Epilogue: Fulbright Taiwan Reflective Post

And here, dear reader, is where I leave you. It's been a beautiful two years full of ups and downs, from the outlying islands of Kinmen to the southern county of Chiayi. Even over three months later, living in Taiwan has felt like a dream I'm not sure I'll ever wake up from.

Looking back, I miss my ETA year the most. Everything was new, daunting, and exciting. I remember being stuck in a quarantine hotel and staring out at the beautiful, sweltering sunsets of Kaohsiung for the first time. Then, meeting other Fulbrighters for the first time. Arriving at Hong House, launching into scooter practice, teaching at Jhuo Huan, and exploring Kinmen—it was all overwhelming, but it was wonderful.

As summer gave way to fall and winter, the other ETAs and I grew closer. We went to Mandarin classes every week, hung out at English Village, and celebrated birthdays, holidays, and local festivals. I also got to know Jhuo Huan better, especially my students, as I started playing games with them and teaching traditional folk dance after school.

By the time our first semester ended, I was reluctant to leave Kinmen behind. The cohort had grown close to each other, our schools, and our local friends, and it felt like we had really built a beautiful community. Although many of us went different ways during winter break, we met up in Taipei for my favorite day in Taiwan: the birthday boat.

For a single, golden afternoon, our cohort hung out on a boat in Tamsui. We spent the hours singing, laughing, and just enjoying the chilly January air together. Although it may not have seemed like much, it was beautiful to me because even thousands of miles away from our friends and families, we had made our own home, with each other. Even six months earlier, it would've seemed impossible to me to live so happily in a different country with perfect strangers. But there we were.

Coming back from winter break was a time of joyful reunions. I missed my cohort and my kids, and I remember hanging out with everyone with the same intense joy a Golden Retriever gets when it hangs out with its people. As the weather slowly warmed again, we hosted visitors from other cohorts and took lots of different trips: Sun Moon Lake, Chiayi City, and the east coast of Taiwan. However, our spring was also pervaded by a slow, persistent dread that the end of the grant period was creeping forward.

The rest of the grant period was a whirlwind of celebrations, goodbyes, and everything in between. We cried, laughed, rallied, and more, but most importantly of all, we reveled in the time we had left. I still remember the indescribable joy of living so freely in Kinmen and also the bittersweet tinge of knowing I'd have to leave soon. The months, weeks, days, hours... oh, how quickly a year came to pass.

Leaving Kinmen was one of the hardest goodbyes I've ever had to say. It was astounding how quickly the eighteen of us had grown so close, and it was terrifying to think how small the life we'd curated together was in the face of the future.

The last day of school was tearful. It was tough to say goodbye to all of my students and co-workers, but I felt lucky to have had a school I loved so dearly. I also had farewell dinners with the cohort, coordinators, and our local friends, all filled with flurries of postcards and parting gifts.

The last night we were all together, our cohort sat in Houpu Plaza watching a historical play. I remember the summer air was humid, thick with memory and goodbyes, but it wasn't a sad evening. Rather, it was a reminder that no matter how far we went from each other, we'd always have the memories we'd made together.

A month later, I headed back to Taiwan as an ETF. Landing in Chiayi and meeting the new cohort felt like being shook up in a bottle; the turnaround was quicker than I could process, and I didn't feel much of the same support I'd had last year.

Admittedly, I think my sense of mourning got in the way of some of my adjustment to Chiayi. Change is hard, and it was certainly difficult for me living far away from the rest of the cohort and teaching at two middle schools. Last year also felt like a fairy tale, whose plot included going on adventures, falling in love, making friends, and witnessing great events, and this past year felt mundane.

Although I didn't feel as close with my new schools or my cohort as I did my old one, I found joy throughout the year as I explored more of Taiwan and made new friends. One particular source of joy was my Kinmen reunion trip with the other remaining members of my old cohort. I'd missed my students, my school, our local friends, and the other ETFs so much! Even though several months had passed by the time we'd returned, it also felt like nothing had changed and we'd never left.

The rest of the first semester passed slowly, but steadily. I grew accustomed to splitting my time between two schools, and I got to know my students in extracurricular clubs. I also hung out with the cohort at occasional dinners or workshops, and weekends, I kept exploring the rest of Taiwan. It was a tough semester, but it ended relatively well. Chiayi didn't feel like a home yet, but I did feel like I'd settled in more.

In the second semester, I'd hoped to finally make Chiayi feel like home. Instead, things unraveled, and I spent the rest of the semester filled with both dread and excitement for the end of the grant period. Even so, I still had some unforgettable moments scattered throughout spring, like watching the Pingxi sky lanterns, seeing an Alishan sunrise, and leading a remote service camp in Tainan.

As the months flew by, my schedule was packed with trips to places old and new to see friends. One of the largest trips was in April, when I planned a trip to Kinmen that ended up involving over thirty Fulbrighters. Oystering with the others and attending reunion dinners reminded me of how dearly I loved my time in Kinmen, but also how much time had passed since I'd lived there. It wasn't the same island I'd left, and maybe, I wasn't the same person who'd left either.

When I left, looking out at the islands growing smaller and smaller in the distance made my chest ache. But the last Kinmen trip proved that there would never be a single perfect goodbye, but maybe there never had to be. Things would change, but I could always come back.

When June came, so did the end of the grant period. It was a time of graduations, goodbyes, and the overwhelming fear of leaving Taiwan after two years. I tried to seize every moment, but it still rushed by all too quickly. At the very least, I still knew I could come back, much like I could with Kinmen. Maybe some other day, I could drive down the Budai coast to watch the sunset. Maybe I could watch the shimmering fields of green sway in the breeze on the way to Chiayi City, or wind my way up Alishan to watch the sea of clouds.

I spent the next couple of weeks traveling Taiwan with my partner. We did a 環島 (huándǎo, trip around the entire island of Taiwan) of sorts, traveling from Chiayi to Matsu, then to Taipei, Taitung, Green Island, and Kaohsiung. No matter where we went, Taiwan was stunning, and I knew I'd miss it deeply in a sort of reverse homesickness.

Returning home to Chiayi and packing for a final departure from Taiwan was surreal. I'd left many times before, during winter break and summer break, but this was the final time. During my taxi ride to Taoyuan, I spent the whole three hours watching the scenery of Taiwan roll by. Maybe I should've taken the HSR, but it felt appropriate to take a taxi to the airport, just like I did two years ago. On the August night I arrived, I took a taxi ride from Taoyuan to my quarantine hotel. It was dark, filled with intermittent naps and jetlag, and lasted from 11pm until maybe 2am (if I remember correctly), with me having a slow, disjointed conversation with my taxi driver in uncertain Chinese. But it was also the first time I'd been alone like that in Taiwan, and it was the start of a beautiful journey I'll never forget.

I still can't believe it's over. Two years in Taiwan. Even now, over three months later, I feel lucky to have had an experience many people don't get to have. I had amazing adventures, ate delicious food, and met some of the most incredible people, sometimes with the craziest stories. At the end of it all, I'm proud of how much I've learned—teaching, scootering, Mandarin, even a little Taiwanese (or Tâi-gí, as my students would remind me)— but most importantly, I'm proud of how much I've grown.

Being in Taiwan has felt like almost five years, but being home, it also feels like no time's passed at all. It's strange, like I've been stuck in a time loop. I'm looking forward to catching up with everyone back in the US—I've missed my friends and family dearly. It's been a sweet homecoming so far, and I'm looking forward to seeing the trees gleam their fierce autumn colors and feeling the soft, crisp chill of snowfall again, too.

Looking back at my time in Taiwan, I find myself scattered throughout the little moments: playing card games with my third graders, slowdancing to Chinese songs with my partner, watching the wading birds of Budai take flight, starting up a scooter in the early morning. I'm not sure where to go from here, but I hope it's somewhere wonderful.

Signing off for the last time, my name is Lauren Nolan, and I was a Fulbright English teacher in Taiwan from 2022-2024. Thank you, 謝謝, and to-siā for everything, Taiwan.

Writer's Note: This blog post was originally written on Sunday, October 27th, 2024.