(Drawing of Taiwan by Li Jinyuan) Being an expatriate forces you to redefine your landmarks: new country, new language, new customs, new food, new landscapes. But everybody's ability to adapt one self to an alien environment is not so flexible. Some might just bring along with them, their items, their different habits of the previous life they have been accustomed to during twenty, thirty, fourty years... Some will just try to recreate the exact same life they were living back-there and no one can blame them for doing so because nobody questions the need "to feel home".
Living in Taiwan for more than four years now, I realize that Taipei is now my home de facto: I work here, have my bank account here, my social insurance, some friends...People say my Chinese is very acceptable (although I keep thinking that my Chinese is never good enough), I can perfectly cope with my life here. But still, I don't know what is a real home, is it that mental edifice that puts a roof above my head and walls around me? Is it the place where I feel warm and protected? Could it be the territory of my ancestors? But where are my ancestors after all? The history of my family is like scattered pieces, a real puzzle and "casse-tête chinois". Being in Taipei and rubbing myself with Chinese culture, I think I can understand a bit better my mother but I am not yet convinced that I am home. Physically, I don't have any home in Paris except my mother's one which is also my childhood's one.
The place I call Home might still be imaginary but it is as real as a poem. Let's just relax and follow Baudelaire's "Invitation to the Voyage":
My child, my sister,
Think of the rapture
Of living together there!
Of loving at will,
Of loving till death,
In the land that is like you!
The misty sunlight
Of those cloudy skies
Has for my spirit the charms,
So mysterious,
Of your treacherous eyes,
Shining brightly through their tears.
There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
Gleaming furniture,
Polished by the years,
Will ornament our bedroom;
The rarest flowers
Mingling their fragrance
With the faint scent of amber,
The ornate ceilings,
The limpid mirrors,
The oriental splendor,
All would whisper there
Secretly to the soul
In its soft, native language.
There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
See on the canals
Those vessels sleeping.
Their mood is adventurous;
It's to satisfy
Your slightest desire
That they come from the ends of the earth.
— The setting suns
Adorn the fields,
The canals, the whole city,
With hyacinth and gold;
The world falls asleep
In a warm glow of light.
There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
(Translated by William Aggeler, 1954)
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This post was triggered by Nick Coulson 's article on eRenlai:
