My First Taiwan Trip Since Becoming an Immigrant Myself: Belonging, Alienation, And Everything In Between

I recently wrote a post for TaiwaneseAmerican.org for Asian-American Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month about how leaving the U.S. made me feel more Taiwanese-American. In that story I shared that through this big life shift, I realized that at least for me, identity and belonging are ever-evolving concepts based on what stage of life we're in and what we value at that certain point in time. It shouldn't have surprised me so much then, that just a week after writing that article, I would continue questioning both those concepts after a recent trip to Taiwan.

Earlier this month, I took my first trip back to the motherland since becoming an immigrant myself to a country where I have no cultural or linguistic ties (Japan). It was also the first trip back since I completed the creation of our second full-length course Real You Mandarin: Self-Expression and started hosting Real You Mandarin: The Podcast, where in each episode, I challenge myself to speak in Mandarin with native speaking guests for the sake of my fellow American-born Chinese (ABC) / American-born Taiwanese (ABT) / advanced Mandarin learner audience so we can all learn real life vocabulary together.

Since embarking on this journey, I haven't personally felt like I've made leaps and bounds in my Mandarin progression. However, it would be silly to pretend that the constant exposure to the language through the course creation process and recording the podcast would not have improved my speaking ability to a certain extent, or at least boosted my confidence in speaking Mandarin from the sheer number of additional reps I've put into using it on a daily basis.

I also shared in that TaiwaneseAmerican.org post that, since moving to Japan and putting my all into learning Japanese, I've found myself reaching more for Mandarin now to connect with other Mandarin speakers in Japan, because I feel more at ease in Mandarin than I do in Japanese. It's been an interesting ride seeing myself look towards this language I grew up so insecure about, now as a form of comfort and connection with others.

Perhaps it's because of this more recent feeling of comfort with others in Mandarin here in Japan that, by the time the Taiwan trip rolled around, I had probably set up too high of expectations for how much belonging I'd feel there, considering that I didn't actually grow up in Taiwanese society. It's hard to put into words exactly what the experience was like, but it was a fairly consistent pendulum swinging back and forth between belonging and alienation.

The Half I Used to Keep at Arm's Length

Before starting Real You Mandarin, I think there was a part of me, having grown up in the U.S. as a minority, that unconsciously denied fully embracing the Taiwanese side of my identity for the longest time. So many of us grew up insistently emphasizing the "American" sides of our identities because we were constantly being questioned whether or not we were really American because of our outer appearance... so much so that the other half of our hyphenated identities got pushed to the wayside. Many of us only started embracing our other halves once we grew up and became more comfortable in our own skin — at least that was the case for me.

It's only in recent years that I wanted to explore my Taiwanese identity more, and part of that involved improving my Mandarin ability so I could better connect with my family in their heart language. If you're reading this post then you likely already know that I started Real You Mandarin two years ago because I finally got fed up with my inability to express myself in Mandarin, and felt compelled to create resources for people like me to be able to talk about the deeper and tougher topics in life with those we love most.

If I'm being honest with myself, another reason I didn't fully embrace my Taiwanese identity when I was younger was because, then I would have to face my own insecurities around not being "Taiwanese enough," neither in my Mandarin ability, nor in my understanding of the culture and society. I'd use the "I'm American" card so locals would know not to expect too much from me, and to give myself an excuse not to delve deeper into that side of myself.

But now that I have actually put so much into my Mandarin progression and have already savored the sweet taste of connection with others through using the language more, I have to admit to myself that I am longing to connect with other Taiwanese people and feel accepted by the other half of my identity. That's why this most recent trip was a tough one for me to swallow, because for every moment of connection and fitting in, I was faced with another reminder that I'm not quite one of them either.

The Pendulum That Swung Back & Forth

The pendulum started swinging almost immediately. Within a few minutes of hanging out with my cousin and his wife, he was pleasantly surprised and complimented me on my Mandarin, commenting on how I had gotten a lot more fluent than the last time we saw each other. I was unabashedly flattered and felt so validated in my efforts, since the last time I saw him I hadn't even started Real You Mandarin yet. Before I could fully bask in that glory, I had a family dinner the day after with my uncle who I hadn't seen in a while, and at the very beginning of the dinner he asked outright, "can you speak Mandarin?"... that was humbling to say the least.

The pendulum kept swinging like that all trip. I experienced a surprisingly familial experience in the doctor's office of all places. It's hard to describe the warmth you often feel from strangers in Taiwan, but it's something I'll never get tired of. I was doing a regular health checkup when the nurse gave me a bit of a hard time for not drinking enough water that day when she saw how slowly my blood draw was going. When I was done she followed up by scolding me in a warm, almost sisterly way to remind me to drink water when I got home. It felt like a family member teasing me while simultaneously showing that they care.

And then there were the moments that quietly reminded me I'm not quite from there. Anytime I needed to read Chinese characters, even for something relatively low pressure like ordering a drink from Starbucks, I felt that gap deeply. I know enough characters to get by, but there are often one or two in any given phrase that I'm not sure about, so I end up guessing, and when I guess incorrectly, it leads to some pretty awkward interactions. Because my accent and way of speaking sounds natural, it's extra confusing to whoever I'm talking to when I randomly read something wrong that should be 理所當然 / 理所当然 / lǐ suǒ dāng rán / a given.

Or the little colloquialisms you'd only pick up on by actually living in Taiwan. Like the time I ordered coffee for my dad and the woman behind the counter repeated back "大美熱 / 大美热 / dà měi rè" — short for 大杯 / dà bēi / large size (cup), 美式咖啡 / měi shì kā fēi / Americano, 熱的 / 热的 / rè de / hot — and when I asked her what that was, she repeated back the full phrase, very confused about why I didn't already know what it meant. Or the woman on the street handing out flyers to get traffic into a restaurant, who started in Mandarin, but when I smiled and shook my head no, switched to English with a cheerful "we have English menu too!"... which, if I swallow my pride a bit and recognize I happened to be in a more foreigner-friendly neighborhood and I also don't look or dress like local Taiwanese women, I might not have taken it so personally at the time.

What I Actually Brought Home

What softened those moments, though, was noticing some quieter shifts in myself. I would randomly find myself thinking in Mandarin instead of English, even when I was just spacing out looking out the window on the bus. As someone who by default thinks in English and often gets corrected for saying things that sound weird in Mandarin because I'm translating in my head from English, it was encouraging to find myself thinking naturally in the "target" language. And while in the past I would nod along when someone said something I didn't understand, this time I was less self-conscious about straight up asking what something meant, even if it felt a bit awkward or slowed down the conversation. I did this both in casual chats with my cousins and in higher-stakes conversations like at the bank or doctor's office, where it's more important to stop pretending like I know it all when I don't, lest I agree to something I don't actually want to do.

Something I was a bit confused by, though, was that I found myself excited to hear English from Americans (presumably living in Taiwan) that I didn't even end up talking to. I think I unconsciously felt more connected with "foreigners" in Taiwan speaking English than locals, because I was filling my own head up with all those little moments of awkwardness that made me feel like I didn't belong in the "in crowd" of other Taiwanese people. This was confusing because in Japan I actually feel almost no kinship whatsoever with people speaking English, since they are almost always tourists just passing through.

The mismatch I felt between the instant connection I have with Mandarin speakers in Japan and locals in Taiwan seems to have less to do with one's ethnicity, language, culture, or any other singular thing that connects me to anyone in particular, but rather, whether or not we share a similar mix of factors and life experiences that put us on a similar path. The Mandarin speakers in Japan are also navigating new terrain, learning a new language and societal rules, figuring out how to blend in, all while still slightly craving the comfort of being amongst others with whom they can fully express themselves.

That full-bodied sense of belonging may never fully be within reach for me, because I've carved out a strange little slice of life for myself that not many people can relate to. I was born and raised in the U.S., but I'm not white. My parents are Taiwanese so I can speak Mandarin, but not perfectly. I decided to pick up my whole life and immigrate to Japan in my 30s even though I'm not Japanese, am still learning the language, and don't have a pre-established community out here. I don't feel fully at home in Japan, in Taiwan, or even in the U.S. when I go back, because I don't fit neatly into the life experience of the majority of people around me anymore.

But at the same time, that gives me a kind of magic power — being a chameleon who can blend into many different spaces when I want to. And I can feel gratitude for moments of connection and belonging that come from any given interaction, rather than search for it as some overwhelming feeling of home that's "supposed" to exist somewhere. Home is a metaphorical concept to begin with — a country in and of itself does not make it your home, a house in and of itself is not a home — "home" is an inner feeling of comfort, belonging, love, and safety that you decide for yourself.

For now, home for me is an evasive concept, but I find comfort in my family, friends, and the adventure of discovering more of myself every single day.