Can't fit in
20221022 12:50-3:10
A man in black, probably in his thirties, sat across from me on the edge of a planter in the park. After observing for four or five traffic light cycles, he stood up and waved at me before leaving.
Sanitation workers were sweeping along the street. There was a leaf next to me, but they chose to go around me.
The ad director really did come back. He brought me a canned coffee and a chocolate bun, asked how long I’d be there, and invited me for a cup of coffee. I said, “How about now?” And so I ended my sunbathing session with the shelf.
When I left, I laid the shelf down by the planter in the park and wrote in crayon, “If you can fit yourself into a box, tell me.” I included my email. When I came back that night, the rain had already washed the words away.
The physical feeling of “not fitting in”? A painful and sore tailbone.
The director eventually invited me to act in a short film he was working on. I would play a daughter whose father had been partly tricked, partly forced into coming to Taiwan during the Chinese Civil War, speaking entirely in Taiwanese. It was the second time I’d been cast directly from a street performance—the first had been by a Korean director.
I postponed the original performance to the next day. I felt a bit tired but still wanted to get some sun, so I carried a three-compartment shelf I had just put together to the intersection of Nanjing and Linsen roads. Although it was just a few blocks away from the Zhongshan Station, the passersby had a distinctly different energy. I decided to settle into a small corner of the bicycle parking area with my shelf.
Throughout the two hours, I received more frowns and side-eyes than usual, especially from elderly passersby. Most of those who stopped, turned back, or pointed and whispered ultimately walked away, hesitating only for a moment.
Two motorcyclists and two pedestrians took photos of me while waiting at the red light.
During one red light cycle, while I was facing the Linsen Park, the front row of riders all turned their heads toward me at the same time. I guessed someone had said something.
A middle-aged man in Ray-Bans with tousled hair made eye contact with me when he first passed by. After two red lights, he returned. He came up behind me and asked if he could take a photo. I asked if he’d like to write “Can't fit in” on the shelf. He replied, “That’s how you feel, but I don’t think you’re out of place. Can I write ‘I love you’ instead?” I said yes, and he wrote “I ❤ ️U.” He had once worked as a TV commercial director. He asked about my story, saying I looked young, but with eyes that had seen too much. In the end, he wanted to know my name. I said I’d tell him if we ever met a second time. He said he’d take a walk, and if he came back, that would count as our second meeting.
