Last night was the first night I went out for dinner without my friend. It had crossed my mind that I could just stay at the house and eat something there… but somehow I wanted to challenge myself.
I don’t know how to speak Chinese. I had started trying to learn the language 6 years ago, when I was studying in Shanghai, and that was a miserable failure. That whole period of study was just too overwhelming for me, and as a result I felt that my experience in Shanghai was limited in some way. I wanted my stay in Taiwan, even though it would be short, to be different.
After all, in the intervening years I had learned how to speak French. I had conquered many of the fears associated with speaking a different language… fears like not wanting to offend someone by accidentally saying the wrong thing, fear of making a mistake and being laughed at, and fear of drawing attention to myself in any way at all.
Essentially, I was often paralysed with a fear of the opinions of others. Over the last few years, I feel as if I have largely overcome this. So on this particular evening, I wanted to demonstrate to myself just how much my confidence had grown.
I started walking around the busy local neighbourhood streets slowly, peering into food stalls to see what they were serving. People were already staring while I walked around on my own, I guess I must have looked out of place. But I tried not to let it bother me.
It helped that I also had to devote part of my attention to the road and make sure that I didn’t get run over. In the small streets here, there are not many markings or signs that I can read… and even less space to walk.
Part of the road close by is busy – there are loads of food stalls, restaurants, markets and traffic… bright flashing lights, scooters and cars zooming by. People talk loudly, in an attempt to be heard above the buzz of activity, and amongst all of that is the oddly loud and cute tune the rubbish truck broadcasts as it slowly collects bags from along the street. I leave the hum of the main road and turn into a dimly lit lane where stalls from the evening markets were washing up and beginning to close. I then somehow found myself on a slightly quieter street where there were a few stalls. I liked the look of the food one was serving, so I decided that this would be the one.
It was not fancy, and there was no hint of English at all. The menu, fixed to the top of the steel cooking cart, was white and brightly backlit by LED lights. The black Chinese characters stood out clearly, well, clear to anyone who could read Chinese.
A young man was waiting to collect his food, and he looked at me as I took a photograph of the menu. Normally at this stage, the extremely self-conscious person I was would have just thought it was too embarrassing and left. But I didn’t this time, I stood there and let him watch me.
I inspected the translation on my phone… there seemed to be one dish that I knew how to say in Chinese, and I also thought it would be delicious. So I prepared myself and walked right next to the side of the cart.
I could see a small array of tables with older people sitting and eating at the back. In particular, I noticed one man. He was staring at me and he wasn’t shy about it. He was eating his food slowly, not even looking at it, just focusing on me. He even had one eyebrow raised as he observed.
But I just let him watch, and despite my discomfort, I managed to catch the attention of the lady who prepared the food. I spoke the only Chinese words I knew zhūròu miàn (which I hoped meant pork noodles) and then held up one finger yīgè. When I presented her with 110 Taiwan dollars, I think she got the message. She spoke back to me in Chinese, and it became clear to her very quickly that I did not know how to understand Chinese either.
Resting on the steel table in front of her was a tray with small covered sections. She opened one of the segments to reveal chopped up red chili. I shook my head, failing remember the word for “no” in Chinese. She continued to talk and then asked yī diǎndiǎn? Suddenly it came back to me, that phrase meant “a little bit.” So, I repeated the phrase back to her while nodding.
We somehow mimed our way through it, and then she got to work. She filled a large circular container with several colourful ingredients: red chopped chili soaked in oil, green sliced spring onions, thin white slices of pork, and something that looked like semi-transparent, brown noodles. Lastly, she lifted the lid of a big pot of clear soup, steam billowing out as she dipped her spoon inside.
She then effortlessly slipped the take away container and some cutlery into a small plastic bag and handed it to me with a smile xièxiè nǐ. I smiled and replied back the same… “thank you.” As I walked off, I smiled to myself.
Over time, I have realised that only part of the pleasure of learning a new language resides in being understood. For me, there is greater satisfaction in communicating without actually worrying about what others think. It felt as if I had truly broken free of the shackles of low self esteem, which had held me back for so many years.
That night, my dinner was not only delicious, but it was also a little achievement. Some would consider it too small to be worthy of celebration… But I promised myself that this year, I would be my own biggest fan no matter what. And now I’m not even afraid to share this little win with all of you!
Thanks for reading this far… I hope you found something interesting in this little, ordinary moment of mine.
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