Quiet! This is a library.

I appreciate that through this (obnoxious) time without having wireless in my apartment that the complex has a quaint little "library" which provides me with a place to check the internet; what I don't appreciate, however, is how social this "library" feels the need to be.  The chairs lined up around the wall of windows are not as inviting as they are intended to be when there is a meeting, dance class, old man exercise class, or function of any kind--as there usually is.  Thus I have been regulated to the lobby of the apartment building next door, creeping out the residents of this building as a loiterer...which, let's face it, has become a specialty I've perfected as of late.  Taiwan has turned me into a habitual loiterer.  I loiter around wireless hot spots, food carts, bookstores (looking for the English section), coffee houses (long after the last of my latte settles comfortably within me), etc.  It's a label that I'm becoming familiar with, letting the strange looks roll right off of me--I pretend they're looking at my hair's (insert sarcastic adjective here) reaction to the humidity.

Here's something about Taiwan that I appreciate: nobody bothers me on the street.  There are constantly people passing out fliers or newspapers and raising awareness, among other things.  They don't even attempt to persuade me to listen...it's wonderful.  The only downfall of this is that I don't get many opportunities to practice one of the few (*cough*five*cough*) Chinese words I know.  "Boo-yow" (or however one would sound it out) means "I don't want that"...I know this because it's what the Yo-Yo toddlers say to me when I attempt to force-feed them their snacks in the morning (as it turns out Asian children are a lot less amused by the "airplane coming in for a landing" in their mouths).  This lack of social interaction on the street, among other places, has led to a spiked increase in the amount I talk to myself while at home alone, but they are rather nice when I am in deep thought while walking (and by deep thought I mean concentrating on not being run-over by a scooter).

On the opposite side of those who rightfully assume I don't speak Chinese are those that speak to me in rapid-fire Chinese despite my confused expression (foreign appearance, foreigner tendencies, English responses, etc.).  The following anecdote took place last week:

The train station had lost power, thus making it impossible to swipe my 'EasyPass' to get onto the platform.  There was a sign explaining what to do in this event, but it was in Chinese (rightfully so...this is Asia).  The station agent was speaking to another woman about how to deal with this situation, and I (honest commuter that I am) tried to listen in instead of attempting to sneak by.  I realized the sillyness of this behavior--the explanation was in the only language you might expect it to be in.  My hesitation in passing through the gate was obvious to a friendly looking older-woman, who turned to me with a smile; pointing at my 'EasyPass' she explained the situation...in Chinese.  Rapid-fire Chinese.  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled apologetically, thanking her (the one phrase I'm confident enough to say with volume).  She smiled and turned away--at least she tried.  I decided to walk through anyway, dealing with the payment at my destination...maybe that ticket agent would be able to interpret my mimes.  While walking up to the station platform the helpful older-woman again turned to me--she was determined to be successful.  Only this time the words flowed from her mouth in perfect English.  "There is a power outage; the station agent at your destination will be able to deduct the appropriate amount."  Well, why the hell didn't she try that to begin with?!  If I spoke Chinese I would've been able to understand what the ticket agent was saying; I wouldn't have needed her help.  Of course I didn't say this to her; thanking her again, I continued up the ramp chuckling to myself.  I guess that I appreciate her giving me the benefit of the doubt that I might just be better off in terms of communicating than I actually am.  Thanks for that, lady.

On a different note, the following photos are works of art that my students created for my personal enjoyment:

Yuki, from my crazy/entertaining Treehouse class, finished her workbook early allowing herself time to draw this lovely portrait of me.  I must say that it was slightly quite accurate to how I looked that day (this accuracy mainly pertaining to the helmet hairstyle).  The likeness has earned Yuki brownie points due to how generous she was regarding my weight...Teacher Lindsay is not so svelt in real-life.

The 'listening comprehension' portion of this homework instructed all of the students to draw a picture of a pig.  I can't be sure that Terry here truly understood the instructions, but I gave him credit anyway for creativity.  The feet do bear a pig-like resemblance.