Summer in Taipei makes me homesick. In Colorado, spring blushes, and summer flirts, takes dangerous plunges of commitment, and disappears entirely like an inconsistent lover. A Taipei summer, in stark contrast, comes on like a sweaty fat men wielding a damp towel. As I sit in my air-conditioned room, pouring sweat, I cannot help but think that, when it comes to seasons, I am an incurable romantic. It’s not that Taiwan’s summers don’t have some advantages, they just come on a little hot and heavy for me.
Of course, I know that the true Taiwan summer has not even begun. What is now a comfortably cloying dampness and heat will become a blazing inferno where the smog choked, Scooter ridden streets represent the inner circle of a sticky hell. the traditional Taiwanese ride out these sauna like months with as little air conditioning is possible, believing it brings bad energy. The less traditional, and far more numerous Taiwanese live their summers in sweaters freezing in concrete blocks and stepping outside on their coffee breaks to bask in the heat.
And I, strangely enough, have found a place for this incredible heat in my life. Aside from constantly reminding myself to drink water, and remembering which shirts show sweat, I am almost pleased by the turn of the weather. At the end of a day, the cool of my sweat evaporating from the damp shell of my shirt is actually pleasant. I imagine, almost, that I understand generations of balding, sweaty men inexplicably content in the oppressive heat of the South. I hide from the sun, but I am beginning to languish in the heat.
