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Just as I had feared, I ended up breaking every etiquette rule in the book.

I blame it on the crocodile complex. As soon as you’re told that you should under no circumstances utter the word crocodile or even think about a crocodile, that is the ONLY reptile that slithers to mind, isn’t it? (Do crocodiles even slither? I know they have legs, but those are such squat little things, and... okay then, never mind...)

In case you have NO IDEA what I’m on about (as usual), I’m talking about my now-not-so-recent-anymore trip to Taiwan. At last. What can I say? I have always been known for my breathtakingly snappy, tell-it-even-before-it-has-happened style of reporting and blogging.

Oh, and yes! Hello! It’s good to see you again too after all these months of unexplained, deafening silence, my three imaginary readers!

I have begun diarising the trip in minute details elsewhere (including how I committed several cardinal sins with chopsticks), but before I either disclose the link to that site (doubtful, since it contains an unfortunate shot of my mug), or shamelessly copy and paste some of what I’ve written there onto here (more likely, since I’m notoriously lazy), I just have to tell you a few things I’ve learned about travelling to Taiwan.

I know I've titled this blog post “101 things about Taiwan” - since it has such a downright poetic ring to it and also since it has the added bonus of subtly paying homage to the towering Taipei 101 skyscraper in Taipei - but that by no means implies that I’m now actually going to dream up one hundred and one things. Because that is a LOT of things. Even someone who sucks at Mathematics as badly as I do knows THAT much.

So here then, just this one thing, for now, but it is a rather profound truth:

When you travel to Taiwan, get used to frequently hearing the following question before your departure: “So, you’re going to Thailand?” And after your return, get used to those same friends and even strangers coming up to you and asking: “So, how was your trip to Thailand?” 

For some reason, many folks tend to get those two vastly different (despite the fact that both are Asian) T(h)ais mixed up.

But instead of getting all knotted up about it (geddit? GEDDIT?) I patiently respond: “Not the land where they make  Ladyboys. The land where they make La-Z-Boys!”

TOLD you it was profound.

P.S. As for whether La-Z-Boy recliners are really manufactured in Taiwan? Google kindly confirmed it as fact. Never mind that I had to ever-so-gently manipulate the search a few times before it gave me the desired result...

It all began about two months ago when I received an email from my gorgeous editor. "How would you like to go to Frightfully-Exotic-Destination-Far-Out-Of-The-Country?" (She actually called the place by its proper name, of course. This is just me, up to my usual amateurish writing tricks.)

My reply was probably half-incoherent as usual, but I DO recall that I said something along the lines of: "AREYOUKIDDINGME? Of COURSE I do! I want to go ANYWHERE!" (Yes, I always yell at her on email.)

Unfortunately my hysterical over-enthusiasm and willingness did not make it a done deal. Not by far. We had to actually enter a global competition first. This required us to complete a flurry of virtual application forms, answer almost 200 questions, write some essays, take pictures (UGH! WHY do people need to see what a writer looks like?!?), submitting all of it on time and crossing our fingers until they turned red then blue then black.

Being my usual 'optimistic' self, I decided not to get my hopes up at all. So I tried my best to forget about the contest (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Right, because I don't fixate. At all) and just carry on with my no-life life. Two weeks ago, Ms Gorgeous Editor and I both received emails informing us that we had made it through to the semi-finals. (I wasn't surprised about her success. I've been telling her all along to just pack her bags already.) One step closer to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I still didn't dare to think about it.

Thing is, as always when I forbid myself to do something, my lack of any self-discipline results in me hardly thinking about anything ELSE! I even went as far as joining the contest's Facebook page, Googling the amazing destination, reading travel articles about it and losing myself in the photographs. But then I'd crossly remind myself to yank my hopes back to earth in order to protect myself from sure, heart-shattering disappointment.

But yesterday morning really early, LONG before my usual wake-up time of round about the crack o' noonish, I got up and obsessively calmly checked the website to see who had been selected. The press release stated the usual "everyone was amazing, but sadly we couldn't pick you all" consolation. (Don't they KNOW that stroking your ego before brutally crushing it just makes the horrible news even WORSE?) Then they said that the chosen ones include the likes of Olympic medalists, beauty queens, Harvard grads... and that one guy even received a personal endorsement from his country's head of state, and I knew right then and there with such a crystal clear certainty that I was out. So I climbed back into bed, curled into a ball and told myself that not being picked isn't the end of the world.

I was just drifting back to sleep when a text message notification on my phone woke me up. It was Ms Gorgeous Editor and she told me that she has made it!!!!!

And... she told me... so have I.

SO HAVE I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

On August 12, her and I and two other Saffas will be jetted off to Taiwan for two glorious weeks to attend the Republic of China (Taiwan) International Youth (! According to the Taiwanese, I'm still youthful!)  Centennial Homestay celebrations with 246 other people from around the globe. We will be staying with host families and all we have to do in return for being handed this amazing adventure is to tell the world (or, in my case, my three imaginary readers) about our experiences on our blogs, on Twitter, on Facebook, or whatever other social media platforms we have available to us.

I honestly still can't believe it! I keep on staring at the list of names, expecting my (horrible) name to disappear from it when they realise their terrible mistake at including the likes of me. (I'm just kidding, judges! Please don't get any ideas?!?)

One thing is certain: I would NOT have this to look forward to had it not been for the help and encouragement of many people, from former and current employers, fellow bloggers and co-workers writing me the most lovely references, to family, to the few other people I had confided in about entering. My Gorgeous Editor has my eternal gratitude for telling me about it and inviting me to enter in the first place. I know she has told me to stop thanking her already, but wow... how can I ever thank her ENOUGH?

There is Elaine, the fabulous lady from the Taipei Liaison Office in South Africa who bent over backwards for me and graciously answered all my queries during the application process.

Then there is my darling friend Lemony, who patiently sat up with me until the wee hours (while she was ill, no less!) to listen to me stress and vent and moan and cry, making me cup after cup of coffee and just generally calming me down and jotting down my answers to the questionnaires faster than I could even dictate it! I guess you'll be getting that souvenir from Taiwan after all, Lemony!

And of course, none of this would be possible without Alice and the rest of the SayTaiwan Homestay organisers and judges.

Although I am definitely walking on clouds, my joy has been a tad subdued and bittersweet. As some of you know, this year has been particularly awful for my family. Three months later, we're still reeling from my brother-in-law's murder. I'd be lying if I said that I don't feel guilty for having this thrilling opportunity land in my lap at a time when my sister is hurting so deeply.

But bless her, for despite her grief, she is so genuinely, unselfishly happy for me...

Apparently my blog is a late bloomer. At the positively ancient age of seven years, it has began displaying shockingly rude behaviour more befitting of a l'enfant terrible of two.


One of my NON-imaginary readers (GASP!) has informed me that she had tried leaving me a comment, only to be met with the following curt response: "Text entered was wrong. Try again."

When I tried, I received the same message!

Either the blog has turned supremely bratty, or it has (belatedly) decided to punish me for all these previous years of extreme neglect by becoming a ruthless editor. Blog, baby, that will be fine, I obviously need the help. But please, learn to channel your anger into the right direction? Do not alienate my lone non-imaginary reader by wrongfully lashing out at her! That's just childish.

Update: Mysteriously, it seems to suddenly be working again now.  But please, dear imaginary (and any other kind) readers, feel free to shower me with praise comments just so that we can be 100% sure!

On this day (or rather, THAT day, since I should've posted this YESTERDAY) in 2004...

I think the Universe is trying to tell me something.

And that something is that my destiny somehow involves... Canada. Or a Canadian.

I don't think, however, that my destiny will be quite as intimately involved with Canadians (or even one Canadian in particular) as HERS is.

Still, as the Canucks would say: One never knows, 'eh?

I mean, in recent months, the only reaction I have been receiving on this here horribly neglected blog was from spammers (plugging - brace yourselves - dental practices in the US-state of Utah (see? The USA - neighbour of Canada, hence another link!), but they were polite enough to take the time to write proper comments - just as Canadians would do, I'm sure - and only link back to their dental practices when it was time to leave their own URLs, but I appreciated the effort they made with their comments, so I left it up), and a few extremely courteous e-mails from Canadians asking if I would please use my blog to advertise their non-dental businesses. Because obviously they like getting NO ATTENTION and want to remain in complete obscurity forever, like this blog and I. Which is honestly something any sound business person (in Utah, in Canada and everywhere else) should aspire to!

And then, of course, there was THIS whole e-mail exchange of before. Which, unbeknownst to me, was about to set this trend of Canadians in my inbox...

Including a fantastic little exchange I had with a super clever Canadian, which ALMOST made me despise my real name a little bit less.

But more aboot that tomorrow. (Honestly!) 

(Disclosure: This entry has been in draft form for ages, so this actually happened considerably longer ago than just last Thursday. I'm drowning in work at the moment, so posting this is just a reason to procrastinate. I clearly shouldn't, because it's totally erratic and all over the place, but well... that doesn't usually prohibit me from doing something, does it?)

I've been mistakenly identified.

Or actually, to be more accurate: I was correctly identified blog name-wise, but then it quickly became quite evident that I was not the Red the person thought I was.

Confused? Yes, don't worry. So was I. (Then again, what's new? I'm always confused, because... well... it doesn't take much, does it?)

Okay, this whole mistaken identity business happened via e-mail. And wow, have I ever had a few strange e-mails these last (Update: not so recent anymore) few days! I've been solicited (for writing... but in a WEIRD way) AND I've been mistakenly identified. By someone in Canada.

But the e-mails haven't been all bad: I've also been notified via e-mail that I've won a novel - autographed by the author!!! - in a contest hosted by a local magazine. So now I've some snail mail and more reading to look forward to again. (Update: I've since received it, hurrah! And ha ha, in a strange coincidence, the author in question is Canadian too!)

The case of mistaken identity arrived in my in-box last (update: although not last anymore) Thursday.

The subject was a friendly 'hi' with absolutely no indication of the chilly domestic dispute that I was about to be confronted with in the body of the e-mail. Also, the sender has the same first name as a good, "real life" friend of mine who also lives in Canada. She is a writer too, so she is usually a bit more vigilant about capitalising the first letters in her 'hi's' - even her casual ones - but still, I was not alarmed yet, because my friend has two young daughters, and sometimes kids that you are in charge of (even when they're your own flesh and blood) can make you do strange things, such as letting your finger slip from the Shift key while you're in the process of typing e-mails.

In the body of the e-mail, I was "Hi'd" again. This time with the necessary capitalisation, so I still thought it was from my friend to me.

Then I (but clearly NOT me, it became clear soon enough) was informed that the writer was going away for a long  weekend and would be back on Sunday. Of course, I still didn't realise that it wasn't ME who was supposed to be told all this just yet, so I enthusiastically read on.

I was told that I was not expected to look after the cats - which at this point made me raise my eyebrows just a bit, because, for obvious reasons, my real-life friend, who happens to HAVE cats, won't ever ask me to cat sit due to the whole 'being on opposite side of the world from her and her cats' technicality. (And not necessarily because I'm a Dog Person who won't even BEGIN to know how to skin a cat, and apparently there are many ways to do that. Proverbially, of course. I know that you're not REALLY supposed to do that when you cat sit. Or at any other time. Anyway, it's not even an issue, because I can't even peel potatoes either.)

Also though, aren't cat owners always bragging that cats are so high and mighty and superior that they can practically take care of themselves? Which HA! She then smugly proceeded to allude to, because she said that she'll leave them enough food and water. (Water? I thought cats drink milk. Or has the unfriendly Canadian climate made the cats over there lactose intolerant?) However, despite her smugness, it became apparent during the very next sentence that not even felines can be trusted to entirely fend for themselves, because then she said she hopes that I - but not quite me, as I'd figured out by this time -  would please send her a text message if something serious were to befall the kitties.

Cat care/self-sufficiency out of the way, she then addressed another issue - in a completely non-catty way. She said that she didn't know how I (but not me) felt about everything (perhaps she should've narrowed that down, I thought, because 'everything' is well... a bit broad, isn't it? Surely no one knows how anyone else feels about EVERYTHING?), but that she thought it was awful how we were both being with each other.

"You never call. You never write..."  Okay, okay. She didn't really write that.

But she did call me an adult. (Awww. And also, the definitive clue that she was clearly NOT talking to/about me, then.) She then said some other things that made me suspect that the real Not Me is a dude.

Then she said we (meaning her and Not Me) only need to be cordial until she moved out. As proof of this impending move, she said that she would be packing in the next few weeks and be out by the 1st (of September), the date Not Me apparently requested. GASP! Not Me is throwing her out?!? In autumn? In Canada? That's just cruel. Even more cruel than Canadian cats not being allowed to have milk. (See? Even as a Dog Person I'm disturbed by this.) 

Oh, how do I know she is from Canada, you ask? Because she said 'eh at the end of every sentence and 'aboot' instead of 'about' a lot. Okay, not really. Because she was e-mailing from her work account, which had her employer's name and address listed. In Canada.

I e-mailed her back immediately. Explained that I am not Not Me. And told her that she needed to actually call Not Me to tell him about the cats. Since, you know, she clearly has the wrong e-mail address for him (due to all that not talking that they've been doing) and that he clearly needs to know that they could possibly have a catastrophe on their hands if, for example, he also decided to go on a long weekend? Possibly with the other woman. Who he's probably going to allow to move in with him as soon as this one is out of there.

I never heard back from her. (Even though I said nothing about the imaginary other woman I had conjured up. I also did not use the word catastrophe, honestly. Even though I was a bit tempted to.) Then again, perhaps she thought I WAS Not Me merely pretending not to be Not Me? And thought that Not Me was playing immature games with her? Which hopefully made her more furious and less sad about being thrown out by Not Me? In the Canadian autumn? 

Anyway, I wonder if she did end up moving out on time? And whether the cats survived their long weekend home alone with (or without?) a callous and careless, and possibly cheating, Not Me?

And if so, who will now get catstody??

I hate it when a case of mistaken identity leaves so many unanswered questions...  

 

Thank you so much for all your kind comments on my Royally Kind post.

Incidentally, I was visiting my mom when it all happened. And ever since finding out my late friend's connection to the place - that he had lived, loved, lost and died there - I always get extremely emotional whenever I'm around those parts and he's constantly on my mind while I'm there. How strange that the whole Facebook thing with his friend/colleague coincided with my visit to the area...

On a lighter note: As you know, the Royally Kind event was a collective effort of global proportions, masterminded by the Queen (well, Duchess, but for the sake of alliteration, I'm promoting her to Queen) of Kindness herself.

A few days after some of the other girls and I had posted our acts of kindness, the other group posted theirs. I was supposed to link to it on the day, and I'm so sorry that I didn't get to it on time (so typical of me!). Anyway, in a lame attempt to make up for my tardiness, I have waded through their archives (lovely blogs, all of them, so it was such a treat) in an attempt to track down the relevant posts and link directly to it.

Follow this link and join the lovely, jet-setting Res (who has just finished writing the second - and hopefully final - draft of her novel!!!!!! WOW!) as she wittily recounts how she kindly came to the rescue of a hopelessly lost tourist while on her way to Brussels. Go on!

The other Royally Kind post I managed to track down was Bianca's, involving her nice RAK (Royal Act of Kindness, ye dirty minded beasts!) and a visually impaired gentleman. Check it out here.

Other ladies in group two were Caroline, Sharalee, Linda, Sasha, and Jennifer.

Thanks again, Jill, for including me in the event.

I've survived the dentist! I'm shlurring like a drunk when I speak, because my tongue and lips are still pretty much numb, but I'm alive!

Alive to tell the tale of what I ended up doing for the gorgeous Duchess Jill's Royally Kind blogging event (or operation 'stranger danger', as I've affectionately nicknamed it) which kicks off today.

Ever since pledging my participation months ago, I have been wondering what act of kindness I could possibly commit that would fit the bill. As I've mentioned in my original post, since I work from home, I don't get out all that much. In fact, I can easily go a week or two without seeing a solitary soul, so my first order of business had to be finding an actual stranger to be kind to.

My reclusive existence of the past decade has also made me a bit shy, so although I had fantasies in which I envisioned performing dramatic acts of astonishing kindness that would make Oprah's massive car giveaways pale in comparison, I knew that the reality would probably be far more mundane.

So for the past few weeks, whenever I ventured out to go grocery shopping or run errands, I have been wracking my brain for The Perfect Act of Kindness. Terrified that I wouldn't be able to come up with something great and worthwhile and thus have nothing to blog about, I started doing small... no minuscule, really... things to build up a sort of reserve of kindnesses: I smiled at people more. (Which, actually, may have made me look slightly insane, so people didn't take as warmly to that as I may have hoped, and instead took a few terrified steps back whenever I grinned in their direction.) I told the ladies working at the check-out counter that they looked beautiful. I put money in someone's parking meter... only for them to drive off shortly after! At least that made me laugh out loud.

In the end, my act of kindness was something totally unexpected. Something I did without any premeditation but out of spontaneous reflex. It happened a couple of weeks ago and I'm not even sure that I can really count it as a Royally Kind act, so I'll just tell you the story and let you be the judge.

Before I can relate the act, I have to tell you another story. (It's relevant to the kindness, honestly.)

About three and a half years ago, I reconnected with an old college friend on Facebook. After writing on each others' walls for a bit, we decided to catch up via e-mail. At first he wasn't extremely forthcoming about his life; only telling me that he was married to the love of his life and that he had left journalism and was now a firefighter/paramedic in the very same town where I used to live with my mom after returning from the States.

Then, in another e-mail, he poured his heart out. Told me that his wife had died in a car crash before they had even been married a year. It had happened just the year before, so he was still extremely raw. He was always an intense guy... incredibly creative and a brilliant photographer and prone to long depressions back when we were in journalism school.. and I could tell that he was drowning in his grief. It was especially difficult because his second chosen profession was to rescue and save people, and yet he couldn't save the person he had loved the most. 

I tried reaching out as best as I could on the web, but I wasn't effective. I did not want to pretend that I knew what he was going through. So I handled it clumsily. I should have done more. Tried harder.

But I didn't.

He disappeared from Facebook and e-mail for a few months. I sent e-mails. Wrote on his wall a few times. But then, when I didn't get any responses, I just stopped.

In early June 2008, he wrote on my wall again. I was ecstatic. He said that he was back and would be around more. I responded immediately, saying how great it was to hear from him again and I remarked on the new profile picture he had put up of himself to replace the cartoon of a firefighter.

Another quick aside (but still relevant, promise):  I had once written something on his wall (a teasing comment) and another Facebook friend of his had replied to me, getting in on the joke.

Two days after receiving that "I'm back" message from him, I received a private message on Facebook from that girl who had replied to me on his wall all those months before. The subject simply said his name, and I knew... I was sobbing so hard by the time I had opened the message, I could barely read the dreaded words. She told me that she was contacting me to let me know that he had died the morning before. She had the kindness not to tell me that it was suicide, but again, I just knew. She eventually confirmed, when I asked.

In the digital age, grieving means paying tribute on Facebook. I had no other outlet, so a day later, I left a comment on his picture.

And forgot about it, until... Those of you who are also on Facebook would know that, when you leave a comment on someone's picture or status update, you get an e-mail whenever someone else leaves a comment. Well, about two weeks ago I got an e-mail alerting me that someone else had also left a comment on my late friend's picture. (Because yes, after all this time, his Facebook account has never been shut down by anyone, so it is still there, and I don't have the heart to delete him from my friend's list.)

I was curious - it was nowhere near the anniversary of his death or his birthday, which is the only time people usually bother to write anything on his wall or his albums - so I read the comment posted by the other person.

It was left by another firefighter/paramedic, and the guy said that he loved him and missed him and that the job was still heartbreaking and tough, but - and this is the part that chilled me - that he had every intention to 'join him very soon, much sooner than you think'.

I immediately sent this guy a private message on Facebook. I told him that he would probably think that I'm crazy for writing to him, and that I'm sorry if I misunderstood his comment, but if he was planning to follow in our friend's footsteps, that he should please not do it. I begged him to reconsider. It was a long, rambling message and, in retrospect, it was embarrassingly intimate. I told him about my own battles, and about my college friendship with our friend and how much his death has affected me.

I didn't receive a reply from this person, but a little while later, he sent me a friend request. There was no personal message attached. Just the request, which I of course accepted.

I still don't know if I had completely misread his message or not - maybe I had and he was just too gracious to tell me - but I don't actually regret reaching out.

A few days ago, while trying to figure out what on earth I was going to blog about for the Royally Kind project, I remembered this. As I've said, I don't know if it even really counts, since it happened online and via writing and not in the 'real world'. (But hey, considering that this is where I spend most of my time...) Also, I have to admit that this project was definitely not on my mind when I wrote him that message.

You be the judge. In the mean time, meet the rest of the participants in my group and read what lovely kindnesses they've extended: Paige, Vanessa, Elizabeth, Andrée, and Crystal.

I'm a terrible blogger (no news there) and an even worse friend.

The impossibly gorgeous Duchess Jill, who is the brains AND beauty ('tis so unfair to be so fair AND to possess cleverness!) behind the Royally Kind Blogging Event - wherein participants have to be kind towards strangers and then blog about it -  has asked those of us who are participating to post a reminder about the project in order to promote it and perhaps get some last minute bloggers on board.

Typically, I'm way too late in posting (sorry, darling!), but perhaps she will still accept a few late entrants? Or perhaps enter some names for next time? Luckily she didn't mistake my silence for withdrawal from the event, so I'm still included! And I'll be blogging about how I've accosted... I mean... been strange towards... I mean... been kind towards a stranger this Thursday, 5 August. I'm also going to the dentist that afternoon (which is a scientifically proven, major accomplishment for a redhead, since we're such a fragile lot), so I might also be dead by then, in which case my posting will occur posthum(our)ously.

But, on the upside, while I wait for my Novocaine to wear off (or the formaldehyde to kick in), you'll also be able to read a few acts of kindness posts from these other lovelies on the 5th:
Can't wait to see what all of them will get up to! I sincerely hope I get to live to find out!

Because Nostradamus foretold it.

Okay, okay, and because, in the more immediate here-and-now, the lovely Duchess is making me do it! Well, that's not entirely true. I kinda may have voluntarily signed up for it. But it WAS still her idea!

Also, I will not be the only one accosting total strangers. So magnetic is her charms, and so great is her idea, that there are many other chick bloggers from all over the world that have also enthusiastically pledged their participation.

What exactly is it that we will be doing with/to/for strangers, you ask? Don't worry, nothing sinister. (At least, not intentionally so.) On an assigned day during the month of May, we will simply commit a totally senseless act of kindness for a complete stranger. And then we shall all blog about it.

There are not too many rules. Only that our chosen gesture of kindness need not cost any money, but if it does, we should not spend more than ten bucks max.

I have not confessed this to the Duchess yet, but this is actually going to be quite a challenge for me. You see, since I work from home and am therefore a teensy bit on the reclusive side, I do not encounter too many strangers (or even acquaintances) during my day-to-day existence. So this might require me to actually - *GULP* - get out of bed for a change! And perhaps SPEAK to an actual human being?!?

I'm afraid that, since I only ever venture out to forage for food occasionally, my social skills these days subsequently leave much to be desired. I don't know how to communicate with other humans anymore unless I get to type what I'm trying to say on a computer. And even that, as you can clearly see, is a skill I have yet to master! In preparation for my participation in the project, I did make a concerted effort to speak to my sister the other day, but I only just managed a few grunts.

So I'm going to need ideas here. What can I do to successfully complete (and yes, it would be nice to survive) the project and not cause someone in Stellenbosch to have a heart attack from fright when I approach them? (So yes, please, I obviously want my victim stranger to survive as well. I think causing someone's death, apart from defeating the purpose of the entire exercise, would also just be too totally over the top.)

What if I just accept the Facebook friend request from that random Turkish dude? I have NO idea who he is, but he's been sending me repeated friend requests for years. So if I finally be-Facebook-friend him, won't THAT count as my senseless gesture of kindness towards a stranger??

Dammit.

P.S. If you are a girl blogger and you also want to play, shoot the Duchess an e-mail at jill[at]theduchessguide.com and read her far more eloquent explanation of what exactly we will be doing here.