This was originally posted on blogger.

The end of this week marks my first month of teaching in Taiwan, and five whole weeks in the country.

Teaching has also been a great joy. According to my visa status, it’s why I’m in the country. It’s a job that pays well – especially by local standards – and allows me to buy an inordinate number of watermelon smoothies each month.

I teach four different groups of kids, each meeting twice a week: one group of little ones (7-9 years old); one slightly older bunch; one group that’s 10-12; and an “advanced” class that’s around 12-14. I think they’re all wonderful, thoughtful, hardworking kids in their own ways, and every day I get to know them a little better. I’ve learned that my littlest class loves to draw, color, sing, and make art. I’ve learned that my most energetic classes love to “shake it out” and do an exercise break in the middle of class. I’ve learned that my oldest class can tackle the social deduction game Werewolf, and can even have a debate about whether kids should have smart devices (all in a second language!). I’ve learned that some of my most vocal kids – the CEO-types – have horrible grammar compared to their classmates, and sometimes the child quietly in the corner has got every unit nailed and is just waiting to ace the test.

I’ve learned a great number of things about the English language. I’ve learned that it’s very hard to know when to put “the” before a noun. I’ve learned that past tense verbs are extremely inconsistent – and honestly I feel horrible that these children have to memorize “bring > brought, fall > fell, catch > caught” till their eyeballs fall out. I’ve learned that more often then not, when I see a mistake in a sentence I have no idea how why it’s wrong according to English grammar rules – and that frustrates me to know end. If English were a programming language, it would’ve been made obselete decades ago for it’s stringiness, ridiculous taxonomy, and bizarre structural design.

My co-workers at school have been a welcome community. We English teachers congregate for twenty minutes in the breakroom every Wednesday and Friday, when most of us have a full day of seven hours of teaching. I wolf down my lunch and listen to their stories, occasionally asking “where’s a good dentist around Kaohsiung” and receiving a host of recommendations. I’m friendly with the Chinese staff, and often overwhelmed with gratitude when they drop everything to teach me how to put staples in a stapler, or copy unit tests for a class in ten minutes.

Outside of teaching and talking to my roommate, Leon, I operate mostly in Mandarin. I’m simultaneously pleased with how much my Mandarin is improving and overwhelmed by how far I need to go. I feel like I can articulate myself, my feelings, my thoughts. I’ve told people about why I want to study Chinese in Mandarin; I’ve told people why I’m vegan, and specifically why I don’t eat eggs and milk; I’ve told people how “I’m American… though my parents are Indian” more times than I can count. I can ask questions to people about their lives, how to get to the nearest YouBike station, what there is to do in Taiwan. And sometimes, their answers are intelligible. Yet when I hear native speakers talking at a break-neck pace, or when I hear the news or glance at a menu or a newspaper, I feel like my years of study have amounted to nothing. Though I can articulate myself, my speech lacks the color of my language skills English. My words are imprecise and often incorrectly ordered or otherwise deployed. Never am I certain I’m doing something right, yet by sheer necessity, I go for it anyways.

It has helped a great deal here that people in Taiwan are incredibly friendly. I had heard that before but didn’t realize the full extent to which it was true. I feel very welcomed from everyone, including: my landlord Michael, who drove me and three others to Kending; the Laoban (boss) at my daily stop “Mama Zhang’s Vegetarian”; the ladies running the fruit stall on Sanduo road, conveniently on my walk back from work; Carrie, the doorman at the apartment, who loves learning new English words; the man who sits at a coffeeshop down the street translating heavy English books about Chinese historiography; a new friend of mine from Brazil who teaches drumming to kids here and comes most days to Mama Zhang’s as well. People ask me where I’m from, they compliment my Mandarin (people’s expectations are incredibly low for foreigner’s Chinese level), and how I’m doing, and sometimes they teach me new words or phrases. It’s more than I could expect of strangers or acquaintances anywhere, let alone in a new and hitherto foreign country.

With all that, at times I feel at a loss for friend-making in a new city. I’ve only experienced one move before: from London to Berkeley. It was hard then too, but I was encompassed by the thriving college life with countless groups and people to meet. In post-grad, things seem different. Life rhythms are slowly, and socializing centers around the weekend, when most everyone’s free. I’ve felt great empathy for people who move to a new country knowing no one, not knowing the language, and trying to build a life. In a new city, I don’t know yet how to plug myself in. I have aspirations like playing saxophone, badminton/ping pong, running, but little idea of how to make them come trrue. In a new place, chancing upon regularly occuring groups – something akin to a group of friends – is a special treasure. I’ve had some good encounters – a language exchange group off Facebook, a saxophone choir that plays old Chinese songs, and some folks playing badminton near my work! – and so I’m hopeful that something to stick. Still, moving is hard. I’m grateful that my job lifts my spirits and I have Leon to talk with, otherwise things would be even harder.

The mid-Autumn Festival is next week here in Taiwan. Though I’ve studied the vocab words in Chinese class, I’m excited to experience it in-person. And perhaps I’m more excited for Kaohsiung’s summer heat to die down, so maybe walking outside in the afternoon will be more bearable.