a new warmth

This evening I received a text from a friend asking for prayer because they had gotten into an accident. My friends were fine but they said "one kid is hurt." In my mind's eye I saw a couple of students and a scooter/bike next to my friends' car, one of them lying by the side of the road with his head bleeding. I don't know the extent of the damage, but my heart sank. This is accident #4 that I know of with people from our school, all in the last 2, not quite 3, months. Even just one of those is enough to shake me, seeing my roommate sitting on a sign ledge at a T-section with blood on her head and a crowd of MAK family around her. I am definitely more careful now -- when all those other scooters shoot past me on the road I think, they may be "bigger and badder" than me, but if ever in an accident, we all have the same amount of protection -- none. Caution is my best defense.

I was thinking about all of this on my drive to Chinese class tonight. I have not been to Chinese class since two weeks before the Christmas concert. Yes, it's been a long time. One of the reasons that pulled me out of the lethargic, distracted, uncommitted, busy/un-prioritized state was the entrance of March and the way it abruptly changed the season's gears.

I remember reading once from a Laura Ingalls Wilder book, something about March going out or coming in like a lion. "In like a lamb, out like a lion," or something like that. Well, in the vein of metaphors, March definitely came in like a lion. Or maybe like an elephant. You just absolutely knew it was there because it was sitting on you with all its heat and humidity. This morning was so bright and beautiful that I was truly reminded that I do live on a sub-tropical island.

Glory! (picture not mine)

Digression aside, knowing that I could drive the 20 minutes out on the dark roads without getting chilled to the bone with the wind whipping through my jacket (plus having nothing but an empty house to come back to) was enough motivation for me to pack my book bag and book it to the elementary school.

Ah yes, elementary school. Chinese class is 3 hours of exactly the same things that Taiwanese children go to school every day for, just in a different format (and more intense). I am in 2nd grade, and I sit at the real desks of real students and use the same real versions of their books. My teacher is a real 2nd grade teacher, and my classmates are real women from other foreign countries who are applying for Taiwan citizenship through either marriage or work. And maybe some other older folks who never learned how to read or write formally, and are starting over now.

The teacher welcomed me when I walked in late, and did not berate me for not coming for so long. She is always so warm and enthusiastic. I really admire the dedication she has to her job, from teaching squirmy little kids all day and staying late to teach mail-order brides who congregate together and chatter in Vietnamese when they can. At one point I listened to everything going on around me while I methodically moved my pencil in delineated strokes on the paper -- I think I caught about 4 different languages (Vietnamese, Mandarin, Taiwanese, and maybe Cantonese) plus the trash truck in the distant background. My ears rang a bit. But the atmosphere was warm, hard-working, and somehow therapeutic as my pencil fell into the harmonic rhythm of a rich and beautiful language, laden with an aesthetic depth of which I felt I was only beginning to scratch the surface.

When class let out I said goodbye to the teacher, smiled at my classmates and their babies, and revved up Little Red to go home. I passed the small village center where the handmade noodles and the drink stands were waiting, the bright lights flashing from the shops and the street signs, the little green guy running on the pedestrian light to let walkers know how much longer they had. I drove the dark and shady spots in between street lamps, thankful once more for my new scooter light installed a few weeks ago to brighten up the way. Not until living here have I realized how dark the darkness can be. In more ways than one.

Soon I'll have reached the 7 month mark, and in a few more it will be time to think about heading home. As much as there is to look forward to that time, there will be things I will miss about Taiwan. I will miss those lights, those shops, those stands. So, notwithstanding the first reason of safety, I drive slowly, and try to take it all in before I have to leave again.