B.1 Why This Tiny Island Stayed With Me

I arrived in Taiwan on January 2nd, 2023. My first stop was Taipei — and to be honest, it wasn’t a great first impression.

It was cold, grey, and rainy. The city felt dense and rushed. Narrow sidewalks, umbrellas colliding, people moving quickly with little interaction. After a long flight, dragging my suitcase through the drizzle, I genuinely wondered whether I had romanticised the idea of Taiwan too much.

That doubt didn’t last long though.

Once I started moving beyond Taipei, the experience shifted — slowly, but decisively.

East Coast: Space and Stillness

Travelling to the east, especially around Hualien, was the first reset. Between the mountains and the Pacific Ocean, life felt quieter and less compressed. Places like Taroko Gorge and the pebble beaches weren’t just visually impressive — they created space. Space to slow down, observe, and stop projecting expectations onto the place.

That was when I stopped chasing an imagined version of Taiwan and started responding to what was actually there.

Heading South: Where Things Made Sense For Me

The real change happened when I reached Kaohsiung.

Kaohsiung is not a city that tries to impress. It’s a southern port city — warmer, sunnier, and far more relaxed than the north. The climate alone made a difference: most days were bright and mild, with a steady warmth that made daily life easier and more predictable.

But it wasn’t just the weather.

The pace was slower. Streets felt wider, both physically and mentally. The city seemed less crowded, less stimulating, and far less performative. People seemed unbothered by appearances.

I noticed it in small, ordinary moments:

• Walking along the Love River in the late afternoon

• Sitting at Shoushan overlooking the city

• Taking the ferry to Cijin and feeling the sea breeze cut through the heat

  
  

Nothing dramatic happened — but everything felt liveable.

A Different Kind of Ease With People

I’ve lived in and travelled through many countries. Kindness exists everywhere.

What felt different in Taiwan was how unremarkable it was.

Help was offered without fuss. Interactions didn’t come with expectations. I wasn’t made to feel special, but I also wasn’t scrutinised. There was a sense of being left alone — in a good way.

That consistency mattered more than friendliness itself.

Language Learning Without Pressure

My Mandarin was far from fluent. Still, people slowed down. They rephrased. They tried again. Sometimes there was gentle laughter, but never impatience.

This stood in contrast to places where I technically “belonged” linguistically but felt judged the moment my language skills slipped.

In Taiwan, communication felt mutual. Effort was shared. That made a quiet but profound difference.

Everyday Life, Not a Highlight Reel

Kaohsiung is not curated for visitors.

Night markets felt local rather than staged. Temples were active, not preserved. Cafés were functional — good Wi-Fi, a power socket, no pressure to leave. Streets didn’t ask to be photographed.

I learned how to top up a transport card, read menus more confidently, find cheap coffee, navigate daily routines, and practise Mandarin again. These small systems of daily life grounded me.

For the first time in a long while, I could imagine blending in — not perfectly, but comfortably.

What Stayed With Me

I didn’t have a sudden moment of realisation. Taiwan didn’t announce itself as “home.”

Instead, I noticed something later:how little resistance I had felt while living there.

I didn’t need to explain myself. I didn’t need to perform. I could be quiet without disappearing and curious without standing out.

Taiwan — and especially Kaohsiung — didn’t demand anything from me.And in not demanding, it allowed something to settle.

That’s why it stayed with me.

Not because it was extraordinary —but because it made ordinary life feel easier to inhabit.