Moonrise

This newsletter comes a bit early because I’ve been having so much fun in my residency, I decided to do an off-format update or the next one might be incredibly long. This will be less about the work I’ve been doing here (which I’ll talk about in the next letter), and more on the lifestyle! Stop reading if you’re expecting a work update (-;

While it has been incredibly hot, the mountain range surrounding the area I am in always gives my heart a little jolt every time we speed by in the car. There’s a way the clouds cling to the mountain (not in the photo above), wisps of it winding through the foliage, crawling through the treetops on its belly.

To be perfectly honest, I’d never heard of Taitung (Taiwan) before being selected for this residency organised by Art Ripple Taitung. All I knew was that I had applied to learn from Abus, a teacher specialising in Ramie (from fibre to yarn), weaving, and basketry. She is from the Bunun tribe, one of the indigenous tribes in Taiwan (mostly in Taitung).

Abus’ workshop is located in the mountains of Yanping Township, and I am staying in the guesthouse run by her family, literally 10 steps away. Almost everything in the house (and the house itself) was made by them, and I join them for dinner everyday. Abus’ husband runs a provision shop down the road (where they constantly force beers into my hand, even at 9am), her daughter Z works in a local museum, and Z’s husband XL runs the guesthouse. On the first night, Abus treated us (me and 2 Japanese who came for a workshop) to dinner, and when I asked her how much it cost afterwards, she gave me a look and said “we’ve just finished eating; why must you talk about this now? It’s giving me indigestion.” LOL. I soon learnt that this was just how things here worked; the generosity and eagerness to share. Every single person who passes through Abus’ workshop gets loaded with lots of pineapple, grapes, beer, and all else.

A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO BUNUN HISTORY

The Bunun are people of the mountain, fierce hunters that fought and hid so well that they were the last tribe to be colonised by the Japanese (1895-1945). The Dutch, who attempted to colonise them earlier, left utterly defeated. I heard from Abus that because the Dutch people had red hair, the Bunun warriors used to chop the locks off the soldiers they killed and decorate their clothing with it as a ‘trophy’. They became a much more peaceful people after missionaries converted a lot of them to religion. In current days, they are known for their athletic abilities, especially baseball. I was so surprised to see a proper gym with weight machines and all, in a primary school with only 40 children.

I was shook when I saw Z’s legs the first time, and asked her if she went to the gym. Her reply? “Our legs look like this even if we lie in bed all day.” It’s the genes inherited from their ancestors living in the mountains. Abus told me that the Amis people are lankier because they live by the sea and catch fish, while the Bunun people are often hunting in the mountains, ducking under branches and carrying wild boars.

The kids asked me, “why are you so white???” LOL. I was so taken with how they saw no boundary between adults and themselves, immediately warming up to me.

LANGUAGE

When the Kuomintang started the martial law period Taiwan in 1949, they imposed the Mandarin monolingual policy, which isolated the Taiwanese aborigines (this changed when Taiwan changed to a full democracy). Due to their lack of education in the formal system, a lot of them ended up being labourers and earned little money. Many of them turned to alcohol and Bing Lang (betel nut) as a way of escapism then. The 2 Japanese ladies who came to learn from Abus were keen to try Bing Lang, so when I told Abus’ husband, he said, “of course they have to try; it was them who got all of us addicted to it. (referring to the Japanese colonization period)” (he has this black humour that is truly hilarious, which of course I couldn’t and didn’t translate lol)

The Bunun language is spoken, not written, and they only started making records when introduced to the Roman alphabet. Looking at the words and names, I find they have sounds very similar to the Malay language. You can see Japanese katakana also written here though, because the older Bunun folk were taught writing in Japanese during the colonization period. I actually speak with Abus’ father in Japanese, because it’s easier for me! (I’m actually embarrassed how lousy my Mandarin is, because we mix in so much English while speaking Mandarin in Singapore). The people also here refer to some items in Japanese, such as オートバイ(motorbike)　and バック (reverse). Funnily enough, both are gairaigo (loan words) from English.

ENCOUNTERS

On my very first day, 2 Japanese ladies turned up to learn from Abus. They didn’t speak Mandarin, so it was a lucky coincidence that I speak Japanese and was able to translate. They had come to Taiwan to participate in markets, and one of them, Coco specialised in antique mosquito nets from Japan. She was incredibly versed in the fibre content of the fabrics and their origin, so she had tracked down Abus’ workshop to learn more about Ramie fibre, and the plants used to dye the fabrics. I learnt so much from her conversation with Abus, and also bought an indigo-dyed apron made from a mosquito net from the Meiji era, though not as much as Abus who bought 5 pieces of fabric and an antique kimono. (We textile people simply cannot resist.)

In Coco’s collection were not only nets from Japan during the Taisho and Meiji period, but also fabric from Korea and China back then; she could identify which was which using a magnifying glass. She also spoke about the different plants used for fibre and dyeing found in Okinawa, which are very similar to those used by Abus. The Japanese then also made the aborigines go up the mountain to harvest certain plants used for dyeing such as 薯榔 (shu lang), which made string so strong they were used for fishing.

The area off the cliff in the photo above was where the Japanese used to live during the colonial rule. There are still some shrines, and some of the houses with Japanese architecture still remain. We had such a good time chatting, they ended up staying in the guesthouse with me after dinner.

Currently, we have 2 French students who are artisans, and have spent 2 months in China and Laos learning different weaving techniques. (Thankfully, they speak English, so I don’t have to attempt French while translating.) The locals are all joking about how Abus is internationally famous.

A Trip to Lyudao (Green Island)

Whenever I’m on residency, I find it a bit hard to think about leisure. Once I get into work mode, I spend almost all my time staying in and creating, though of course experiencing the local life too. I simply don’t go out of my way to see something ‘touristy’.

So I didn’t know how to react when I randomly mentioned how 綠島 (Lyudao) looks nice, and Z and XL immediately said they’d go with me.

There's truly nothing that makes me feel as free as riding on a bike around an island. I love islands. I still remember the day I saw a poster advertising Tokyo's 11 islands. Tokyo has islands? That (2014) was when I made my first 離島 (in Japanese: ritō, in Mandarin: Lí Dǎo), 'isolated island' trip. I did 3 of the 11 islands, braving 10h ferry rides (I'm impossibly weak when it comes to motion sickness). Since then, I've always tried to visit islands when I travel, from Sardinia in Italy, to Suomenlinna in Helsinki, and many others around Japan.

But the best way to be part of the island is by bike. Cars are great, but the mobility of a motorbike is what gives you the freedom. That thrill as you speed your way around bendy mountain roads, chasing the sea at every curve and watching the sunset creep up on you in your side mirrors. Getting buffeted by the insane sea breeze, threatening to toss you and your metal machine into the mountain wall. Being able to stop anytime you want to look at something.

"Look at the stars behind us!!!" I yelled to Z. She was riding pillion with XL, while I trailed behind. Immediately, he signals to stop. Are we stopping? I asked, embarrassed that I had 'inconvenienced' them with my excitement at something so small. We were riding back from the hot springs, it was past 11pm, and we 3 were ready for bed. There were no streetlamps. We were along a stretch of road facing the Pacific Ocean, and we could hear the waves but not see them in the velvety darkness. Switch off the lights, she said. We both did. And then, the softness of the night closed in.

I remember, years ago, visiting Aogashima, which also sits in the Pacific Ocean. I was with 3 friends, in a car, and I poked my head out of the window. The sky was a deep purple, and prickled all over with twinkling stars. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. Can we stop? I asked. So we did, for 5 minutes, and the 3 friends said, have you had enough? Can we go?

And here, in Lyudao, the memory picked up again.

The sky wasn't purple, but a deep grey. Yet the stars twinkled exactly the same, as if they have been waiting for me. The Milky Way stretched over us, dipping into the mountain range behind. We were speechless for a long time. I knew no one was going to ask me if 'I've had enough' this time. When I visited the Atacama desert last year, I pined for the stars, knowing it's one of the best places in the world to look at the night sky. Yet, I was disappointed (possibly because I fell asleep early). The view here was a confirmation to myself that nothing beats watching stars on a little island surrounded by the sea. I loved the desert, but being near water gives me life.

We were spotting constellations, and then Z asked, where's the Moon? We had seen it high in the sky, a circle of torn wax paper, when we arrived in the morning. According to our phones, it was somewhere to the right of the horizon,in the direction of the sea, and the 'Moonrise' time was exactly 3 minutes later. Could something really change, just 3 minutes later?

We stared at a random spot in the unfathomable darkness. Suddenly, both Z and I caught a flash of red light, seemingly drifting on the sea. It disappeared. Was that it? She asked me. But no, it was too red, too large, and was definitely swaying from left to right. We fixed our eyes to the spot again. There! It flashed again. No, it can't be. And then, the third time. The red light grew, and looked like it was coming towards us. "It's coming towards us!!! What is it?" I said in shock. (It wasn’t; it was the clouds)

And then, the clouds faltered, and before us was the huge half moon, a soft crimson, buoyant on the sea. At exactly 12:18. In front of us were sand and rocks, and beyond that, a small pool of water with three rock formations. The Moon climbed steadily up, and her light reflected on the pool, in the ripples made by the sea breeze. We knew no words. She faded into a deep, then pale yellow as she ascended, and the constellations we had been watching dipped behind the mountains across the sea. As she rose, her light was cast wider, and slowly, the surface of the entire sea lit up. The horizon line was erased, so a path of moonlight joined the little pool to the sky.

It was truly, one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen in my entire life.

The solitude you get in nature is unbelievably healing. You'd never imagine the power you get from knowing how little you are. How small. How minuscule, how unimportant, how very part-of-the-universe you are like every twinkling star, that makes you nothing and everything all at once. That freedom will take your breath away. And soon you might forget it, but even for that few seconds, you are powerful.

IN THE WILD

I’m not going to pretend I’m having a perfect getaway though. This trip, I learnt the hard way that my pampered city body can’t take many knocks. If you’re Singaporean, you probably know about how Singapore is controlling the mosquito population by introducing a certain bacteria into the males. Ah, science. Alas, we suffer when we leave. Every bare patch of my skin has been attacked endlessly by mosquitoes, black flies, and other unknown bugs, and I’m sure some scars are permanent. No one else is affected; I’m like the fly bait. Then there has been the spiders (big ones, like the victims of Mad Eye Moody’s Unforgivable Curses), and then— the Cockroaches. After having one crawl up the bottom of my foot (YES) while I was in the shower, I have now progressed to being able to spray it, whack it, and then flush it down the toilet. Which is immense. I have learnt that you can only cure discomfort with further discomfort. For example, mosquitoes only bother you until a cockroach turns up. And that cockroach only bothers you until you get COVID. (true story)

If you go to the website where my newsletter is published (‘Read Online’ link on top right of newsletter), there’s a comment section if you’d like to share some thoughts! Can’t wait to share all about what I’ve learnt here in the next newsletter; but for now, I’ll be working on my artworks till mid-July.