I danced this morning in the hotel room with music on my speakers, rocking my head, watery eyes, ’cause I needed to tell myself that it’s gonna be alright. It’s alright to be frustrated and not know why. It’s alright to force the smile when you really wanna cry. But I carry on, I dance, time moves forward.

I can’t go back to where I was. I’m here now, and there’s no finish line, no celebration, no pat on the back. Is it getting better? The voice in my head, the friend in my heart, the light in my eyes?

Am I going somewhere — where?

Why am I here. What am I here to do. Is it to be somebody, be happy, or maybe just experience whatever happens?

I don’t know what will happen; I don’t want to let people down. I don’t want to give up. I’ve started something, I’ve started searching, I’ve started praying for my reason for being. Can that be it, a life spent searching without knowing, instead of settling for what we think we know.

I don’t know shit. But I think life is beautiful. I can’t tell why. Grungy city streets, navigating crowds of people, steam rising from Taipei food stalls, the joy derived from the taste of a scallion pancake.

It’s beautiful to me — smiling at the little kid on the train or watching a brother and sister nudge each other as they play a game on their phone. It reminds me of being a kid playing video games with my brothers, and that’s a good feeling.

I get tired of chasing these words, putting together stories. This whole thing’s my poetry, my light, my heart, but I don’t know if that makes sense, although this is all that makes sense to me.

It’s not recognition I’m after, but the impression that the world makes in the corners of my mind. Words linger, memories stay. I cleanse my mind by writing, so I’ll keep going.

The people here are friendly.

A smile goes a long way.

I wandered the morning market as rain fell softly through the sun’s rays. Now I’m sitting on a balcony, drinking coffee. There’s something about exploring, observing a place as it comes to life that inspires life in me.

Whatever I can find of it. The coffee is hot, it’s days before the Chinese New Year.

Maybe I’m here to be a friendly face in the world. A smile or a lasting impression.

We drank tea yesterday with some really cool people in the town of Miaoli. The ceremony of it was stunning and imprecise. A spiritual practice.

Like drinking tea, wandering through the Saturday market is spiritual to me — my camera in hand, music in my ears. People smile. Most stare. I smile back.

I write this now disconnected from there but lifted by it, the through line of my wanderings. The pen moves, the ink flows. The breeze feels good.

I can sit here for some time quite content, letting my thoughts find substance and depth on the page like puddles gathering scattered rain.

I’m hungry for wisdom, an answer. But I don’t know if there are any answers. There’s information; there are questions worth asking. Why am I here — alive, in Taipei?

Maybe it is just to try the food. Because that’s a spiritual experience, too.

This is what I like to do.

I want to be here — alive in this beautiful city on a Saturday morning, the tinge green, the plants hanging, the buildings decaying, the stalls bustling, the colors of the flowers and the fruit shining, the people living just like me.

Maybe it doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.