They told me I am Chinese. They told me I have relatives in distant lands. But what could that mean? But what did it really mean? There were no faces to accompany names, no memories hinting the existence of these mythical beings. They might as well have been random names taken out of yesterday's forgotten newsletters...newsletters sitting in that garbage can over there by the grocery store.
I spoke Mandarin. Maybe every little girl in every elementary school in every city naturally spoke an extra language or two. They took me to Chinese school. I'd sit there, staring at the Chinese characters on the blackboard, mind wandering, fingers tapping at the beaten desk. My test scores were low. Extremely low. Where was my motivation? Why should I learn these strange "characters"? Especially on a sunny Saturday morning? My small and simple world provided no answers. With the onslaught of heavy schoolwork and constant piano lessons, I was pulled out of the Mandarin classes. Hurrah, I thought.
One summer, the Summer, while I was attending middle school, everything changed. Things would never be the same again. They took me on a long awaited trip to Taiwan. What would I see? Would I be accepted? Would I understand that foreign world? They said I'd finally meet those relatives of mine. Zealous eagerness avoided me. Instead, my stomach brimmed with anxiety. What was I supposed to say to my "relatives"? How should I behave? Would they like me? More important, would I like them? I was flustered and perplexed. Where was the Summer leading me?
The first thing I noticed upon arrival at the Chiang Kai-shek International Airport was the air. Warm. Humid. Thick. Pungent. As I stepped out of the airport, I found myself t�te-�-t�te with my relatives for the first time in my short and uninformed life. Yet, even as I walked into the world of my heritage, I was already being swept off my feet. I can't remember exactly every little detail of my first few days in Taipei, but I do remember I had that feeling that you get when you first taste an exotic but luscious delicacy. You look at the food; you doubt its quality; you bring it to your mouth only to back away from it again and stare at it for a longer period of time; finally, you force yourself to nibble at the sides, and a great rush wells up inside you. It is the most excellent food you've ever tasted, and you feel silly for ever doubting its supreme qualities. The rest of my stay was indescribable. Just like tasting the food, once I tasted Taipei, I gobbled it up fiercely. It took a strong clutch upon my soul. I discovered a fascinating world of music, food, culture, people, everything. My cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, everyone welcomed me warmly. I had found true companions through life. I had found a city of bright lights, a city of the amiable, a city that fed my soul. And, just like tasting the food, everything ended too quickly. Once I gobbled up the trip and was on my way home, I concluded that the trip was too short. But I would return, trip after trip, year after year, flight after flight, drawn endlessly to that sparkling land.
When I arrive at the airport now, I still notice the air. Thick. Humid. Warm. But welcome. Familiar. Old. Loving. It carries my memories. It carries me. In this air, I embrace my relatives. It is this air I defend. It is this air that has shown me what it means to learn those Chinese characters. There is more than motivation now, there is adamant will. There is heart. I speak Mandarin with pride. I regret it took so long for me to take in the air.
No man will die knowing exactly who he is, but I have learned what composes the center of my being. I am Taiwanese. I am part of an old forest. I survive on air. I will live and thrive. I have roots.