Four and a half years ago, I boarded a plane in LA headed for Taipei, Taiwan. Looking around me, all I could see were Chinese faces. All I could hear were Chinese dialects. The stewardesses (all Taiwanese, for I was flying a Taiwanese airline) communicated with me in as few words as possible, uncomfortable as they were speaking my native tongue.
The three Malaysian women next to me were friendly, and we tried not to let language be a barrier. One of them spoke a little English, and I spoke a VERY little Chinese, and somehow we conversed for quite a while. I laugh now, wondering at what kind of impression they got as I showed them pictures in my Book of Mormon. I don't think I knew any religious vocabulary at the time.
At one point the woman next to me began applying lotion to her face. She gestured to me, and I supposed she was offering me some lotion. I'm not really the lotion-using type (which may explain the early wrinkles forming now on my forehead...), but I felt the polite thing to do would be to accept. I put out my finger so that the woman could give me some lotion.
Imagine my surprise when, instead of squirting some lotion into my hand, she squirted it directly onto my face and began to massage it in. Oh dear, I thought. Awkward.
She applied lotion to half of my face and then pulled out a lipstick mirror for me to see what she had done. The lights were dim and I couldn't really see anything, but I shrugged my approval -- just hoping to get the ordeal over with. She took back the mirror, and then said as she applied lotion to the rest of my face: "First half free. Next half, you pay!"
My heart was pounding. I hardly talked to the woman for the rest of the flight.
At some point, the stewardesses came by with a late-night snack. Suddenly I found myself with a steaming cup-of-noodles and only a pair of chopsticks with which to eat. For a few moments I just sat there, wondering how in the heck I would get the noodles into my mouth (having never in my life successfully wielded a pair of chopsticks). I observed the women next to me, hoping to learn some technique. I contemplated asking the stewardesses for a fork, but like I said, they were avoiding me and even eye contact with me like the plague. Plus, I was a chicken. I finally unwrapped the chopsticks, grasped them in my sweaty fingers, and somehow managed to make a meal of my noodles.
When I got off the plane in Taipei, I made my way to a bathroom and laughed to see my face, still caked in white lotion...
I can't believe it's been more than four years since that flight.
On Sunday (three days ago), I stood in line at the airport behind a woman, her young daughter, and her elderly mother. As they spoke to eachother I was pleased to recognize the familiar tones of Mandarin Chinese. It really is amazing to me how often I run into Chinese-speakers. I smiled at them, and when we had a chance to talk (waiting for our bags to be inspected), I asked where they were from. China. I introduced a few of my rusty Chinese words into the conversation, and though my phrasing was simple the women looked as pleased as I felt.
I don't think I'll be moving back to Taiwan anytime soon. But Sunday I rededicated myself to pursuing a path that will somehow involve that most beautiful language, Chinese.