Walker

Our neighborhood sat in between National Taiwan University and National Taiwan Normal University.  Residents were mostly faculty or staff members of the universities or white-collar governmental workers.  It was known to be a gathering place of cultural elites.  There were blocks and blocks of Japanese houses like ours, divided by small alleys.

When I first started school, mom would take me to school and pick me up in the afternoon.  Soon, she allowed me to walk by myself.  A few times, I attempted some minor detours.  Every time I was reprimanded.  So, I realized that I wasn’t really walking “alone” and stopped making unnecessary turns.

Getting out of bed in the morning was never my favorite thing.  Being rushed through breakfast also wasn’t fun.  But, I enjoyed stepping out of the house and wandering through the maze of gardens and houses.  The air, crisp but musty, wakened my senses.  Plants, dressed by morning dews, looked greener and more pleasing to the eyes.  For a few minutes every day, my world was undisturbed.  Feeling in control, positive and hopeful, I was ready for a new day at school.

My piano teacher Ms. Lee moved to the other side of the aqueduct, about ten-minute walk from us.  Since we had to cross two major roads, mom didn’t let me go alone until I learned to watch the traffic and was familiar with the direction.  I would go for my lessons and, occasionally, to practice a few times a week.  There was a long stretch of narrow two-lane road off the main street.  On one side of the road, there was a lumber mill.  The intermittent noises from the machines and the shouts from the workers made me uneasy.  The smell of freshly milled wood and sawdust permeated the air.  There was always a large inventory of bamboo timbers, standing tall and pointing to the sky.

From time to time, mom would stop by the lumber mill; pick up a few cut-off bamboo sections; and ask the workers to make a small cut near the top.  These tubes would become our piggy banks.  We drop the coins through the opening.  When the tubes were full, mom would split them open.  We would cheer watching the coins falling out all at once.

Near the mill, there were always free-range black Muscovy ducks.  Unlike the friendly brown ducks at American parks, these feral birds were aggressive, especially the female adults.  As I got near, they would make alarming sound and come after me.  Mom said that they were protecting their babies.  I didn’t always see baby ducks around but was sure that the mama ducks really didn’t like human children.

In my memories, my walks to school were always calm and pleasant.  The walks to piano lessons, on the contrary, were clamorous and adventurous.