Ill and feeling sorry for myself, I went to my usual haunt for some comfort food. My small appetite fostered wistful thoughts for the owner.
“Your twenties and thirties are the prime of life – even when you’re not well. I used to spend all night out with mates, then work the next day feeling wrecked. But I could still do it. Nowadays my health is gone and all I have is this shop.”
Taking a moment to appreciate his words, I suddenly felt better. I finished my delicious congee, thanked him, and left to make the most of my prime.
…When the KMT moved to Taiwan, they made it much harder for the locals here. They didn’t care for us. Their eyes were on China. They forced us to stop speaking Taiwanese, and they were prejudiced because we were educated under the Japanese system.
Though eyes bleary with age, he was sharp-minded and his hands didn’t shake as he unfolded the silk flag he had just purchased from his friend. It seemed fitting to give a foreigner the truthful rundown of Taiwan’s history as he presented the vintage piece.
Taiwan’s journey for democracy was turbulent, even amongst its own.
Weave off Yongkang Street away from the crowds and you’ll find local imagery that make this area much more intriguing than being the home to the original Din Tai Fung.
I found him, gloriously bearded, busying about in front of his store. That’s it. That little nook of a shop, indented slightly away from the street, crammed wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with Asian knick-knacks.
Scanning my eyes along the bursting shelves, I asked him what was his most-prized possession. “He likes money best!”, a friendly neighbour cut in.
Chuckling, he enthusiastically agreed while delicately placing a vase on display.