The year where I said bye to my biggest fantasy

But new journey begins as long as we live.

Gomi Zhou

Dec 07, 2020

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The year started with listening to a song called “Back to the Past” with my mom in my first ever apartment, then alone in July watching a show about a möbius strip love story, September came eventually and I got the news of his passing that officially coined the end of childhood and all the other pretty things that come with innocence.

I miss Taiwan like no other place. I’ve never been there.

My city echoed many things from that island. The languages we spoke contained similar consonants and feelings. Taiwanese and Cantonese are both languages of the people, the culture, not the government. The streets we lived on have been around for hundreds or even thousands of years. Houses passed down from one generation to another. You respected your neighbors, you respected every tree you lived with. The food were the central piece of life. We ate therefore we are—Taiwanese or Cantonese. We shared our lives with families at the dinner table. There we were taught the important traditions. Respect, tolerance, love that you don’t mention often but imprinted on your heart.

2010 was the first year I watched my city deliberately transform in front of my eyes. New outdoor stadiums that came straight from a Hollywood Sci-fi, museums and libraries that embodied the concept of modern art even though no one paid a mind to the artists behind them. The government called out the obvious about those buildings that had stood for over a hundred years: too old looking. We need to paint over them so the visitors for the Olympics would know how beautiful and most importantly, how modern we are as a city.

One morning, we woke up, the thousand-year city looked spotless. They locked the old streets away, old advertising posters still in tact but in pieces. Villages moved out, the foundations for the modern apartments took over in matter of days. A new public transportation system, malls erupting from bare grounds.

Two years later, I moved out of the city. I still love it with my whole heart, but it has never been the same since. I wonder what I’d think instead if I had stayed. Would I have even noticed the change, or would the change be a more subtle, acceptable one? If I would’ve stayed, perhaps I wouldn’t be bothered by the change of scenery, because regardless of how the city would change I would have the capability to embody my culture just like how all my friends still do.

The more I think about it (as I’m writing this), I’m realizing maybe I’m the one who faded away from my hometown. But that doesn’t really change any of my immense longing and appreciation for Taiwan.

Ever heard of a movie genre called Hong Kong Gangster Film? Well, in 2010, the Taiwanese director Doze Niu (鈕承澤, I always fucking hate it when I fail to recognize directors’ English names and make myself look like an idiot so) made his own version of a Taiwan Gangster Film.

—and yes you should be aware that I don’t like transitions and I won’t bother with them.

How do I even begin to describe this film—other than I love every part of it. It’s not just a film about gangs. First of all, the gangs in the film are very particular gangs. It’s a story about the indigenous gang fighting to defend their territory—a neighborhood that is so unmistakably Taiwan but also heavily influenced by the Japanese colonial era from that historically ruthless period—so that this neighborhood would not once again fall into the hands of the “outsiders” from mainland China. Yes, it’s a gang. But the members of it are very much part of this community. Their roots are in it. The neighborhood wouldn’t function the same without them either.

But more importantly, it’s a coming-of-age story of a boy raised by a single mother. He hated the outsiders. He felt belonged for the first time when he swore into brotherhood with four other guys. He never understood the endless fighting. He spent more time missing his prostitute girlfriend instead.

You have to go watch it yourself, I’m not going to spoil it for you. Here’s the trailer.

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It doesn’t matter what people might think, Taiwan would always be Taiwan. For now. The indigenous people of Taiwan guard the island with their own skin and bone. Not only do they embody the indigenous culture, they are part of the island. Everyone on the island speaks Taiwanese in various frequency and various degree of fluency—but you have to speak it, even if your family is from elsewhere. It is one of those places in Asia that is far more advanced and socially progressive than many other regions, but its streets contain volumes and history. Temples, night markets, cultural fests that parade the streets with pride and ease… No one gets a say to take away any of this.

It doesn’t matter who governs Taiwan, or how many people are moving to Taiwan, the culture of this island is permanent and so enduring that it could live against any political institution during any historic period. It’s one of the living document that proves modernization wrong. We indeed don’t need modernization to progress as a human race.

And god oh god, being Gomi Zhou, how could I not obsess over Taiwan?

I love every piece of my Cantonese, Guangxi, Hak-ka-ngin heritage. My kiddy obsession of Taiwan taught me that pride. But I’m sure it’s in my blood: my blood taught me to appreciate a culture that defends itself over everything in order to live on.

Happiness has been so hard this year. My trip back home was due this summer. Instead of the rekindle we were looking forward to, the friendship between me and my two best friends cracked for the first time since we met nine years ago. And for all I know, it doesn’t look like we stand a chance to fix it.

And Taiwan. My perfect illusion of that perfect island, cracked apart—I wish I could say bit by bit—slowly at first, then tumbled into a pile of broken memories.

It’s less about the island itself but more of the people who had very much guided me by the hand onto the island (metaphorically, remember, I’ve never been there). The artist who I’ve looked up to for over 13 years had committed perhaps the worst moral crime there could be—and I’m struggling to stay hopeful when he had been a symbol of good and hope for the majority of my life. Later this year, another artist who had been a crucial part of my own coming-of-age passed away very suddenly. I have to be honest that I haven’t fully healed from this loss yet. And I think the same impact of grief and hopelessness had doomed on most of the other artists I looked up to as a kid.

It felt like the last light had just dimmed and even though we’ve only lost one person, it couldn’t stop you from feeling so, so alone.

And Taiwan is just, there, still, watching over everyone’s story. Witnessing the passing of yet another generation. The island lives on. It watches over the equilibrium of life, culture, and all the unchangeable nature of things.

We’re at the end of this entry. It’s time to reveal my biggest fantasy. I dreamt of visiting Taiwan for the first time with my parents and my three best friends (yes, the argument this year only happened between me and my two best friends. The other one had left a long time ago). We’d visit the countrysides that no one really bothered to visit if they’re from “the outside.” We’d go to the night markets. We’d share our deepest secrets eating food by the streets—even though we always thought we don’t have any secrets. We’d go see a concert of my favorite artist together. We would all be happy. The best of all of us.

Years went by, reality had turned this dream of mine into a complete fantasy, but we don’t need to elaborate on that today. BUT you now have the understanding of me that only my parents and my best friends could understand.

You could never fully understand Gomi Zhou without understanding Taiwan. And here we are, at the beginning of a new journey, thank you for being here, sharing this impossible year with me. x

—One last thing, fuck my Top Songs 2020, here’s the Taiwan mandopop playlist I made this year: