A different kind of Taiwan
Lately, while the F4 reunion has been catching everyone else’s fancy, it was Taiwan of a different kind that caught the attention of my AP book club: the translated novel “Taiwan Travelogue”. While it transported us to the era of Japanese-occupied Taiwan, it also reminded me personally of my dream of writing about the quiet details of a place, reflecting on life through small but meaningful observations.
The Japanese woman author was my image of the strong woman: whole, independent, and unapologetically herself. A woman who didn’t need a husband to be complete. I was struck by the fierce honesty in lines like, “Why do you accept this fate? You have things that you want to pursue, things that have nothing to do with marrying a man.” It’s a powerful reminder that a woman can have dreams, talents, and a calling that are entirely her own, and she doesn’t need anyone’s permission to follow them.
But now, as a mother, the Lady Interpreter resonates with the present me. Modern women help shape the next generation not just through biology, but through presence, intention, and care. Raising well-mannered, well-informed, multitalented people of excellence is no small task. And how do we do that without, in some form, choosing to become a parent?
Even in a world where one can choose to have a child via a sperm donor, the deeper commitment lies not just in having a child, but in raising one with patience, presence, and purpose.
And for those of us who are happily married, having a life partner, no matter how different you are from one another, brings a kind of reassurance. Not someone to complete you, but someone to witness your life and walk alongside you. Because strength is not about doing everything alone. It is about knowing when to stay true to your path and when to open your life to others.
How do we hold on to the lessons of our evolving lives? The narrator says, “I can come to Taiwan, write down what I observe, and preserve the state of this island before it’s changed forever.” That line stayed with me. Writing captures what memory forgets when life moves too fast. It is more loyal than memory, untouched by time, mood, or company. It doesn’t fade with age or change its shape with emotion.
Of all the things humans have created, writing is a generous invention that allows us to speak across generations. It carries the weight of truth, nuance, and feeling. It preserves not only knowledge but also spirit, what it felt like to live, to hope, to fear, to fight. It remembers.
The story shows how writing opens your life. When the author visited Japan to promote her book, she revealed another side: a foodie. Like writing, food tells a story. To know a place, walk its streets. Ingredients, substitutions, even the shape of a dish carry memory. Like the novel’s leftover soup, where scraps become something warm, rich, and unexpectedly delightful. A dish born of resilience and imagination.
There is still so much more to learn and explore. In this day and age of promo fares, travel is not impossible. Travel can be both education and therapy. The book made me rethink what it means to truly travel, to live slowly in another place, step out of routines, and rediscover the quiet joy of simply being alive. As it says, “Traveling is living in a foreign place… a way of cleansing one’s body and mind, starting afresh.” Understanding a place means more than seeing its sights. It means tasting its food, meeting its people, and learning its language. It is about lingering in unfamiliar streets and learning how another corner of the world breathes.
Along the way, you build quiet, grounding friendships. The kind that asks for little but gives so much. I hope to meet more people like this, whose presence feels like a soft landing, especially when life feels uncertain.
Reading already lets us step into other worlds. And how much more if we hold more languages in our hands? Every new language expands the edges of our imagination. With each one, we become less confined, more attuned, and perhaps a little closer to being limitless.
The novel’s author ended the book with translations of the text. A simple gesture that mirrors the heart of travel, writing, and food alike: to translate experience into something others can receive, something that feeds not just the body but the heart and mind.
So while I’ve often struggled to finish what I start, I’m slowly learning that writing is also a way of arriving. It doesn’t always begin with clarity, but it often ends with understanding. And maybe that’s the point, not to have all the answers, but to make sense of life as it unfolds, one sentence at a time.
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Eveart Grace Claro has practiced corporate law for more than 13 years, with focus on securities regulation and advising publicly listed companies through IPOs and compliance. Recognized as one of Asian Legal Business’ Southeast Asia Top Women Lawyers of 2025, she is also a dedicated hobbyist with a deep interest in history, art, culture and women empowerment.
