I miss everything about you.

I will attempt to write this entire post sans Chinese, because the constant Chinglish of my posts, while initially pretty cool, is now getting to me. I never really realized exactly how much I missed writing posts in English, healthy, pure, and sunshiny English.

Anyway, this afternoon, I had a very long, and rambly conversation with Delia while sitting at the sophomore table in the fish room. It was very reminiscent, and so refreshing—the main theme of our conversation was the things we missed about California. Never mind the fact that we were chattering happily away in what seems like rapid-fire English while everyone else around us gave us apprehensive looks—it was one of the best feelings I've had in such a long time, after feeling like the world is coming down on me since the semester started and not having enough room to breathe. I have also concluded that my English hasn't deteriorated since coming here; I still feel American inside and out. 

Here's some of the things we talked about; the things I have to write down before I forget. Brace yourself.

• Clean, fresh air. Good lord, why did I choose to live in Taipei again? I can hardly walk into any square footage anywhere in the city without being met by old men who act as if their entire life's purpose is to wave a cigarette in any passerby's face and not feel terrible about it. Okay, that's another point. I came here a silly little thing, but I never realized living in Taipei would literally degrade your lung capacity, day by day. The amount of scooters and cars and buses that grace the streets... well, more than you can ever count, and even more than you would imagine penetrate your lungs every day.

• Interacting with guy friends on a personal level that is not blatantly misunderstood. When a guy and a girl walk together on the streets, or even take the extra time to stop on their bicycles to do more than just say a quick "hello," someone's going to think you're going out, or nearing it. It didn't really bother me at first, but it is driving me crazy after a year here. The incessant teasing, the speculations behind your back, it all really gets to you. It's very childish, and I need to get away from it all at times. I honestly don't think there's a Chinese translation for the word "platonic." Either that, or everyone just chooses not to use it. That would be a supreme shame.

• Jamba Juice and In-n-Out. I don't think I need to explain this one. One is food, one is drink. Not much to say otherwise.

• The froyo generation. More stuff to eat. The only frozen yogurt I've seen near the university is Yogurt Art. It's said to have come from California, but wherever Yogurt Art is, I've never seen it in Norcal. I refuse to believe it's the same. But frozen yogurt had a dynasty of its own, and it was still in healthy shape when I left. Red Mango. Pinkberry. Yogurtland. Yogurt Village. Froyo. Yogurt Paradise. The possibilities were endless! People bundled up and went out to get it even in wintertime. It's an every day, any time kind of thing. Yogurtland has long since been the default, and Delia says Pinkberry is all the rage nowadays. I think Pinkberry is too expensive, from my experience with it on Santana Row. Red Mango is supposedly out of business.

• Cars that yield to pedestrians. Within the university doesn't count; cars have the least amount of priority, except in the case of a four-ton truck. But the minute I step outside the campus—cars, scooters, busses, anything with an engine and a generator, whizzes past me like they're racing out of town to save a dying person. Pedestrians are the last thing on drivers' minds in Taipei, and they probably wouldn't realize it if they ran over one some time in the course of their journey. In California, there were pedestrian zones. And cars actually treated the lines like they existed, even more the pedestrians themselves. Here, there are no boundaries. Literally.

• Public libraries. I miss libraries that felt like libraries! Comfortable sofas and big windows that allowed in a lot of light. And books, so many of them. The libraries here look so dull and ... stiff. With wooden chairs and desks and old tiled floors, it doesn't look comfortable at all. I miss MLK, and the long weekends I spent there tapping away at my Project A and B. I even miss having my own library card, the one I got when I was five years old.

• Green grass and stars. An unlikely combination, given you can't see one when you can see the other. Like Delia, and I didn't realize I missed this so much until she brought it up, I miss the stars of California. The only time I ever snuck out of my house (and I didn't even leave my driveway, for heaven's sake) was to go out and watch the meteor shower with Dexter, who only lives a block from my house, at 2 AM in the morning. The stars are such magical, celestial things, and I didn't realize I loved watching them and smiling up at them like a crazy person until I couldn't even see them anymore and they disappeared from the night sky. In addition, I miss open space—big sprawling lawns just waiting for you to get down on your knees and roll happily through them, the smell of dirt rubbing into your shirt and eventually into your hands as you grip the blades with your fingers. I'm sure they're present anywhere but Taipei, where buildings have no other place but to build upwards, maybe in the south where there's more land available, but that brings me right to my next point:

• Mosquito-free life. They leave me alone, for the most part, now. But there is no one in their right mind who would go roll around in the grass here, solely because they dwell on the blades and in the dirt and in  who knows what other kinds of places, and the little minions will eat you alive, roasted, stir-fried, or raw; one patch of skin at a time, until your entire body is screaming in agony and you have these little peach-coloured bumps on your arms and legs, sometimes even in the most ridiculous places like your eyelid. What kind of blood is there to be had on an eyelid? Beats me.

• Consistent weather. I can't leave the house without an umbrella at any time of the year in Taipei. The sky cries whenever it feels like it, and it doesn't need a reason to rain. It rains, it thunders, it blows the wind left, and then right, and then up and down for good measure; it does exactly as it pleases, and the Taipei people are left to fend for themselves. The ones with weak, convenience-store umbrellas are the first to fall. Then the parasols fall. Then... well, I don't know. But in California, it rains when it's supposed to, and it doesn't, when it's not supposed to. It's consistent and predictable, and sunny and nice, for the most part, and that's the thing I loved most about it.

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I like writing these posts. It helps me not miss home as much. This is Part One... of who knows how many parts are left to come.

For you, Delia. For being one of the only people I can really relate to on my journey in a new country. And to all of my friends whom I miss dearly, these are all the things I think about on a daily basis, just after thinking about all of you :) Cheers!