It was July 2012. Standing at Newark Airport in New Jersey, I felt confused as I watched numerous airplanes go by in the faint dusk.
I didn’t want to move to another country, especially one that was thousands of miles away in Hsinchu, Taiwan. My envisioned future of continuing middle school, going to New Jersey’s beaches during the hot summers, and tossing graduation hats at the end of high school with my friends seemed to dissipate. At that time, I felt wistful, but also an immense sense of dread at the thought of starting all over in a country I barely knew.
But there were a couple of ways I tried to combat my feelings of homesickness—and it began with gradually learning to pick up the new language, and contacting my relatives and friends when I missed them.
Little did I know when I touched down into this new tropical, semi-humid island in Asia, a place that couldn’t be more different from my hometown’s snowy winters and familiar gardens, I would find myself embracing my move abroad, even with its ups and downs. I eventually found myself savoring the new change and the vast opportunities it provided for me. Now, I couldn’t be more thankful for what I learned through moving to Taiwan. Below are just a few of the important things I took away from my experience.
I learned to take risks, and it paid off.
From trying out exotic dishes like calamari and stinky tofu to daring myself to hunt down the best food vendors within Taipei’s night markets—like a crowded street market on Raohe street—I slowly began to see my move as an adventure. At first, I found myself wary of trying dishes I’d never seen before or going on spontaneous hikes up Hsinchu’s mountains to explore the temples of a rural town nearby. However, I soon found that going off the beaten path allowed me to see my new home in a different light. Even if it wasn’t as familiar as my hometown, I taught myself to be more daring–and even reflective–in the places I visited, and ultimately felt more appreciative of my culture and new life.
Even now, as a college student, I’ve found that adapting to the new social setting of Taiwan has been helpful to my experiences as a college freshman. Going straight from the humidity of Taiwan to the brisk air of Northern California has often been tinged with times of anxiety and unfamiliarity. But despite its challenges, I’ve learned to be a little more daring, be it in challenging myself to learn a new language through classes or striking up the courage to talking to another international student from a different country. I’m now more acutely aware of the possibilities available when we take risks, ones that go beyond just trying new dishes.
Taking risks can be as simple as finding the courage to take the monorail to an unfamiliar place or striking up a conversation with an elderly grandmother during a festival to practice your language fluency. But taking risks also means finding the courage to be inquisitive in uncomfortable situations. Whether it means braving the strength to speak up for women’s rights in your first protest, to even questioning a person of authority in a moment of miseducation, the impact of taking risks can encompass the beauty of truly discovering your potential to change communities, understanding others, and making a difference.
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I stopped holding back–and saturated myself in the culture of Hsinchu.
Taiwan and America’s culture couldn’t be more different. I often found myself wanting to try out Taipei’s more Americanized restaurants or staying at home instead of going out to celebrate an obscure holiday. But taking the initiative to break into Taiwan’s culture enabled me to see my own cultural background and delve deeper into what Taiwan had to offer. As I improved my Chinese (which required a lot of patience), I slowly adjusted to the new move. Over numerous more trips to Taipei and engaging with my classmates at school, I picked up subtle cultural nuances in languages and phrases that allowed me to not only engage more with my relatives, but helped with simple tasks as ordering food and shopping!
Learning this new language even elevated my experience of Taiwan’s holidays, I enjoyed the Lantern Festival, an event in which we lit up painted lanterns to the night sky for good luck, and the Moon Festival, a holiday for engaging with family under the full moon while devouring some delicious mooncakes.
It took a bit of time, but on one of those nights, as I gazed at the luminous moon amid the faint smell of barbeque and my family's laughter, I finally began to realize that even despite its cultural differences, the universal nature of connection still holds strong.
Through saturating myself fully in the city, I’ve formed an emotional attachment with the intertwined culture of Hsinchu and the way it makes up a part of my identity. I now feel more rapport with my Asian heritage, and embrace it without shame. As a college woman, I carry these realizations into the classroom and the community.
I’m now more inclined to develop stronger, richer connections with the places I reside in and the ways in which I can engage more fully with the world around me. Even today, as I walk down Berkeley’s avenues and take in its eclectic atmosphere brimming with antique stores and unique vendors blasting R&B music, I feel connected to its intriguing history as the birthplace of the Free Speech movement. Walking the streets of my college town reminds me of walking on the streets of Hsinchu in the ways I have become ever more cognizant of my Asian-American identity, my ability to participate in protests and my new identity through the various cultural experiences I accrue along my journey.
I felt homesick, but I didn’t let it stop my adventures.
I won’t lie: Even after months of living in a new country, I still felt pangs of homesickness whenever I saw pictures of my old friends and family back in New Jersey, where there were no buzzing mosquitoes or extremely humid summer days.
It’s definitely normal to feel homesick once you’ve moved to a new country, and recognizing that it’s okay to feel sad, lonely or disoriented the first few years helped me feel at peace when I missed home. I let myself have those feelings, and then I’d combat the slumps by surrounding myself with items that reminded me of home, ranging from an old apple-scented candle to photos of the memories I loved most. My family even took trips back to the U.S to catch up with friends, and we scheduled video calls so they wouldn’t feel so far away from us.
There’s no place quite like home, but I will say that being able to take a break from my new life and country really allowed me to gain more insight on the way I had grown since relocating. As I gaze out my college dorm window today, I feel that moving abroad has made me feel more inclined to take new chances in experiencing a new culture, identity, and community. I’ve grown a little braver in being able to venture off the beaten road, and I realize some of the small steps I’ve made in college towards these new experiences, from going to Oakland to tutor elementary students to taking a new class on Italian culture has stemmed from my move abroad and learning to move past my homesickness to embrace what the future has to hold for me.
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I felt grateful for the little things.
Although moving to Taiwan had its ups and downs, I found that being able to appreciate the little things sustained me even on those dreary Mondays. Even if Taiwan wasn’t exactly the same as my hometown, finding little things that cheered me up put me in a better mood when there didn’t seem like much to be happy about. I waved at the breakfast vendor that had learned our names, and I spent hours in a used bookstore filled with English books – and these small moments were a haven of gratitude during my time abroad.
Looking back now at the memories I have of Taiwan, so much of what I enjoyed most was built from little details and the subtle nuances of the people’s friendly and open culture. In engaging with conversations with my grandparents and finding cozy cafes nestled in alleys of Taipei, I felt more connected to the country and its people.
My experience in Taiwan wouldn’t have been the same without the help of my family and friends. Much of what I experienced was made possible through the time they spent teaching me new phrases and words in Chinese and taking me to obscure restaurants, historical sites, and parks.
In exchange, I showed my gratitude by sending my grandparents' homemade cards written in Chinese to helping them make dumplings and traditional dishes. After all, it’s good to give back. Now, I’m more inclined to help foreign students on my campus assimilate into a new culture, having known the difficulty of moving to a new place. When I teach them a piece of American slang when I recommend a dish at my favorite restaurant here–I’m brought back to memories of the people who helped me, and I know the ways I can continue to help are endless.
These six years spent in Taiwan have gone by in a blur of confusion, appreciation, and euphoria, and as I arrive at the sun-soaked airport of San Francisco for another four years of college at Berkeley, I've come to realize that moving abroad isn't so different from the experiences of many women across the world as they enter this unique chapter of life–college. There's nothing more unsettling than the bustle of living away from home and being exposed to a new environment. But like moving abroad, this unsettling feeling may subside to reveal a plethora of new opportunities to take risks, help you become more daring and accepting of new unique cultures, and become ever stronger, braver, and empowered.
