Mr. Hou, the evil one appears to be having a good time.  

Kojen teachers at their best at the annual Kojen Summer appreciation party. School six always has the best act. The one on the right is my boss.  

I'm back and better than ever

Now that the hectic summer schedule at Kojen is over, I'll have more time to write in my blog. But not today. More stories and photos to come, though. So stay tuned.

Love's lost but not forgotten

Ok, listen, this is my sappy spiel about love but if you don't want to hear what's been said a million times over, then don't read on.

Love hides in strange places. Sometimes when you've got it, you don't want it and when you haven't got it anymore, you want it more than anything. It's not cut and dry like the movies portray it to be - you love someone or you don't love someone. For me, at least, love happens in percentages. You love the person a lot of the time but there are times when I actually felt pure loathing toward this person. It was when the scales started tipping to the wrong side, I decided to question my purpose in the relationship. You can start to think that the person you share your life with doesn't really deserve to have the amount of affection you've been giving him and hence, begin to give less and less.

It can never be like that first month or in my case six months of a relationship. It's euphoric. Colors are more vivid. Your shoes fit better. Everything seems right.

If you spend years with the same person that person truly becomes part of you. This person shares the same memories with you and as time passes, eventually the number of memories including this person outnumbers the memories without this person. But then, what will happen when this person is ousted from your life by extreme forces? Who are you? Where is that part of you where that person once happily resided?

Panic takes over. Where am I? What do I do? Where is he, damnit? I want that piece back. What extremes can I go to find that missing part of me and how dare you take it away, whoever, whatever you are? Anger. Hatred. Clouded irrational thinking. Anguish. Heartache.

"What was the reason why I broke up with him again? I can't seem to remember. All I can remember are the good ones with him. I think I want him back but it's just too late. But is it? Maybe not. I'm going to try to get him back. But why do I want to do this? How will I do this? Wasn't I so unhappy when we were together? It doesn't matter because it's got to be better than the misery I'm feeling now. Anything to just make the pain go away." This is what I thought every minute of the day.

You need some kind of force to bring you back down to earth from this constant delirious brooding. For me, it was my friends. They reminded me why I broke up with him in the first place and it was like an extraordinary epiphany. I was instantly happy. The weight was lifted off of me and suddenly I was on cloud nine. This guy was not the right for me; they spelled it out in every way possible. I could do better. Yes, of course, I could. There are so many guys in this world and I know that I'm special. I'm different from most girls.

I now know that man who is going to truly love me and make me happy (not that I'm not perfectly content being by myself) is out there. I can't wait to meet him.

To Malcolm

Where do I start?

Hearing that you went out with someone else was as if some heinous beast had reached into my chest and tore out a piece of my heart. It's strange, that expression, "a broken heart" because the pain really felt like it stemmed from somewhere within my chest cavity. It's a real physical pain; it's not up there where you think and make logical decisions.

I know I was the one who did the breaking up. I put you through a lot of pain and anguish. I know. It's mostly my pride and selfishness that is causing my own misery. You have a right to see other women.

I ponder the reasons why you did it the way you did it. Some think you just wanted to make me jealous or piss me off and if that's true, you succeeded. You won. I cried. A lot. I spent many a night wide-eyed starring at the window. Let me out of this nightmare. Or that this was some last attempt at getting me back. Others think, you just needed a quick fuck. That actually doesn't bother me as much as disappoint me for I thought you were a different kind of man, the kind that doesn't think with that small piece of flesh hanging between his legs. Actually, what I think is that you simply needed to move on and there's nothing wrong with that. The reasons don't matter.

The days and nights have been hard. I shed a lot of tears that first night. The second I shed fewer. The third even fewer and now though I still do feel a strange pit in my chest, I think I'm okay. It gets easier as the days go by and to be honest my friends have really come through for me. They are there to comfort me, to tell me to be strong, to criticize you (which makes me feel a lot better), to eat, to laugh about our silly lives. They are great. It would be so much harder had I not had good friends to lean on.

I constantly replay all those amazing times we had together. There were so many. Everywhere I look I see something that reminds me of some experience we had. I search for some sign that you are trying to make contact with me. When the telephone rings, I hope it's you. When I turn over in my bed at night I see an imaginary outline of you body next to mine. Then it disappears. During the day, I wonder what you are up to. I wonder if you wonder what I'm up to. I do miss you much.

We were the best of friends throughout our relationship as well as after it ended. Our conversations even became more intimate afterwards too. I think perhaps the main reason why I am so upset is because I lost my best friend that night and that my best treated me with such contempt.

I was reading this book in Eslite the other day called Blink. The author talked about how some people make it in life, not only do they have wealth but they also have true happiness while others suffer bad fortune throughout their lives. He attributed it to the ability to make good decisions. Basically, there are those who have a sense about how to make the right decision most of the time leading to fulfilling successful lives. Anyway, I think I'm one of those people. Things always seem to work out for me. I know that I made the right decision to break up with you because you are certainly not the right mate for me. There are simply too many incompatible traits the main one being our differences in values. Therefore, I stand firm with the decision that we cannot be friends anymore. We both have to move on.

However, I do have some of your possessions like your tent and a good book of yours. I think you may want them back. You have the travel guide that I have to give to my coworker. I would somehow like to set up a time where we can exchange items. You can send me an e-mail or leave me a message.

Typhoon Haitang. Taiwan is somewhere underneath that big twisty cloud. Picture courtesy of Taiwan Weather Bureau. 

Eye of the Storm

Typhoon Haitang hit Taiwan yesterday with fury. The government has shut down all businesses on the island today, a somewhat expected day off. It's not as bad as the last one though. Last year we got one, the wind was so strong it whistled and the windows shook and rattled so much in the middle of the night that I feared they would cave in so I retreated to the bathroom where I sat for nearly an hour.

I just came back from a walk outside. There's something so dangerous yet eerily alluring about the ultra high speed winds of a typhoon. Armed with a full body 7-11 poncho, I walked around the block. I passed fallen branches, leaf covered cars on the side of the road, the occasional taxi, a few pedestrians struggling with their bent umbrellas. I only got scared when I saw roofing bricks strew across the sidewalk. I thought to myself, "Hey, it would probably hurt if I got clonked in the head by one of those." So I made my way back home but stopped in the small sheltered area by my bank and stayed there for a good twenty minutes watching Mother Nature release her anger.

The rain comes down sideways in long layers. The air is fresh, so fresh and moist. Breath it up. The trees lean over. Which ones are strong enough to survive. I look over to the small atrium where the fish and the turtles in the pond swim happily in circles completely oblivious to the chaos that is happening outside their little world. Before entering my building I take a few snapshots of the sun with my water proof camera. There's an open patch up there. It seems the clouds are twisting around it. I feel strangely like I'm being watched.

Hoan Kiem Lake in the old quarter of Hanoi. 

And how are the bathrooms in Vietnam?

I think it's funny how after my trip to Vietnam so many Taiwanese people asked me if the toilets in Vietnam were as bad as the ones in Mainland China as if Chinese bathrooms were the gauge to determine the level horrific sanitary conditions in the world. I've never been to the mainland so I really can't compare but I did come across some pretty interesting washrooms along the way.

En route to Hoi An from Mui Ne on a narrow mountain pass in the middle of the night, beeping, veering past trucks in our overcrowded tourist bus with children hanging out of their seats and people sleeping in the aisles, we pause at a rest stop along the way. Everybody's gotta go to the John but the foreboding question hovers in the back of women's minds, "Are the bathrooms clean?"
"YES! Yes they are!" The place was most likely built specifically for tourists since the restaurant looks fairly tidy for a diner in the middle of no where.

It was only until the next morning when we stopped again at a another pit stop did we encounter restrooms that repelled us. I open the door and it's an empty tiled room with a tiny spigot where I think water comes out and a small hole in the corner for a drain. That's it. No toilet, not even a squatter. I close the door. Hmm. I go to the next stall. It's the same thing. What do I do? I look at this other white tourist woman near me and she looks back at me with the same perplexed look. Hey, I gotta go so I enter the stall. I pee on my feet. Gross!! I guess that's what the faucet is for, to wash the pee off your feet. Oh, now everything makes sense.

On another occasion while in the countryside of Ninh Binh we get off a bus and of course I have to go to the bathroom. At the little shop where we rented our bicycles, I kindly ask the owner, a little elderly Vietnamese woman if I could use her toilet. She brings me to the back of the store, where her family lives, to a wooden shack with a corrugated steel roof the size of a small closet. I open the door. I see a bucket of overflowing coal in the corner. The floor is made of some wooded planks haphazardly spread across the ground. The strangest thing was that there was a wooden stake coming out of the ground up to my waist right smack in the middle of the little room. There was barely enough room to squat. What the hell am I suppose to do here? I pee on my feet again but this time there wasn't a convenient faucet to wash it off. I open the door and walk past a plastic container of water and quickly scoop some up and throw it on my feet. I was ready to roll.

All you have to do is look up. Ankor Wat, Cambodia. 

Scribbles in my Moleskin

The following are just some observations I wrote down in my Moleskin notebook (every traveler should have a Moleskin) while in Vietnam.

• Beware of what restaurants serve; they'll put extra food out on the table. Patrons will think it comes with the meal but when the bill comes they charge you a lot extra.
• Everyone in Hoi An leaves their doors open at night
• Don't bring books. Buy a copied one here. Lots of Lonely Planets for a couple of dollars but be careful because some pages may be missing.
• Many, many old ladies but not many old men
• Tourists always get charged for at least double the price of goods
• So many flies in Cambodian markets but not many in Vietnam
• Vietnam cyclos: 1 passenger in front, driver in back. Cambodian tuk tuks: 2 passengers in back driver in front
• Very few street lights in Ho Chi Minh City. Lots of traffic circles but people don't follow the rules and make right and left turns at them.
  
• Beeping without abandon
• No McDonalds or big fast food chains. No Starbucks but there is a large coffee chain called Trung Nguyen which Starbucks tried to buy
• Almost everyone has a lean or slender body type
• The currency is very inefficient. They don't use coins. They use both USD and Vietnamese Dong. There's almost always trouble getting change for 50,000 dong which is about 3 USD.
• There are lots of humanitarian non profit organizations/schools for underprivileged youth
• Lots of seedy businesses: never know who to trust. No copyright laws so if one company does well, others will copy the name. Example: 50 Sinh Cafes, which one was the original?
• Very few dairy products because refrigeration is not common. Ice is delivered to restaurants on motorcycles
• restaurants often buy food from other vendor to sell at their restaurants instead of cooking it themselves.
• Locals drop human waste into Halong Bay.
  

Trees are the enemy in the fight to preserve 900 year old temples at Ankor Wat. 

Bayon Temple, near Ankor Wat, Cambodia 

One of many one legged men, a result of land mines from the war. In front of Ivy Hotel, Siem Reap, Cambodia 

Artisans in training. Siem Reap, Cambodia. 

Happy cyclists. Taken from the seat of my tuk tuk. Siem Reap, Cambodia. 

Covered Japanese bridge. Hoi An, Vietnam.  

A boat ride along an irrigation canal. Ninh Binh Vietnam. 

Great Grandmother. Ninh Binh, Vietnam. 

Man riding wooden bicycle. Ninh Binh, Vietnam.

On a cycling tour of Ninh Binh, Vietnam. 

Brick workers. Ninh Binh, Vietnam. 

Harbor of Hoi An, Vietnam.

Beautiful Halong Bay, Vietnam. 

Birdcage. Taken from Cafe Des Amis in Hoi An, Vietnam. 

Cambodia

It's been almost a week since I've left Taipei, though it seems like it's been longer because I've done so much, yet time also feels like it's flying right by for I've been having a really nice time here in Vietnam.

Cambodia had its good points and bad. I was a bit skeptical about the food there since I'd never seen a Cambodian restaurant before that. Actually, I much more excited about getting some Vietnamese cuisine onto my eager taste buds. It turned out that Cambodian food is simply fantastic. It's rich in curries - thick curry with coconut milk, thin curry with noodles in the morning, red curry, green curry - it was just all so good. They also use lemon in their dishes so it can be a bit sour like in Thai food.

I landed in Siem Reap and caught a motorcycle ride from the airport to town for one dollar. Stuff can be really cheap there but it still bothered me to know that they were charging foreigners two to four times more than they did the locals. A typical meal there for a tourist would be anywhere from 3-5 USD but if you were a local you could get the same meal for under a dollar, maybe 60 cents.

Cambodia, especially Siem Reap may be one of the poorest areas in the world. There were many families living in grass huts along the highway without any worldly possessions. It made me a little ashamed of my relative wealth I was strutting about with. Yet one thing that really put a damper on my stay there was the constant begging to buy things that I just didn't have any use for like scarves, bracelets, travel books, postcards by the dozen. It wasn't like they would ask you once and then go away. People of all ages usually very small children would ask again and again after I would say no thank you. But they just don't take no for an answer. Not only will they follow you down the street, more will buzz toward you like flies on raw meat. Soon I was enveloped in this crowd of little people. It was actually hard to maintain composure. I just wanted to scream, "GET THE F*&% AWAY FROM ME!" but of course you can't really do that. You have to remember that they're only 7 or 8 years old.

There was this one kid though who did the normal persistent marketing of his goods. After the usual 5 minute routine of saying "No thanks, I don't want any" he asked me one last question, "You buy when you come back?" which I thought was such a strange question at the time. If I don't want it now why would I want it when I came back?
"Okay, sure." anything to get him away from me.
So I come back from the bathroom.
"So now you but my book!"
"No, thanks. I don't want a book."
"But you say you buy my book."
"No, I didn't."
"You say you buy my book when you come back."
"No, I didn't." Wait a minute, yes I did. He took me seriously.
"You lie. You lie."
"I didn't lie."
"You number one liar."
"What?!"
"Oh my God... Oh my God... You number one liar..."
And he pulls this whole act on me the whole way back to the main road thinking that he can coerce me into buying his book. This is after I had already given him money for pity's sake.

That was how much of the time was spent walking around the downtown area and the area just outside Ankor Wat. Ankor Wat, the name given to a city of enormous temples built by a people 8-900 some years ago, was amazing. Walking through the ruins of this ancient civilization was like walking through and touching history. I have photos to come.

Wulai. Malcolm took this with his new Sony digital. 

Wulai

I went camping in Wulai just south of Taipei this past weekend. The scenery was simply gorgeous but I must conclude after my second experience sleeping outdoors, I am not the camping type.

To get there, you can take the MRT to Xindian Station at the end of the green line, walk up the street to the 7-11, then take the Wulai bus up the mountain, about a 40 minute ride.

Malcolm and I met Todd and Marlene at Xindian Station around noon. We arrived in the small but touristy town a little before 1:00. There weren't too many people in town perhaps due to the dragon boat festival going on down the river so it was a pleasant stroll towards the camp area we were headed to. Usually you can take a tiny train to the aboriginal village where the waterfall is located which is the main attraction in Wulai (it's really not very impressive) but the track was under construction so we walked. Twenty to 30 minutes later, we arrived at the quaint village composed mostly of small restaurants and aboriginal clothing stores. By the way, if you ever choose to spend a day in Wulai, you should try the sticky rice stuffed in bamboo; it's a good snack. We picked up lunch in the village but decided to wait until we got to the river to eat it. There's a road out of the village that goes through a small tunnel and then curves around to a foot bridge where we crossed about 20 minutes later. We followed the trail for about 15 minutes to the steps that lead down to the river below. The rocks in the river are extremely slippery as Marlene found out. She slipped on a rock right onto her back but amazingly managed to save our lunch boxes from getting wet. After devouring our food, the moment that we were all waiting for had come; it was time to take a dip in that pristine, cool, mountain water. After walking all that way, covered in sweat and grime it felt so good to strip our clothes and jump in. There are actually many beautiful blue swimming holes along the river, where it's deep enough to dive off boulders, though only Malcolm and Todd were brave enough to do it. We swam for a little while, got out, ate snacks, stood under an umbrella, strangely, while it rained, trekked up stream in search of another swimming pool, swam for some time there, then headed back towards camp. By that time, it was 5:30. Todd and Marlene were not going to spend the night so they packed their things and got ready to go back to where we started. Wanting more snacks from the convenience store in town, I decided to accompany them, despite Malcolm's disapproval because it would get dark in an hour's time. It was a long 40 minutes back to Wulai; I had never been so happy to see a 7-11. I got dinner, the next day's breakfast, as well as those midnight snacks that prompted the gruelling hike back to town; Malcolm bought a torch for NT50 (1.50) at 7-11, which would later prove to be a necessity back at camp. Then we sent Todd and Marlene off but by then dusk had fallen. If we were to walk back it would be pitch black by the time we got to camp so we opted for taxi ride back to the foot bridge. We walked for another 20 minutes before we realized that we had missed the steps leading down to the river. It was silly not to bring our flashlights with us for the stairs down are old and corroded but we finally made it back to camp. I felt gross and exhausted. It started to drizzle. It was dark, very dark. We put the torch next to the rocky sheltered area where we set up camp and it illuminated enough space for us to eat dinner. Afterwards I lay in the tent and just rested for some time before I washed up in the river. Sleeping was amazingly easy considering that I had been suffering from insomnia for the past month. I woke up around 5:30 or 6:00 to the voices of two male hikers near the river. Stepping out of the tent, I was hit with such beauty, it cannot be described with words but I'll try anyway. The river was running, mist weaved around the mountains and those verdant lush trees, the ground was damp and cool to touch, the air was so clean, it seemed sweet. I ate breakfast, went for another morning dip, and got out things ready to be packed up. It was a morning of more hiking up the smaller trail were we found another small village and then back to the town of Wulai for the bus ride back to Taipei. We caught the bus down the mountain just in time before it stated pouring outside. It felt so nice once I got back home and was able to take a nice warm shower. I lay on my bed and took a good long nap.

Next time I go to Wulai, I will probably try to take my bike up in a taxi. I saw quite a few cyclists up there. I think I'd probably be able to see more of the scenery. And if I do go camping again, I will go when the weather is not as hot or humid.

Do you hate Americans?

Shortly after coming to Taiwan, I began to realize just how many people disfavor Americans. It's not the Taiwanese, though; they love Americans, God knows why. It's just everybody else, especially Canadians. We Americans always call them our friends up north, little do we know just how deeply ingrained this enmity towards us is. One Canadian friend told me that when he was young, while watching the Olympics, his grandfather would make him to cheer for the Russians rather than the Americans. "Go Russians!"

Another Canadian friend was telling me how these guys in her Chinese class were being vulgar by constantly asking the teacher how to say dirty words and generally just acting really coarse. Then she added, "And they're not even Americans. They're Canadians. I'm so ashamed!" You mean, there aren't any rude, disrespectful people in your country? Wow, that must be nice.
People don't just come out and say they hate Americans. They're little comments like these.

In the prep room I'll sit through extensive discussions of when the American empire will crumble.

Yesterday afternoon while having lunch, another guy from Europe was denouncing American book publishers for changing the British English in Harry Potter to American English and producers for trying to make an American version of the popular British sitcom The Office. The two Americans sitting at the table, including myself, squirmed uncomfortably in out seats.

Now, don't get me wrong; I have plenty fun criticizing my country. I went half way across the world and spent a lot of money to vote this damn president out of office. The thing that irritates me is that people will snivel about America much more than any other country, including their own. They make excuses like, "Oh it's not Americans we hate, it's the politics" or "It's because America is so rich and the most powerful country in the world." Yes, of course, that makes things much more justified. And, come on, there aren't enough, bad things about your country for you to complain about. Give me a break.

Kojen Policy

Taipei has entered monsoon season which means it can pour all day, everyday, for days on end. When it's not raining, it's hot and humid, so much so that when you step out of your door you are instantly covered with sweat that doesn't seem to want to evaporate until you make it to another air conditioned location which, in my case, is usually work.

Kojen now has a new dress code policy which specifically states that teachers in the children's department cannot wear shorts, tank tops, sandals, etc. I think I broke most of the most of the rules yesterday. I figured I would rather have my manager give me talk than soak my clothes through with sweat. No one mentioned anything so I think I'm going to go on preferring my choice of clothing until they tell me that I have to go home and change. The thing that gets me is that they allow teachers to wear jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. How is that more professional than a pair of khaki shorts and a plain sleeveless top? Not to mention there are female teachers, we won't mention any names but we know who they are, who wear jeans so low that it's surprising that pubic hair isn't showing, and others who wear shirts with sexually explicit material while teaching six year olds. There should be a rule that says that jeans which go down to the crotch should not be allowed.

Lately, I've been getting more and more fed up with this school. There are specific guidelines clearly stated in print that we are supposed to get an annual bonus after about 1000 hours of work, a raise if we've worked a few hundred hours, and a return rate bonus if 90% of our students come back to study after each session. Teachers don't get the money unless you ask about it. I wouldn't have gotten my bonus if I hadn't incessantly asked Queena, the Children's Department manager, to add up my hours. And each time, it seemed like I was putting her out by asking to do her job. I think I went to her office every other day for about a month, and each time she would chuckle, "Ha ha, not yet." It's the same, if you want to inquire about a raise. Actually, most teachers don't even know about it. Last year when my old Director Jane was working at our school she showed me the pay raise chart for children's teachers. I asked if could make a copy of it. "Sure!" A year later I was talking to some co-workers about this topic and I was surprised to discover, most of the teachers were not only unclear about the number of hours one must accumulate, but had never heard a thing about it. I thought I would be doing a service by posting it up on the bulletin board. A few days later, it mysteriously disappeared. Teachers wondered and complained saying that it was important. So I put another one up. Then that one was taken down as well. We found out that it was the Adult Department director who took this one down. It's these little things that I hate about this company. They try to nip every last penny from you. As for the return rate bonus, you can forget about that. It doesn't show up on your pay sheet, and it only goes through the system after several months and by that time the class that you taught has been over for months. There's no way to track it. This is what the company is counting on, that you lose track about your money and that we all just forget about it. Kojen steals thousands of dollars from teachers every year.

I could go on and on ranting about Kojen but there are good things too. The people here are all really nice for the most part. It's a very relaxed environment. There's not a whole lot of pressure, and I get to do whatever I want during the day time, like write in my blog. = )

Zoom Quilt

This is a really cool web project. It doesn't work on all computers but try it to see what I mean. You have to click and drag the mouse up or down to move in and out of the picture.
http://www.zoomquilt.org/

A Taiwanese cemetery at night. It was pitch black and couldn't even see enough to focus. This was about a 3 and a half minute exposure at f 8, I think. It almost looks like a painting, doesn't it?

Do you Skype?

Though, I've been using it for a few weeks now, I can't seem to get over how good Skype is. If you haven't downloaded it, do it now! Here's the website.
http://www.skype.com/
You can start talking to anyone in the world for as long as you like for FREE over your computer. You can also call a land line for about 2 cents a minute in North America and parts of Europe. All you need is a microphone and some speakers. Call me if you like. My user name is Pfotomonkey.

Pretty in pink. She was dressed all in pink and then I saw these pink balloons from some kid floating by her head.  

Straws. This shot was difficult because the food stall was so tiny and cramped. 

"There's a reason why I don't have male Taiwanese friends." - Marcus M.

I had just finished my usual salad at Swensen's after my kung fu class last Friday. Made my way across Tianmu E. Road. I was about to turn into the alley toward my apartment when I saw this man dragging this woman by the arms. She was struggling, crying hysterically, trying to get to her feet and escape his hold. He was yelling at her all the time.
I shouted, "HEY!", almost the way I do my kids when they are being naughty.
Startled, he turned around.
"What are you doing?"
He smiled and calmly replied, "She's my wife..."
"I don't care if she's your wife, you don't do that... I'm going to call the police!"
Some time during this exchange the 30 some year old woman got free and was standing on the sidewalk wiping her tears away.
He gave me this smirk I'll never forget. "Go ahead..."
I wanted to kill this man. I took my cell out but I didn't call. I walked away. I looked back at the two. They were talking now. I walked home.

Thinking back, I wonder about many things. Was I the only one who saw this? If not, did anybody just walk by and ignore them. There seems to be this cultural norm not to get involved in other people's affairs.

A few months ago I was at a bus stop. As the bus approached, a scooter with two women was pushed over on the inside. Though, there were about a dozen people waiting there, nobody moved. I rushed to pull the scooter off of them. Later, one man came by and helped me with the scooter. No, they weren't seriously injured but that's not the point.

Perhaps, I wouldn't have done any of this a couple of years ago. One incident seriously affected me.

Malcolm and I were riding down Yang Ming Mountain one Sunday. We stopped off at a farmers market with about twenty vendors. While everybody was happily selecting fresh fruits and vegetables, a black car pulled up. Four men in black shirts and black slacks jumped out. They ran over to this old farmer man and proceeded to beat him. They used fists, feet, chairs, fruits, and at one point one of the gangsters picked up a metal scale and threatened to bash it over his head. I was aghast. I didn't know what to do. What can you do? I wanted to help this poor old man but I didn't move. I was frozen. I screamed, "Malcolm we have to do something!" I thought we ought to call the police but how would we even describe where we were. We were somewhere on the mountain. I said I could take pictures. Mal asked me if I wanted my camera smashed. One old vender motioned to not get involved and buy some of her fruits. What?! There were maybe fifty bystanders there. Some were across the street at the bus stop. Only one man and one woman tried to defend him from these vicious blows. I was not one of them. The scene lasted not 10 minutes. As quickly as the men in black appeared, they ran back to the black car and immediately sped off down the mountain. The old vendor, bleeding from the head got up and sat in a chair.

I often play this experience over in my head. I learned that day that it was better to do what you think is right rather than living with the regret.

Side view of truck at night. F2.8 1/2 sec.

Lotto Mistake

I went to cash my lotto receipt in at the post office. I told him I had five numbers that matched. After a few minutes of inspection he replied, "Bu shi, ni you liu ge haoma." I grabbed his hand excitedly, "Zhenda?!" I had six numbers instead of five. I won NT10,000 not 4 (a little over $300usd). This week hasn't been too bad.

Unfit Mother: I prefocused on the subject before I knew who it would be. This woman sat in the seat across from me. She plopped her one year old next to her, refused to hold him. She repeatedly scolded the child because he kept slipping down the seat, "Zuo hao! Zuo hao!" The poor kid wasn't strong enough to sit up on his own.