After a very long two-hour drive cramped in a van with my dad, his brother, another uncle from California, and my
two very talkative cousins, we finally arrive in my grandfather’s town of Fangyuan. The town is located on the
outskirts of Changhwa City, located in the central part of the western coast of Taiwan. My grandfather spent his
entire life on the same street, a story similar to many of the other residents in town. The town is right along the coast
and the smell of oysters is immediately apparent. My dad tells me that the use of oxen carts that I remember during
my visits when I was little has gone away, with only the occasional token display to entertain tourists from the cities
and from abroad. The streets are busy with loud cars trucking oysters from the ocean, people on mopeds riding here
and there, and the occasional advertisement truck, blaring out some speech of some local politician running for some
office or another.
As we arrive to the house, I see a large colorful tent with many flower displays and decorations set up in the front of the house, right into the street. Many people in this part of rural Taiwan, including my family, follow a mix of Buddhist and Daoist religious traditions that involve a long funeral period. I will refer to these traditions throughout this blog and make no attempt to explain or even list all of them. I ask my dad about them and not even he really knows them either, telling me in his typical fatherly advice, “just act like you know what you are doing and do what people say to do.” As I arrive, I am immediately greeted the neighbor’s dog and my youngest cousin (my dad’s younger brother’s son). I am not sure which of the two is more excited to see us arrive. I see Aunt Five as well, an aunt that I had grown up in the same household for my childhood in California.
My grandfather had two sons (my dad and his younger brother) and five daughters, which I will refer to as Aunt One (being the oldest) to Aunt Five (the youngest). Aunt Five immigrated some years after my father to California in the 1980s and lived with me for a number of years. She attended CSU Long Beach and had the cool experience of being a DJ on the side in the 1990s, playing so much soft rock and R&B that you wouldn’t believe it. One of my favorite memories of all time is jamming out to La Bamba with her for the first time ever in her 1980-something White Toyota Camry. Her kids, Alison and Mason accompany me as we arrive to the house.
I enter the large tent and immediately the traditions begin. The tent is essential a non-stop vigil, with someone present all hours of the day since my grandfather passed away. An altar has been set up with my grandfather’s portrait and some incense candles. As customary, Alison, Mason and I literally crawl to the altar and offer our prayers with the incense. Although my grandfather had past away for more than a week now, the tradition in this part of Taiwan is to preserve the body through a number of ceremonies created to ensure his wellbeing in the next life before the actual funeral on Thursday. My aunt takes us behind the altar into the living room of the house, which has been cleared out. There, my grandfather lies in a small tent within which is essentially a refrigerated box. Fighting back some emotion, I enter the tent, wipe away some of the condensation on the glass and look in. I see his face and how peaceful he looks there in that moment gives me some solace and takes a lot of the emotions away.
As I go back outside to the tent, there are several relatives sitting outside drinking tea and folding paper decorations, including my grandmother. She seems to be doing well and is the same as I remember her years ago. Everyone is in good spirits and is happy to see me. After a while catching up with family and meeting others, we enter the house and eat breakfast. Beef noodle soup with freshly made noodles. It really does not get better than this. I know it’s like 8:30 in the morning, but my cousins and I are eating like it’s dinner and I would not have it any other way.
Later on, my cousin Jack, Aunt One’s youngest son (out of five kids), who lives in Vancouver, takes Mason, my youngest cousin, and I on a bicycle ride to 7-11. For those of you that don’t know, 7-11 in Taiwan is basically the most awesome thing ever. We weave through traffic like a crazy bicycle gang, riding basically in the middle of a semi-busy street against traffic. The bicycle I am riding is literally still in the packaging for the upper half so I basically look ridiculous. Jack has Mason holding onto him for dear life on a bicycle whose brakes are not just non- functional – they are now non-existent.
When I visited Taiwan in the fourth grade, my grandpa and I once took a moped ride down the street to see the ocean. Less than one block away we got hit by a slow moving pick-up truck and got knocked off the moped. No helmets or anything. Landed on hard concrete. Luckily neither of us were hurt. My grandpa just picked the moped up like nothing had happened and we just kept riding. Didn’t even say anything to the driver of the truck who got out to check on us. In retrospect, it is kind of absurd how he did not even flinch and I am pretty sure I was crying like a little bitch the whole time.
As we arrive to the house, I see a large colorful tent with many flower displays and decorations set up in the front of the house, right into the street. Many people in this part of rural Taiwan, including my family, follow a mix of Buddhist and Daoist religious traditions that involve a long funeral period. I will refer to these traditions throughout this blog and make no attempt to explain or even list all of them. I ask my dad about them and not even he really knows them either, telling me in his typical fatherly advice, “just act like you know what you are doing and do what people say to do.” As I arrive, I am immediately greeted the neighbor’s dog and my youngest cousin (my dad’s younger brother’s son). I am not sure which of the two is more excited to see us arrive. I see Aunt Five as well, an aunt that I had grown up in the same household for my childhood in California.
My grandfather had two sons (my dad and his younger brother) and five daughters, which I will refer to as Aunt One (being the oldest) to Aunt Five (the youngest). Aunt Five immigrated some years after my father to California in the 1980s and lived with me for a number of years. She attended CSU Long Beach and had the cool experience of being a DJ on the side in the 1990s, playing so much soft rock and R&B that you wouldn’t believe it. One of my favorite memories of all time is jamming out to La Bamba with her for the first time ever in her 1980-something White Toyota Camry. Her kids, Alison and Mason accompany me as we arrive to the house.
I enter the large tent and immediately the traditions begin. The tent is essential a non-stop vigil, with someone present all hours of the day since my grandfather passed away. An altar has been set up with my grandfather’s portrait and some incense candles. As customary, Alison, Mason and I literally crawl to the altar and offer our prayers with the incense. Although my grandfather had past away for more than a week now, the tradition in this part of Taiwan is to preserve the body through a number of ceremonies created to ensure his wellbeing in the next life before the actual funeral on Thursday. My aunt takes us behind the altar into the living room of the house, which has been cleared out. There, my grandfather lies in a small tent within which is essentially a refrigerated box. Fighting back some emotion, I enter the tent, wipe away some of the condensation on the glass and look in. I see his face and how peaceful he looks there in that moment gives me some solace and takes a lot of the emotions away.
As I go back outside to the tent, there are several relatives sitting outside drinking tea and folding paper decorations, including my grandmother. She seems to be doing well and is the same as I remember her years ago. Everyone is in good spirits and is happy to see me. After a while catching up with family and meeting others, we enter the house and eat breakfast. Beef noodle soup with freshly made noodles. It really does not get better than this. I know it’s like 8:30 in the morning, but my cousins and I are eating like it’s dinner and I would not have it any other way.
Later on, my cousin Jack, Aunt One’s youngest son (out of five kids), who lives in Vancouver, takes Mason, my youngest cousin, and I on a bicycle ride to 7-11. For those of you that don’t know, 7-11 in Taiwan is basically the most awesome thing ever. We weave through traffic like a crazy bicycle gang, riding basically in the middle of a semi-busy street against traffic. The bicycle I am riding is literally still in the packaging for the upper half so I basically look ridiculous. Jack has Mason holding onto him for dear life on a bicycle whose brakes are not just non- functional – they are now non-existent.
When I visited Taiwan in the fourth grade, my grandpa and I once took a moped ride down the street to see the ocean. Less than one block away we got hit by a slow moving pick-up truck and got knocked off the moped. No helmets or anything. Landed on hard concrete. Luckily neither of us were hurt. My grandpa just picked the moped up like nothing had happened and we just kept riding. Didn’t even say anything to the driver of the truck who got out to check on us. In retrospect, it is kind of absurd how he did not even flinch and I am pretty sure I was crying like a little bitch the whole time.
Anyways, back to 7-11. We go in, everyone grabs a bottle of milk tea and the kids go crazy with some potato chips
and candy. Another dangerous weave through some back alleyways (I am pretty sure we rode through someone’s
actual house) and we were back home. The milk tea comes in a bottle like a soda bottle and tastes like the nectar of
the heavens. All in all, it was an eventful morning.
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