Dispatches from Elsewhere: Always crying on the plane
Day 1: Vancouver → Taipei
I’m currently writing at the airport, roughly two hours left before departure. It’s a 2am flight, which bodes well for my night owl tendencies. I’m at International Departures, naturally, but back when I worked here almost 14 years ago, we called this section of the airport West Chevron. Nobody seemed to be able to tell me why.
Back in the day, 19-year-old me had applied to YVR’s Starbucks eager to make friends and save money for an exchange trip. I didn’t know quite yet where I wanted to go, but she wouldn’t have been surprised by the choice I eventually made (read: colonial-education-compelled England). My regular weekend shifts usually started at US Departures, a little island booth that saw all the grumpiest Americans and B/C-list celebrities coming through. This was before hot food, so work was pretty straightforward. We’d close up at 8pm at US, just before the last couple flights depart, then one of us (usually me) would hustle over to West Chev to close up at 11pm.
I have a lot of incredible memories at Starbucks, which I would love to collect someday. After all, I met some of my favourite people in the world there. But today, only one person comes to mind: Jowett.
Jowett usually worked at West Chevron. Come transition time, it would often just be me and him for the last few hours. It wasn’t very busy in those days, and we’d always be up to shenanigans. Jowett was one of the few people my age, and I was always envious of his spiky 2000s hair, somehow structured and soft-looking. I always looked forward to those last few hours with him, and I kind of miss being the little rapscallion I remember being with him. I left Starbucks two years later to go to England, and I thought often about reaching out. I loved the friends I made, but Jowett and I felt like a couple of lads, never quite knowing what to say when we’re not together at work. It’s not like we ever talked about anything serious.
When I was 24, I got the message that Jowett had died in a work accident. I remember texting him—tell me it’s not true—that kind of a thing. I remember running the scene in my head, and hoping, dreaming, praying it was painless.
I went to a Stars concert by myself a few months later, trying perhaps to tap into childhood—they were my favourite band in my teens—and trying to find a pathway for the grief to go.
I still miss him sometimes. I snap a photo of Starbucks almost every time I pass through here. I wish all the time that I knew more about him—reached out more—was less of a lad with him. I wish he could’ve told me about his girlfriend, how he and that tall quiet guy became best friends, what he did after Starbucks. Would he have wanted his funeral in a church? I’d like mine somewhere outside. Maybe by the water. Make it a barbeque maybe. Did he expect to bring all the Starbucks folks together like this? Maybe we should’ve had more reunions.
I know I said in my last entry that I didn’t want to start my trip with grief. I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships I’ve had throughout my life, so maybe grief is inevitable. Still, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Maybe I miss him now because the universe wants me to remember all the fun we had. All the lightness I used to hold in my little rapscallion heart.
So much has changed at the airport. The bookstore next door is a Pret-a-Manger now—why they need two coffee shops side by side is beyond me (probably latte stage capitalism, as I saw once on YT).
Of course, we’ve all changed a lot too. Maybe is a sign to remember that spiky-haired rapscallion and tap into that goof.
My sister and I decided to bring Mr. Tubbs on this trip. We got him in Taiwan in 2019, in a guaranteed claw machine win that got us scouring claw machine nooks for the rest of the trip. We took him everywhere with him, snapping photos of him like the travel gnome in those old ads.
A typhoon just passed through Asia, so Tubbs may not get his second shot at a sunny Jiufen (九份), but he’s never been to Japan before, so hopefully he won’t be too choked.
I told myself i wouldn’t cry on the plane this time, but I picked Song Sung Blue, thinking it was just a wholesome musical. It was, but it was also like if the first ten minutes of Up was extrapolated into 2.5 hours of life, including the way parents trying their best end up passing along the parentification of their children and point blank “fucked up shit happens in life”. I was sooooo not okay.
I also end up relistening to Epic the Musical. I was very okay and in my sleepy, fatigued haze, manically took notes for a possible essay in the future. Much excite.
We arrive in Taiwan at 5 in the morning. It’s chaotic as usual with my parents—my sister and I decide on “jambalaya” as a safe word when we need to tap out. We’re workshopping “cold jambalaya” when she’s overheated and need to duck into AC.
I looooove the familiar scent of Asia’s mugginess so much. This specific brand of humidity and activity. I love and need the quiet and relative slowness of the Okanagan, but this scent fills my spirit like nothing else.
We get into Taipei’s Main Station at about 6 and we’re on the hunt for our hotel. Check-in is at 3pm so it’s been a long morning trying to keep our energy and morale up.
I get a tea egg at the Family Mart after a small breakfast at Mos Burger. I’m having trouble adjusting to the big numbers in the prices, and dividing by 25 is trickier than the 5 or 6 of HKD/MOP that I’m more used to.
It really makes my day that even random boxes of tea are so cute. We visit a drug store (a Sephora meets Shoppers more accurately), and I’m discomforted by all the models staring back at me on literally every single package. That said, I’m keen to see if they’d use any of the Thai actresses I know.
We head to Kura for lunch! Its conveyor belt sushi meets gacha. Every five plates gets one pull, and the collection this time is this adorable Quokka and their marshmallow friend. I want the birding one so bad.
It’s a long wait, as for some reason all the youth in Taipei have queued up way before us (clearly, they know the drill).
We end up going pretty wild (or so it felt), ordering 30 plates and 6 gacha pulls. I assumed we always won because we got lucky the first pull, so I pulled out my phone to record the next one and excitedly watched the little samurai guy play a carnival game, only to watch the word FAILURE flash across the screen in Kanji. I pulled my phone up to record the third time—failure again. For the fourth pull, we were all in consensus that my phone was probably cursed. (I’ve had a lucky fortune talisman in the back of my phone for the hope of improving my luck—for what, I don’t even know, and I suspect that because I’d pulled the fortune without a subject in mind that I’m now cursed with weird, scattered luck. Or, of course, it’s all nothing.) My mom inserted our plates into the dispenser for our fourth pull, and we watch anxiously as the little dog plays a carnival fishing game. Success! We’re cheering as the gacha machine dispenses a little white ball down to us. My sister hands it to me, and I’m losing my mind when I open up the binocular duo!! I’m barely coherent as I tell my family that I literally wrote down wanting the birding one an hour ago.
Mom told me that she wanted to buy me a black cat plush many years ago, but by the time she called me about it, it was sold out. It’s been a regret on her mind ever since. I don’t remember this, and I’m kind of surprised by this moment of softness from her. She is usually soft, but perhaps not in this emotionally vulnerable way.
She bought me a long cat plush at Nitori today, and I’m weirdly emotional about it.
It is about 2:40pm when we finally get to our hotel room. Luckily, it's ready early. The room is honestly awesome. Minimalistic, "like a Muji showroom," as my sister described it. Spacious. Dyson hair dryer in the corner.
I plank on the bed with headphones on for about ten minutes to regulate.
I want to sleep so bad. I feel like I'm typing this entry right now just to stay awake. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
I will write my Letterboxd reviews to stay sane.
It's been a very, very long day. There have already been so many random, unexpected purchases (in a fun way) and so many random, unexpected, chaos-inducing comments from my parents (in a not fun way).
It's just about 36 hours since I had a good nights sleep now, so I'm going to give it a go.
If you're wondering, I did film a single Milk video.
Sleepy Flor, out!