Changing Leaves, Leaving Changes
Friends,
Down the street from us, nestled between a 7-Eleven and a literal hole-in-the-wall that hands out betel nuts and energy drinks to construction workers, is a room that’s roughly 2×3m big and contains a men’s hair stylist. One employee, one chair, one mirror, a tiny desk for a phone and a bento box, one bench for people waiting. The stylist does brisk business, people waiting their turn at all hours, with her getting a few bites of lunch between sessions. At one point I saw her cutting a child’s hair as the child sat in the father’s lap, then without pausing switch over to touch up the father’s. She’s been there for a few years, a little less than we have, and for the first time I got my haircut there. She did okay, leaving the top a little longer than the sides in a way that was fine but was disconcerting since my hair hadn’t looked like that since… ever?
It was the first time someone besides Carolina had cut my hair in 15+ years. Our electric clippers needed a new part.
Change. It’s the only thing that doesn’t change, I guess. This year I turned forty and so thoughts of bone density and posture and range of motion and long-term quality of life have been swirling in my head, and so for the first time in my forty years I have begun picking up heavy things and setting them down for my physical and mental health on a regular basis. I have been seeing a personal trainer named Max, who is very patient with me despite the fact that he frequently gives me instructions in Mandarin that I immediately mistranslate and do the opposite of. I observe his pedagogy: he is much better about not being distracted when the student tries to derail the lesson than I am. I am an easily distracted teacher. I am a student who seeks distraction.
At this point I would love to compare US and Taiwanese gym culture, but that’s impossible for me to do because I’m completely unfamiliar with US gym culture. I went into the gym the other day and saw someone setting up a tripod for their cellphone to film themselves and I just felt so out of place. Even more than usual.
It’s the beginning of November, which means we’re in the middle of university/grad school/study abroad applications. Working with students to help them write the best personal essay or statement of purpose is my favorite part of my job and it’s not even close. It’s writing that has a very tangible purpose. They get to think about themselves, about their accomplishments and personality in a meaningful way, and how to communicate that to someone who doesn’t know them. They get to be creative! They’re also writing in a style that most of them have not practiced, which occasionally leads to amusing conversations like, “yes, you need to show your personality, but I’m not sure a quote from an anime is the best way to conclude.”
Actually I think the exact conversation was something like this:
Me - “I think there’s probably a better way to end this. Tie it back to what you want to accomplish academically. Plus, if you imagine a middle-aged French person reading this, they’re probably not going to be very persuaded by a quote from Chainsaw Man.”
Them - “But I love this quote! It really expresses my life philosophy.”
Me - “Awesome. Maybe get it as a tattoo. I don’t recommend putting it at the end of this essay.”
My unrealistic hope is that they’ll enjoy the process so much that they’ll continue writing even after the application is turned in, but of course that’s not what happens. Instead most either obsess and endlessly worry over the possible flaws in their writing or immediately never want to think about it again once it’s finished. But, hey, maybe it plants a seed. I’m still kind of in shock that the personal essay has remained a part of most university applications in this age of false objectivity, but I’ll take the blessings that remain.
One of the most common questions I get from people in the US about this part of my job is whether or not my students are looking more at other countries besides the US due to the political instability along with the defunding+attacks on higher education by the Trump administration. And the answer is… not really. For high schoolers, the main driver of applications remains the US News & World Report rankings or QS rankings, with some consideration for locations where family members are already living, which means mostly the US and a few Canada/UK/Japan/Hong Kong. For my university students, central Europe has always been the top grad school application destination due to a combination of higher prestige (to Taiwanese employers) than most universities in Asia and a much lower price tag for both tuition and living expenses than the US or western Europe. The students for whom money isn’t an issue still look primarily at the US with a few also considering the UK. For my part, it’s not really my job to guide them to particular schools unless they ask, and I honestly don’t have the expertise to do so in a good way, but I do try to get them to think about factors that they’re often not thinking about. Benefits of smaller schools, demographics when they step foot off campus, connection to geography, and more. But, having done this for several years now and following up with a lot of students after they get to where they’re going, I know that almost every single path turns out well. And for those who don’t, it’s never been because of something specific to their school.
Which is comforting for me, even if I know my students won’t believe it.
Further reading:
Taiwan’s Pride Parade just passed, and I encourage you to check out their website, which is both aesthetically pleasing and does such a good job moving between the big picture and the specifics surrounding the world the 2025 Pride Parade took place in. Unfortunately, the organizing around Pride was also marred by transphobic comments from an organizer, which was thoroughly explained in Yo-Ling Chen’s article for New Bloom.
You might have seen news about flooding in late September here in Taiwan, when heavy rains caused a barrier lake to overflow. Since then, there’s been an unsurprising amount of finger pointing over fault, but the perspective I want to highlight is that of displaced indigenous community. Maragaret Yun-Pu Tu has a good write-up in The Diplomat. For more about the flooding in general, check out Min Chao’s “A to Z Guide” and Focus Taiwan’s article.
Ann Wang has a photo essay about Filipino migrant workers in Taiwan that is just incredible in both the gorgeousness of the photos and the heartbreak of the situation.
The Paris Review has a wonderful short essay by Chinese novelist Yan Lianke (tr. Jeremy Tiang) about legacy and the desire to write even when that writing seems unwanted by anyone. I’ve reviewed two Yan novels in the past - The Explosion Chronicles and The Day the Sun Died - and even though I didn’t absolutely love either one, this essay has made me want to seek out more writing by him.
Thank you to Will Buckingham for this month’s dose of Yo-Yo Ma.
I loved when artists talk to one another about their art and craft so much, but it’s been a while since I’ve read a really good conversation in this genre. Fortunately, Janelle Monáe talking to Lucy Dacus ended the drought. So, so good.
Taiwan Travelogue’s translator Lin King and editor Yuka Igarashi won the American Literary Translators Association’s First Translation Prize! Very well-deserved. If you haven’t read it yet, you absolutely should.
Last week, I had the pleasure of attending a lecture through NTU’s Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures by the translator Yilin Wang. Her new book, The Lantern and the Night Moths, is a collection of translated Chinese poetry, along with extensive contextual notes and a series of “translator’s notes” in the form of letters to the poets. I’m excited about spending more time with the book!
To explain some of her framework for translation, she used a term from the writing of Qiu Jin/秋瑾, “知音”, which comes from 知道 and 音樂 - “to know” and “music.” Qiu Jin was drawing it from an older story about the musician Bo Ya/伯牙, who found in Zhong Ziqi/锺子期 a listener who knew when Bo Ya was evoking the sound of the mountains or of flowing water. His 知音, whose death caused Bo Ya to break his instrument and stop playing music entirely. As Wang explained, this term gets translated as soulmate: someone who understands your music, though without the romantic connotations that soulmate has in English. Literary translation, especially poetry translation, she noted, has to be a labor of love due to the limited audience, so she has focused on translating poets she feels this kind of 知音 connection with.
And so, my friend, I hope your life includes a 知音 or three.
-g