I’ve recently returned to Taiwan as a close relative has fallen ill and I just couldn’t stay put. So here we are, on the second last day of the trip, and I’m reflecting a bit via a diary entry of sorts. Taiwan is my hometown, it brings up complicated emotions for me, and I thought it wise to document some of that before I leave this time.

I was born in Taiwan - my education level there ended around 5th grade when I proudly announced to all my classmates that I’ll be headed to the mysterious land of Canadia (and that I most certainly will be back within three years - spoiler alert, I was not, oops)

Not surprisingly, my memories of Taiwan revolve around family, because I, personally, did not party very hard as a 10-year-old. Well, that’s not exactly true, I remember all the times when our cousins would come over, and we partied the only way we knew how: playing house; some of us would set up a fully stocked grocery store and keep tabs, some of us would build a fort so we’d have a home base, and sometimes when the older kids got tired of this, we’d form an exclusive club where we’d take over an entire room (an entire room! I know!) just for some peaceful comic book reading. I can also remember, vividly, what my grandparents’ house looks and smells like, how many rooms are on each floor, how cool the floor tiles feel when you walk on them barefoot, and the noisy living room TV that seems to exist only for displaying baseball games. Almost every weekend of my childhood was spent here, where we consumed copious amounts of food my grandma would make, dumplings and rice balls in bamboo leaves all made from scratch, while my grandpa would show us again and again how to hold chopsticks like real adults (still haven’t nailed that). My cousins and I would spend afternoons running around playing hide and seek, trading Card Captor Sakura cards, watching the older cousins beat Bowser on the N64 while screaming in delight. The feeling of having so many relatives, all our uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins, as a constant in life, was something so comforting - something like a built-in social network our parents enveloped us with; like this group of people on the planet, at the very least, have to kind of like us.

When we eventually moved to Canada, I was old enough to understand that that meant I couldn’t go onto the middle and high schools my friends and I always talked about, I couldn’t just see my cousins on the reg or inhale the mochi grandma just made the other day. This change was big enough for me to stew silently for years to come about my parents’ decision to move so far away from what I initially had considered my one and only home - all the while comparing notes and imagining where I would be had I stayed in Taiwan. It wasn’t until the start of my first semester at university that I suddenly felt like I was part of a new-ish home, that I had made a certain big decision in my life to enter into an institution of my choosing, and now I was on track to accomplish what I wanted and fulfill some kind of purpose for myself.

As I have two siblings, our family of five couldn’t always afford to visit Taiwan - prior to this year, I’ve gone back a total of 4 times, each time with at least a family member, and none more than 2 weeks tops.

The first two visits felt like my relationship with my family stood still, everyone was eager to trade stories and learn details about each others’ lives - who is preparing for an entrance exam, who has a girlfriend now, and why did someone lose their N64 and we’re just now hearing about it - we’re all still incredibly noisy and chaotic when placed together, nothing has changed, these are my people.

The third time I visited, we had just lost my aunt Laura - I have known about this for a little while, but it didn’t quite hit me as much until I stood in front of her grave and broke down in tears. Taiwan felt a little different then, it felt a little lonelier. Laura visited us in Canada the most often, with our adorable cousin, Winnie - she was my mom’s little sister, and for a long time, she frequently brought with her, a link and closeness to Taiwan my family and I desperately needed. I missed her, I still miss her, and for the first time, I felt this unspoken, mutual pain, coursing through our family.

The fourth time I had visited Taiwan, my mom had just finished the last part of her cancer treatment and is in a better state, I brought my partner back, and with my parents, we toured the whole island. At the end of the trip, we had maybe a night or two left to hastily make the rounds with the whole family, trying to catch up as much as I can, but there wasn’t much time. And I really thought I had all the time in the world, that this constant would, well, stay constant until I came back again.

Fast forward 20 years from when I first left Taiwan, to now, returning to see my family, on my own, for the fifth time. This time, all my cousins are grown adults, busily balancing work and life, some even have their own families now. Despite all that, they are all still kind enough to make time and take me out on several occasions. My aunts and uncles are all still eager to take me out for a nice meal as it’s been so long and now we can have a chat over some drinks exchange more life stories in depth. My grandparents, however, have changed drastically - my grandpa had just come out of surgery for cancer, and my grandma now has Alzheimer’s. Grandpa is recovering, but we’re still able to reminisce together about the time he came to visit us in Canada, about all the parks he had mapped out and walked through on his own (the man enjoys his walks), and why North Americans have this affinity for making foods way bigger than they should be. Grandma, on the other hand, has good and bad days. There are days when she’d see me and proudly announce to the family “Look! It’s Jessie’s daughter! She’s home!” and we’d talk about how I should come over more often, that I should get married soon, and chit chat about my siblings and how they’re doing. There are also days when all I get is a blank stare, and she’d ask who I am and where I’m from - a comforting thing is that as soon as I tell her my name, she seems to know that I’m family and would look a little bit more reassured than just moments ago; this would last for about 5 minutes before she’s wondering, again, why this gal is holding her hand so tightly.

I’ve glossed over the minute details and changes in the rest of the family as well - my aunts and uncles, who’ve been taking care of their families, and now the grandparents all this time, how tired they look, their worry about what the future holds slipping out from our conversations. My cousins, now juggling a million things like work and their kids, are uncertain about their future just as I am. The opaque lens I had on is suddenly clear as day. And I know this is life, and that I really should just get over it and try to come back more often to make up for lost time (which I’m planning to), but I can’t help but feel a mixture of guilt and heartbreak. Here I am, complaining about how distant I felt to be away from family, while they’re all silently taking on challenges year after year, only showing me kindness and their lives in a rosier light.

This fifth trip has given me a reality check, but also some actionables. I’m appreciative as always, and I look forward to the next time I’m back home.