on being a foreigner

i'm reading a wonderfully written book called the namesake by jhumpa lahiri. it's one of those books that i've started about a dozen times but could never get past a certain point. but the other day, i did. and now i can't put it down.

i'm not going to pretend i know what the whole book is about, but i know what the first part is about. it's about a family who immigrates from india to america. "foreigners," as they would be called in taiwan, and probably other places too. (but i do think the word is a bit overused in taiwan.) as a "foreigner" in taiwan, i relate to LOTS of situations in this book so far. sometimes it's scary how well i understand the emotions and struggles the characters are facing as they try to make a life in a faraway land.

one passage from the book really stood out to me today. however, the first part is something i don't really relate to, though it's beautiful:


"for being a foreigner, ashima is beginning to realize, is a sort of lifelong pregnancy -- a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts. it is an ongoing responsibility, a parenthesis in what had once been ordinary life, only to discover that the previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding. like pregnancy, being a foreigner, ashima believes, is something that elicits the same curiosity from strangers, the same combination of pity and respect."


i'm thankful that i don't have those same feelings....most of the time, i don't feel like living in taiwan is a burden and i don't feel out of sorts. (i do usually feel out of sorts when i visit the states though, at least for a little while.) i don't feel like living in taiwan is an ongoing responsibility either, nor do i feel like my previous life has vanished. i'm thankful for all of these things -- thankful that life in taiwan feels normal to me. 


the last part of the passage i definitely can agree with though....i think it sums up how many taiwanese people feel about foreigners -- a combination of curiosity, pity and respect. living in a land where you stand out because you do actually look foreign definitely comes with its own set of challenges. people are curious about you, and because they are curious they look at you. sometimes they stare. sometimes they stare so long and in such a way that makes you think "didn't their mamas teach them any better than that?" sometimes it makes me talk back to them or ask them what they are looking at. those are moments i am not proud of. i also agree that some people do feel pity on me from time to time...they talk about how sad it is that i can't see my family much or how i never get to go home for christmas. or they assume that i won't give birth in taiwan or that we most certainly will move back to america once our child is born. (there's also a great section in the namesake where ashima gives birth in the U.S. and describes her emotions in detail -- her heartbreak over giving birth so far from her parents and her homeland. i'm not going to lie, i've definitely had some of those same emotions, and didn't have a dry eye while reading that part.) along with the pity, comes the respect. people do respect me and every other foreigner who lives for any length of time in taiwan. while they may feel sorry that you are away from your family, they are impressed that you had the guts to move to a such a faraway country, and that you did it without your family, especially if you did it single. they respect that you learned the language, that you eat the food, that you found a job and an apartment, all in a foreign land. they're even more impressed if they find out you can drive a scooter. all in all, this respect is something that you can earn by choosing to live in taiwan, not just survive. and after all, that conscious choice to live in a place is ultimately what makes the difference between what ashima calls "lifelong pregnancy" in the book and actually thriving -- living life to the fullest -- in a foreign country.