeling. I too have lost my mind in such a way, and certainly more than once. The first occasion required five years of recovery. I gently told him that yes, I understood. I had been there. And then I mentioned the whole five years thing which, in retrospect, may have been a misstep, but I was frankly unprepared for the conversation, and anyway this kid is so dramatic I estimate at least a good seven years before he lets this girl go.
From my brief time here it seems that the Taiwanese are more willing to express the agony of heart-break than their American counterparts. This would at least explain Taiwanese music videos featuring beautiful young people dying from rare, vague cancers that only manifest as nosebleeds. I think I first noticed this tendency (for heart-break, not nosebleeds) when I visited the Museum of Broken Relationships, a traveling exhibit that gives people an opportunity to celebrate love lost. (A reasonable, worthy endeavor if you think about it: the vast majority of relationships end in separation. Should these relationships be valued less because of it? Do we not learn from these experiences and encounters? Do they not change us?) The exhibit, while originally Croatian, includes donated pieces from every city it visits. Each item represents a failed love, and each is accompanied by a brief description written by the owner of the donation. Many of these descriptions expressed pain, grief, or remorse. Some expressed anger. But only the Taiwanese descriptions read as individual pieces of poetry. Each was a slice of exquisite pain that put all other countries to shame. The horror and beauty of first love was present throughout, regardless of just how "first" the love really was.
The romance of every city is unique, and I've fallen in love with individual locales in different ways. Vienna was, of course, a waltz. A beautiful, thrilling gingerbread metropolis that twirled me into its arms. Berlin was a fever dream of art and creativity. And New York? New York is the recalcitrant lover who breaks your heart again and again, but to whom you will always return. All the while knowing, dammit, that New York doesn't love you.
I'm still trying to identify, characterize, and clarify my relationship to Taipei. Do I love it for its sweetness? Certainly not for its sweatiness. Perhaps these kinds of connections only become apparent with time. I do not feel the same desperate whirl of passion that other cities have evoked. It's a calmer love, sedate though certainly not mature. It's taste is bittersweet.
Sometimes I feel as though I'm viewing life through three sets eyes: the young girl I was, the adult I am now, and the older woman I hope someday to be. These are not days of incoherent passion, but they are certainly days of vitality. I'm already sifting through memories in anticipation of departure, and, as always, that makes the present more poignant and special. This is a brief snapshot of the time Taiwan and I have recently spent together.
