Past the Tracks

I have been reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle this past week. Apparently this book has become quite the sensation, particularly in Colorado since the author is from Colorado. Anyway, the book is about a boy and his dogs. Supposedly it is a reworking of Hamlet. Which makes the book a little disappointing, I mean, we all know how that one ends. Talk about a downer.

The story has all of the predictable elements, a boy and his special bond with his dog Almondine, conflict between his Dad and Uncle, coming of age pains, running away from home, etc. I guess this is just a way of saying that if an extremely popular book can fall into cliches, then it isn't a surprise that this blog post is going to fall into cliches. . . just to give you fair warning.

Since we arrived, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be on the outside of things. The most tangible manifestation of this is where we live in Taipei. We don't actually live in the city. We live south of the city in the great mass of suburbia called Taipei County. The most common reaction when we tell people we live about a 15 minute bus ride past Nanshijiao station is "where??" They haven't heard of Nanshijiao, much less the An he Borough, which is our neighborhood.

I kind of wish I could say that everything changes past the end of the tracks. I mean, if this was the land of cliches, I could easily tell you stories of backwater people, how the law doesn't reach us out here in the wilds, etc. But really, the only differences seem to be the lack of foreigners and the disturbingly common green flourescent-lit cigarette stores. These stores are everywhere. Women in short skirts sit at them all day selling cigarettes and betel nuts to the men passing by.

Our neighborhood also has a lot of car repair garages. Literally, the entire main street outside of our apartment is lined with them. If you go farther down the street you will reach a night market. In a universe I hope to never understand, Taiwan is famous for its fabulous night markets! Imagine a crowded flea market. Neon lights, discount clothing shops, little food stands, everything for a price. Every night of the week. People travel half way around the world for this experience.

Let me just say, I might have been doing a bit too much thinking this past week. . . I don't really have a whole lot else to do. So thinking about the end of the tracks has led me to thinking about anomie. Anomie is a fancy sociology word for what happens when people get overwhelmed by their insignificance. They are sucked up into the masses and lose a sense of lawfulness, membership in society, basically the swirl of activity makes them lose their moral compass and desire to make anything good out of the situation. I imagine anomie to be a little like getting on an amusement park ride, one that spins, and never really being able to regain focus. The individual maintains its composure, but everything else loses resolution.

Now, before you go thinking that I have entered into this state, I would like to point out a couple pinpoints of light. Or really, big red neon lights that appear at night in Taiwan. All of the churches in Taiwan have decorated their crosses with red neon lights that turn on after dark. So in the midst of the swirling, consumerist jumble of night market lights and cigarette shops, these red neon crosses stand out as something to focus on.

Another pinpoint of light - our prayer room. We have committed ourselves to praying each night for a myriad of things, in silence, through song, through words, through reading. All of our prayers are written on our floor in neon sticky notes. Another bright thing to focus our eyes on.

I'm not ready to make any big conclusions. Maybe the people in An he Borough don't feel anything close to anomie. But I just pray that when being beyond the tracks becomes a burden rather than an adventure, that I may be comforted by the red neon lights and the sticky notes and the gift of having a focus.

In Christ,

Seth