This year's Double Ten design is U-G-L-Y and it ain't got no alibi

 

No, not this. This is actually pretty cool -- it came from here -- and I'm in favor. No, no, the 2024 National Day logo looks exactly like a design for the Republic of China, not Taiwan. It's also an aesthetic monstrosity:

IT UGLY.

If you immediately clocked this as a KMT "Chinese identity" throwback, you're absolutely right. Although I did not actively know that the design committee is organized by the Legislative Yuan and chaired by the speaker, I subconsciously inferred it from this absolute blight on the eyeballs. The legislature is currently controlled by the KMT, so even though the DPP is the "ruling party", this looks like something your crotchety grandpa who shouts that you call yourself Taiwanese because "those 太綠班 brainwashed you kids" would wear on a t-shirt he got for free and wore for the next 17 years.

Maybe it's the subliminal messaging from the giant "H" in the center, that some have already compared to the old Han Kuo-yu bomber jackets. 

Maybe it's the return to the ROC-flag inspired blue and red, or the plum blossom that just doesn't seem to be sitting quite right in the center: I can't quite pinpoint why it looks wrong, but I'll offer a few thoughts on that below. Maybe it's the failure to mention Taiwan in Mandarin, referring to it only in English. 

Just kidding -- it's all of these things. And yes, there's been an obvious design shift based on who runs the committee: 

From here

Seriously, it screams "a government committee designed this", which is exactly what happened. As a commenter below pointed out, it's got big Iron Cross energy, though that's probably unintentional. It's giving "we got super fucked up and watched old Practical Audi-Visual Chinese videos all night". It's giving "Taipei is the capital of Chinese Taipei". It's giving "I fed an AI a steady diet of TVBS for six months and then asked it to design a logo."

Actually, while I didn't feed an AI months of TVBS (not even AI deserves that), I did ask it to generate some designs based on the typical parameters for these logos. Perhaps my prompt engineering could be improved as it kept defaulting to circles, not double tens, but here are a few that made me chortle:

AI seems to show a similar level of commitment to the CCP as the KMT does, but remember, AI isn't sentient. Anyway, I think that thicc-bottomed sun in the bottom left is actually a better logo than the one the government actually unveiled. 

As with the KMT, the AI generator likes big suns and it cannot lie:

Also a fan of the retro zero: 

Artificial intelligence creates even simple characters like 十 about as well as a tattoo artist on one of the seedier Jersey Shore boardwalks who misread the dose on his edible. And yet, it still understands the KMT's secret heart: 

...although I'm not sure why it decided that Double Ten needed to imply beeeewwwwbs.

And this one just looks kind of like a stylized butthole, heh heh:

I'll throw in a few more at the end for your amusement.

My favorite part of this isn't the comment about the giant H or that it looks like the Super Mario warp pipes, it's the defensive commentary from the KMT on a design so many people seem to hate. 

I mean, as a Facebook friend commented, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and perhaps Luftwaffe officers would appreciate the aesthetic. I can think of some dead KMTers with close family ties to the early regime who would love it. But, you know, probably unintentional, right?

Legislative Speaker (barf) Han Kuo-yu called it a "beautiful work" that "carries Taiwan's deepest emotions" -- which is true, if you assume only KMT settlers and their offspring over the age of 60 have emotions.

I also enjoyed this quote: 

Interior Ministry Deputy Minister Wu Tang-an (吳堂安) complimented netizens’ rich imaginations and added that if you look closely, the colors line up with Taiwan’s flag.

He's not wrong exactly, but to see that it imitates the flag, you'd only have to look "closely" if you had glaucoma. 

Wu also said that the theme of 2024's National Day celebrations was "happy birthday to the Republic of China". Okay, but I thought that was the theme every year?

Wu is an absolute comedy machine, by the way. He tied the plum blossom -- a symbol of the KMT, which ran a brutal, deadly suppression campaign for decades under Martial Law -- to "respect for history", and said the blue and red symbolize "different opinions and voices coming together". Sorry dude, but the Republic of China flag that the KMT imposed on Taiwan, which is obvious in the design, isn't known historically for "different opinions and voices". It's known for one voice -- the dictator's -- coming together with his minions and cronies to use the military to disappear, torture and slaughter dissidents. 

According to several sources, the design was created by a team of "passionate young designers". They apparently prefer anonymity, which should surprise no-one. As is common in Taiwan, the committee trotted out "it was designed by a team" to avoid admitting that anyone in particular wasted their parents' money on design school. 

Also, I gotta say, "young designers" created this thing? At some point in my prompt journey I told the AI to make the designs "more retro" and it came up with some ideas that, while very weird, at least looked retro in a cool way. This is the sort of logo you'd see on a mug in your parents' cupboard that you'd immediately donate it to charity. Retro, but it's not a compliment.

Or maybe these designers are indeed "young", if measured on a KMT timescale. You know, the same scale on which Taipei mayor Chiang Wan-an is young (he's 45). 

The thing is, my dislike of the design isn't just because the KMT sucks, the flag is an ugly reminder of a dead dictatorship, and contemporary, democratic Taiwan deserves better than to be forced to swallow a party logo as a national symbol. 

It's also just a bad design. 

I keep looking at that plum blossom, wondering what in the absolute hell is wrong with it. Perhaps the two petals on the bottom and one on top (which is standard) make it look bottom-heavy when it's placed in the middle of that long, slim line. The blue field taken from the ROC flag cutting into the H makes it look off-center, even though I don't think it is. The design lacks balance: this might be the only time I'll ever say that there's too much going on in the left and center, and not enough on the right. 

The whole thing also looks a bit like it's being crushed? Stretching it out on the sides but keepin' it stumpy on the vertical doesn't evoke progress, innovation or the future. It gives "we're trying to expand our influence but are being crushed by the weight of history" -- which I suppose is an apt metaphor for the Republic of China. 

Long 'n Stumpy here also has a certain...je ne sais quoi. Except, oh wait, je very much sais quoi. You could call it Iron Cross, but I'm gonna call call it "I want to take a picture of my junk, but stretch it a bit so it looks normal and less like a chode." 

I'm not sure if the designers wanted the 十十 to look slimmer, or if they were trying to evoke stately columns or...what, but the edges read "serif" and if there's anything that just doesn't work on Chinese characters, even the simplest ones, it's freakin' serifs. 

Personally, although I'm a Century Gothic acolyte, I like a serif in some cases. I enjoy a nice Garamond or Cochin from time to time. I can ride with Baskerville, and if you're looking for something new, Self Modern isn't bad. I don't think they're hopelessly old-fashioned per se. 

But they don't scream "modern and clean graphics" as Wu Tang-an suggests. I see defensive borders, pushing anything new or foreign from the center. Or maybe they're closing ranks, keeping the riff-raff out. A serif is okay in some circumstances, but these absolutely convey the message that the KMT wants you damn kids to get off their lawn. 

That's not even getting into the clunkiness of the design language. It does not evoke. It does not reference. There is no subtle metaphor. It whacks you over the head with a dollar-store baseball bat. It's the difference between the person who references their love of retro sci-fi with hints of chrome and black in their decor, versus the one who hangs a papier-mâché UFO in their living room.

It does not hint at the ROC flag -- there's a literal ROC flag in the motto! Y'know, because the theme is "happy birthday to the Republic of China", which is a totally fresh and innovative theme to have! It's not symbolic of the KMT's Republic of China vision so much as a simple product of it. And I do mean "simple" in the cruelest possible way.

Something about the size, thickness and spacing of the English, compared to the relatively lighter Mandarin is just off. It's too long and fat, which is yet another thing I never thought I'd say. I know that slogans which aren't necessarily sentences sometimes have periods for emphasis, but something about this period feels wrong. Perhaps the phrase is so long that one's brain is tricked into thinking it could be a sentence, but it's not one.

I didn't always love the Double Ten designs created by DPP-led legislative committees. But at the very least they were contemporary. They weren't afraid to look at colors beyond red, white and blue. You could tell someone under the age of 70 had a hand in designing them. With the possible exceptions of 2019 and 2023, if someone gave you a mug featuring one, you might actually keep it. 

That's all I really have to say, so enjoy some more trippy AI designs for "Republic of China National Day". While I like the terrifying birds, the Alien Body Horror Sphere is also rather eye-catching. 

Book Review: Voices from the Mountain

Voices from the Mountain (2014)

Husluman Vava, Auvina Kadresengan and Badai

Translated by Dr. Shu-hwa Wu

Edited by David R. Braden

Recently, I've taken a greater interest in Indigenous Taiwanese literature. One big difficulty is the dearth of such literature that's both available in English and actually in print. It's also crucial not to lump all "Taiwanese Indigenous literature" into one category, as though the writers are interchangeable. All in all, it can be hard to know where to start. 

This is where Voices from the Mountain comes in. Containing excerpts of longer works by three prominent Indigenous writers -- Badai, Husluman Vava and Auvini Kadresengan -- it's a fantastic introduction to Taiwanese Indigenous literature. Instead of committing to a whole novel, you're committing to some of the most interesting parts of that novel, to get a sense of that writer's storytelling style, wordsmithing and the topics they tend to write about.

The only real issue with this is that if you like what you read, the full novel is not necessarily available in translation. It's not really a chance to read more if your interest is piqued, unless you can read Mandarin. As for me, I can, but I find novels challenging and I'm probably not going to. If anyone knows where to get full translated versions of Husluman Vava's Tattooed Face, Auvini Kadresengan's Wild Lilies or Badai's Ginger Road in English, drop a comment below. 

The effort taken to translate these excerpts is commendable, and although I'd have recommended a bit more editing to smooth out some of the rough bits (for example, the odd clause and collocation in the second paragraph of page 64), all three authors were a joy to read. It's not a long volume, making it both a quick read and an excellent choice to throw in a carry-on when traveling. 

Because Voices from the Mountain is a book of excerpts, not a novel, it's hard to review it per se. Each excerpt and author is different. Instead, I'll offer some thoughts on the stories that have stuck with me. I remember Tattooed Face (the first excerpt from the longer book of the same name) most clearly: the characters learn that a person from a different tribe with different traditions is not someone to be feared but respected. We learn, however, that Indigenous communities are not a monolith. Each tribe and sub-communities within those tribes may have their own customs, history and culture. So often, Taiwan is divided into neat little groups: Hoklo, Hakka, the KMT diaspora, Indigenous. Perhaps some include foreigners, mostly Southeast Asian, Western or Chinese. (Yes, China is a foreign country and people from China are foreigners in Taiwan just as British people in the US are). 

But it's really so much more complicated than that. Sure, there are the Zhangzhou and Quanzhou Hoklo, and there are different groups of Hakka (I don't know much about this but I am told that the Hakka community in, say, Meinong is culturally a bit distinct from Hakka communities in Miaoli. But don't take my word for it, I'm hardly an expert). And, of course, Indigenous communities have distinctive cultural and linguistic traits beyond even the 16 recognized tribes. 

Think about it: when I moved to Taiwan in 2006, 12 tribes were recognized. By 2007, it was 13. Several tribes (including Makatao and Siraya) are locally recognized, and several more are unrecognized but claim distinct identity. How can we possibly say that "Indigenous Taiwanese" are one cultural unit when even official recognition is so often updated? 

Auvini Kadresengan's excerpts more obviously follow the same characters, though it was a bit hard to figure out what was happening when. I enjoyed learning about the intra-village dynamics that gave rise to Er-sai's family situation. If you ever had any notion that Indigenous villages were bastions of purity where everyone got along and nobody followed their individual impulses to community chagrin, then please read these stories and wash the eau de sauvage noble out of your perspective.

I've read Badai before, so I know I like his writing style. His plot arc in Sorceress Diguwan was a bit nebulous until the very end, but he's engaging and readable. More than the other authors, Badai's writing focuses on the magic or sorcery aspects of his community's beliefs -- and if I remember correctly, his mother was just such a sorceress. Of these excerpts, The Shaman has really stuck with me. In it, a sorceress's son is in an accident, and she attempts to use her powers to save him, as he is being airlifted to a hospital and attended to by medical personnel. I won't reveal the ending, but The Shaman is a riveting story. It explores how magic works in Puyuma culture, and what the requirements of limitations of practicing it are. By contrasting it with Western (or modern) medical interventions, Badai makes it clear that the ability to keep someone alive through magic is possible in that belief system, but leaves you wondering to what extent that belief is in the mother's head -- or to what extent it might be real, and potentially more powerful than a modern hospital.

I don't actually think this is intentional on Badai's part: we're not meant to wonder, necessarily, if the shaman's magic is real. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I got the distinct impression that this was simply my own interpretation, as an atheist who puts no stock in the supernatural. But you know what else? If I've learned anything about such things after 18 years in Taiwan, it's that you just have to accept there are unknowable things, and ways of looking at those unknowable things that deserve respect.

I recommend Voices from the Mountain, and not only because Taiwanese Indigenous literature in translation is rare enough to find. Even so, on its own it's a worthwhile read for anyone who wants to understand more about Taiwan's Indigenous communities -- their literatures, cultures and histories. 

Deciding on Insides: Lin Yu-ting, gender conformity, Taiwanese identity and me

A scarlet ibis at Taipei Zoo

Even before the Taiwanese media began whaling on JK Rowling for stating female Taiwanese Olympic boxer Lin Yu-ting (林郁婷) is a man, with many commenters falsely believing she is transgender, I was thinking about issues of gender, identity and culture. 

For some background on Lin, I recommend Min Chao's excellent post on Medium. To summarize, Lin is not trans. She was registered as female at birth. The Medium post says she grew up in a single-parent home; Taiwan News says she took up boxing to protect her mother from domestic abuse. She has faced bullying for her androgynous looks. The controversy stems from an allegedly failed gender test at a competition in New Delhi. I say "allegedly" because both the test type and reasons for the failure are reported as "unspecified" and results "confidential", and the athletic organization running that event is mired in controversy and shunned by the IOC. Lin later passed eligibility requirements, including a medical examination in Hangzhou.

Claims that the test given by the Russian-backed International Boxing Association showed Lin, as well as Algerian boxer Imane Khelif, has having XY chromosomes seems to stem from a single Russian Telegram channel. We don't actually know much (anything really!) about the test or its results and I don't exactly trust one Russian official posting on Telegram as a reliable source of information. It's unclear if Lin has elevated testosterone levels, but even if she does, that wouldn't un-female her.

That hasn't stopped the TERF (trans exclusionary radical feminist) squad from dismissing Lin outright as "male". It's not really a surprise: if one's chief goal is isntigating hate, one "unspecified" failed test by a sketchy organization is sufficient fuel for that fire.

It bothers me deeply, however, that refuting the hate directed at Lin forces one to reaffirm that she is a cis woman, implying that the criticism would be warranted if she were trans. That they'd be right to criticize if she were trans, but she simply isn't, or that there's something wrong with being trans. Truly, I don't believe this -- I would not care if she were. I don't think transphobes are blinkered just because they fell for what increasingly looks like Russian disinformation about two women who have never transitioned. I also think they're blinkered because they oppose full human rights for trans individuals.

A fair amount of the media coverage does seem to care; as much as I love watching UDN and others stick it to JK Rowling, I would not go so far as to call it enlightened discourse. I do commend UDN for pointing out that gender is not a binary, and neither testosterone levels nor chromosomes necessarily identify a person as specifically male or female. The article notes that we don't actually know the results of the tests, nor do we know anything about Lin's anatomy or whether she's intersex, and it's wrong to speculate. This is true. They take a non-position on the discussion of transgender athletes, correctly pointing out that it's irrelevant to Lin Yu-ting's career. It's a more thoughtful take than I'd expect from a conservative Taiwanese media outlet, but not exactly standing up for trans rights. 

All of this has snagged on a loose wire in my own brain. I've been thinking about it for awhile, both in relation to Taiwan and myself. 

One person's aphorism can so easily be another's thought-terminating cliché. Think about "wherever you go, there you are". As an adage offering traditional wisdom, it simply reminds us that we can't run from  our true selves. It can easily be twisted into something far more sinister, however: you can't change who you are, implying that your identity isn't yours to construct. Rather, it's decided by societal forces, doctrine, orthodoxy, others' perception of you -- and you must either accept it, or suffer. 

Some time ago, I read a tweet noting that many on the Western left stand up for trans equality and the right of any person to decide on their own gender identity and expression, but those same leftists will turn real pink real fast when it comes to Taiwan -- not giving Taiwanese any space to cultivate their identity. According to some, gender identity is fluid butTaiwanese are Chinese whether they like it or not (just as the anti-trans ideologues insist that your gender is your gender, whether that reflects who you really are or not). Who gets the right to decide who they are (and who doesn't) is thus unfair and arbitrary. 

I don't remember whose tweet it was and can't find it, but if you do, please comment below so I can give proper credit.

As with critics of Lin Yu-ting, such beliefs are based on scant or questionable evidence: incorrect references to international law, extremely biased interpretations of history that excise any facts that don't fit their narrative -- for example, that for most of their reign, the Qing only controlled about one-third of Taiwan, and as a colonial outpost at that -- straight-up wrong incantations of US policy or the Republic of China constitution. These critics demand that Taiwanese be Chinese, because it makes them uncomfortable that Taiwanese would have their own agency, or even just historical facts to back up their chosen identity. Taiwanese who disagree aren't conforming properly to the narrative, so they have to be attacked online, called 'separatists', threatened with execution, told they aren't who they say they are. Treated as less than human, not deserving of full human rights, including self-determination. Anything -- anything -- to keep them under control. Conformed. Y'know, doctrine over reality.

That doesn't sound terribly different to me from the TERF crowd insisting that one questionable test with unspecified results from one extraordinarily shady organization is enough to pounce on her for being "trans" or "a man", when she is neither. As a friend put it in a private conversation: 

"...people want to control gender expression and force everyone to fit into tidy little boxes, and anyone who violates that should be unpersoned in their view. Like, I feel like they're so obsessed over tamping down trans people, that they have to go after any kind of gender non-conformity. Trans people are the ultimate violators of conformity, so they have to engage in this witch hunt until everyone is back under control."

It also goes in the other direction. Some who will defend the right of Taiwanese people to determine their own identity -- politically, culturally and otherwise -- will then turn around and insist that it's different with gender. That Taiwanese have the right to identify as solely Taiwanese, but if you dare to state your reality over their doctrine on gender, or express yourself differently, you're not a person and don't deserve full human rights. 

This is why anti-trans ideology is so strongly linked to white supremacy: preserving the system, the hierarchy, the doctrine, at all costs. Frankly, you can say the same for Han supremacy, and keeping people in tidy little gender and ethnicity boxes is just as much cornerstone of the CCP's Han supremacists as it is to the West's white supremacists. If anything, it's worse. Have you seen the state of LGBTQ+ rights in China? It's pretty bad.

You know what else is linked to Han supremacy? Denying the reality of Taiwanese identity and Taiwan's distinct cultural heritage. For One China to Rule Them All, that simply cannot be allowed to exist. Conform or die. 

I have one more thing to say about this, and it's a little more personal. Beyond simply wanting to be a good person who respects the agency and self-determination of others, this bothers me so much because I, too, needed to have a conversation with myself to decide my insides. 

I am a cis woman, in that I was assigned female at birth and continue to identify as female. I've been told more than once that I am female because I was born female, and that's all there is to it. Something about that has never sat right with me. Since I was young, I have not felt specifically or quintessentially female, although being in a woman's body also doesn't bother me. 

How much of that comes from inside -- my own brain not accepting without question that I am a woman? How much from outside -- society presenting to me various 'roles' for women and ways to present and conform as a woman, none of which I particularly relish? I don't know. It's probably both. I spent years desperately out of love with myself because for far too long, I lacked the lexicon to have a true reckoning between my inside and my outside. 

That's why the trans rights movement benefits us all. Yes, even those of us who are cis. We don't all conform, we don't all feel exactly right in our bodies, or as though we naturally are a certain gender just because we were assigned that gender at birth. I didn't! Thanks to all of the trans people who fought for respect, recognition and rights, we now have that lexicon. Those of us who need to have the internal dialogue now find it a lot easier to do so.

I didn't not want to be a woman, but I also didn't entirely want to be one. I wasn't terribly interested in the expectations that come with it. Not just the sheer amount of external maintenance (diet, skincare, makeup, clothing, general 'ladylike' presentation), but also the life paths I was expected to inhabit. Wife? Okay, as long as he's a feminist (and he is). Mother? No thanks. Person discriminated against because of her gender and its presentation? Girl Next Door? Gawkable Object? Feminist But Only If You're Hot? Fuck off.

There have been times when I would have preferred to have been seen and treated as a man, though that might have more to do with how much more leeway society gives men in general than my own internal struggle to identify and come to terms with my benthic discomfort.

I navigated this as you might expect, from the cropped hair and army jackets of my late teen years to wondering why not being particularly ladylike didn't result in the benefit of a more athletic "tomboy" persona. I wouldn't have minded being fit! There was the rejection of Not Like Other Girls (that's a misogynist trope), but also wondering why Quirky Artsy Cool Girl is only an identity available to the thin and hot. Now that I'm older, even Fun Worldly Bohemian Aunt remains elusive. She remains slender and feminine with elegant poise as she sips her drink in some foreign café and buys one for her underage niece; I fart a lot, have terrible posture and a body more reminiscent of Angry Feminist Cat Lady (which I kind of am), or perhaps Overcooked Pierogi (but I do like pierogies). If I had a niece, however, I'd take her to Italy at 16 and buy her a drink.

Ultimately, I did decide on 'woman', which makes me cis. But it wasn't an obvious or foregone conclusion. I was unhappy because I needed to have that reckoning, and growing societal recognition of transgender and other gender non-conforming people -- a world where it is a little easier than it was before to be who you are -- also benefited me. It gave me what I needed to work myself out. 

I once commented in some anti-trans thread that I'm a woman because I decided to be one, and it's more coincidence than anything that my insides match (well, match reasonably closely) to the gender I was assigned. Someone shot back "no, you're a woman because you were born a woman!"

Which is just another way of telling me that they believe my identity is not my own to decide, they know who I am better than they do, my internal questioning threatens their conformity, their doctrine matters more than my reality, and their aphorism is my thought-terminating cliché -- except I refuse to terminate the thought. 

In fact, as a cis woman, I feel a lot more threatened by transphobes and their followers insisting that women have to act, look or be a certain way than I do by any trans woman, ever. Latching onto "but look, he's clearly A MAN!" (as though appearances and personal judgments decide gender), or unproven, evidence-free claims is bullying. And transphobes love bullying. As someone who's been called a man simply for standing with trans women, even though I have never been a man, it scares me. 

You know what doesn't scare me? Trans women.

And does that not sound quite a bit like the "Taiwan is Chinese! Taiwanese culture is Chinese culture!" people shouting as though they know Taiwan's identity better than Taiwanese people do, or that Taiwanese people have no right to determine for themselves who they are, that Taiwan's refusal to conform to a Chinese narrative threatens their ideology?

This has diverged quite a bit from the discussion surrounding Lin Yu-ting, but it grabbed hold of something way down in the depths of my own self, so I hope this has been as worthwhile for you to read as it was for me to write.

Teacups vs. Plate Tectonics

All of us two weeks ago, on the Buluowan Suspension Bridge, which probably no longer exists

Like just about everyone in Taiwan last week, my Wednesday morning started with a massive shake-up. I sat on the couch drinking my morning coffee with a hefty dollop of doomscrolling and thinking about an upcoming workday which, at 7:57am, was about one minute away from not being a workday at all. 

When the alert hit my phone, my half-caffeinated brain took about two seconds to register that it was not only telling me in English to a coming quake and the need to take cover, but also in Mandarin that it was "significant", with "strong" shaking. I don't know how common it is for alerts to state so clearly the expectation of a major seismic event, but it did give me about three seconds to dive under my dining table and hold on. 

I don't have a particularly interesting story to tell: in fact, the most notable thing about my big earthquake experience is how little I was affected. My clients asked to postpone that day as we were all pretty stunned, and a few cracks appeared in my walls. That's about it. I continued with my plans to go camping the next day, after the organizers of the group confirmed the safety of the site and the tricky road to get there.

Even my teacups survived, and they were adhered to their curio shelf with nothing more than tiny globs of Blue-Tack. This was a particular surprise: one of my thoughts as I crouched under that table afraid for my life had been oh man, those teacups are goners!

Not everyone was so lucky; though no one I know was injured, many others were, and for the rest of the day I watched pictures of my friends' trashed apartments roll across my feed.

And yet, I spent the rest of the day -- now suddenly free to let my mind wander -- in low-grade freakout mode. 

Of course I was worried for Hualien, but this went beyond concern for the welfare of a nearby city. It was something personal; it came from the core. 

These teacups survived the 2024 earthquake

While I crouched under the dining table, my husband (wisely) stayed right where he was in bed, seeing as the frame is too low for either of us to fit underneath it. It was indeed scary to be in two different rooms, able to communicate but not see or help one another. Both of our cats bolted to their favorite inaccessible hiding places; in a truly life-threatening emergency, I would not have been able to grab them. 

Was this the source of my slow-rolling panic attack? Was I spooked that I'd be separated from my core family in Taiwan if the roof literally or figuratively caved in?

That surely played a part, but my gut knew that wasn't the whole of it. 

In Taipei the quake felt like it could have been a real emergency, but in the end it wasn't one. Countless articles have already been written on the surprising resilience of Taiwan, when other countries hit by seismic disasters of similar magnitudes have been devastated. Turkey comes to mind: the Antakya earthquake killed many more. (This strikes a nerve with me as my ancestry weaves through Antakya. I'd been hoping to return).

Or perhaps it's not so surprising: Taiwan also impressed the world with its COVID response, and has built a successful, developed nation despite the world's lack of recognition and the unceasing threat from China.

A death toll that stands at 13 -- though I think it's likely to go up in coming days -- is indeed impressive: like Taiwan's COVID response, it shows that when the country goes through a humanitarian disaster, whether the 1999 earthquake or 2003 SARS epidemic, it learns from it and does better next time. 

Knowing this doesn't seem to have improved my mental state, however.

Perhaps my inability to calm down and face the day stemmed from a trip we'd taken two weeks previously. We took visiting family on a 環島, or 'round the island' journey by train and car -- starting in Hualien. 14 days before the earthquake, almost to the hour, we were in Taroko National Park, navigating the cliff overhangs on the Shakadang Trail. You know, the one where some hikers were killed. We walked on the suspension bridge that appears to no longer exist. We drove over the bit of Suhua Highway that collapsed. Our driver for the day dropped us off at Dongdaemun Night Market to kill time between our day at Taroko Gorge and our dinner reservations; she waited for us across the street from the Uranus Building. 

Was it that? Having been in the exact location of all of these calamities so recently that I hadn't even shared pictures with my in-laws yet? Realizing that I saw Taroko Gorge just two weeks prior to its indefinite closure?

That certainly had something to do with it. It is unnerving to look at a bit of landslid trail or collapsed infrastructure and realize you were just there. But no, that was an insufficient explanation and deep down, I knew it. After all, those who were actually there when the quake happened either didn't survive, or had it immeasurably worse.

Unable to comprehend my own reaction, I sat on my couch, drank tea and stared at my teacups. Almost all of them were Taiwan-made, either by local artisans or a Taiwanese company. Two have a floral pattern commonly associated with Hakka culture (although I'm not sure how accurate the connection is). A few are Japanese and one came from an import store in New York. They're all very delicate, but they've survived up there for longer than anyone could reasonably expect them to. Any number of earthquakes should have brought them crashing to the floor by now. 

I stared at them and dreamed up an alternative reality, or a possible future, where I sit on that same couch drinking that same kind of tea, hearing an alert pop up on my phone as air raid sirens start a horrifying crescendo. I conjured fictitious (for now) Chinese missiles landing nearby. They create more cracks in my walls. My husband is somewhere else; I can't reach him. The cats flee to their secret spots. The cement crumbles, the furniture shakes, and the first teacup is forced free from the sticky tack holding it in place. Then another, and another. 

In this other world, they all eventually tumble and shatter. There is nothing I can do about it. 

It's not quite the same as an earthquake. The missiles are man-made; they're not the result of a natural process. They're not entirely random, and they're not inevitable. Tectonic plates move because that's just what they do. For them to behave differently, Earth would have to be a fundamentally different planet. These missiles I imagined were decided by someone. Earth didn't decide to kill 13 people this past week; it moved because it moves, and 13 people died. But missiles don't just fall on a city; someone fires them. A leader orders them. They are part of a chain of events in which some people choose to kill others.

And yet it is sort of the same as an earthquake, too. In Taiwan, a Chinese attack, like an earthquake, is an ever-present danger. There is little I will be able to do if it happens except dive under my table and hang on. If my husband isn't with me there will be no way to change that.

There's also nothing I can do to stop it from happening in the first place. Sure, someone decides to make bombs fall, but in that moment, what will matter to my life is that, like the earth shaking, bombs are falling.

There's not much Taiwan can do about it either. Diplomacy doesn't work when the other side doesn't keep promises and won't even come to the table unless their counterpart renounces their sovereignty, as China is insisting Taiwan do. Dialogue doesn't work when China isn't interested in hearing Taiwan's utter lack of interest in unification. Assurances don't work when the only assurance China wants -- that unification is possible -- isn't one that Taiwan can sincerely or reasonably offer. 

China will attack Taiwan when it thinks it can win, and no amount of playing nice will change their calculus. Only making the odds of winning less favorable will stop it, and there's only so much Taiwan can do in that regard. 

Like an earthquake, you can prepare, and analyze, and improve the nation's resiliency. A Chinese invasion is not inevitable simply because China could choose not to invade, but sitting here in Taipei, does it matter? It doesn't feel like Taiwan can truly stop China, just as it can't stop an earthquake. If China is determined to start a war because Taiwan can't give it the only thing it wants, there isn't much Taiwan can do to avert it. As with earthquakes, it can only make itself and its public institutions much harder to topple. 

I didn't do anything wrong on Wednesday morning: I dropped, covered and held on when it seemed like it really mattered. Sure, I repeatedly shouted "fucksnacks!" through the whole thing, but that's an understandable reaction. When the shaking stopped, I forced myself to get up, check on my husband, locate my cats' hiding places, survey the apartment to make sure there was no obvious major damage, and start messaging people that we were okay. 

The fear and anxiety didn't subside, though, and I wasn't particularly proud of the fact that all I really wanted was to cower under that table for awhile longer. I didn't want to get up, dust off, check for damage and start communications; I wanted to curl up and hide. That desire amplified the anxiety. Then I started to feel anxious specifically about the anxiety, which made the original anxiety worse. That deterioration led to more anxiety, which accelerated the spiral, and so on.

That's really what drove it: I experienced an almost-emergency over which I had no control. This was as close a taste as I'm likely to get of what it would feel like if China attacked Taiwan without warning. And I did everything right, but I still had a panic attack, and then I had a panic attack about my initial panic attack.

My insistence that I'm going to stay and fight suddenly felt like a hollow gasconade. That I did everything right didn't feel like proof that I have steel nerves, because it was necessary to force myself to accomplish any of it. What if I'm a liability rather than a help because I can't get it together?

That helplessness is utterly terrifying, and it does not matter whether it's a severe earthquake in progress or bombs from some brutal genocidal regime that might kill you.

Like most people who live in Taiwan, I'm always aware of the threats faced by the country I call home. I don't usually let them get to me; a life lived in fear is not really a life. At some point you have to get up, dust off, and go to work. Pay your bills, see your friends, do your chores, do your job, drink your drinks, cook your food, take your trips, read your books, call your parents, feed your cats. 

The Commentariat sometimes fires up this weird narrative that Taiwanese people don't care enough about the threat from China, that they're complacent or ignorant, and thus unprepared. While Taiwan could probably be spending more time and effort on this, the notion that its citizens are blissfully unaware of the looming threat isn't just nonsense, it's a funhouse-mirror distortion of reality. 

People living in Taiwan are aware of the threat pretty much all the time, as they are for earthquakes. But it's not healthy to live in a constant state of heightened anxiety -- that leads to real mental health problems, and I would know. It's also not possible to maintain, and not helpful. 

Living with it for just a day affected my mental state all weekend. Imagine living it every day in a war zone. Some people are living it now, and someone, somewhere, has lived it every single day any one of us has been alive.

Now imagine that, but you're not even in a war zone. You're at the supermarket, or in a cubicle, or in class, hyper aware at all moments that your big bully neighbor could start raining death on everything you love. 

It's no way to live. 

Nobody expects people in an earthquake zone to live in constant fear; they know it pickles the brain. Yet they express surprise that Taiwanese people don't do so as a response to the threat from China. Why?

Taiwan has survived for longer than many thought it would, showing the world the benefits of learning from mistakes and having a plan, as well as taking practical steps so that when disaster strikes and the plan must be executed, it actually works -- Democratic norms, public institutions and civil society must all be robust and well-maintained. Budgets approved, regulations promulgated and double-checked.

These norms and institutions so often seem like abstractions, and the realpolitik crowd would like you to believe they are fragile, easily broken, no real defense against the inevitability of a subjugationist strongman. Yet at least in Taiwan, they appear to be both fragile and surprisingly resilient, at the same time. Teacups can survive an earthquake, if they're well-anchored. Porcelain can stand up to plate tectonics, and win.

I don't know if it's enough, but I suppose it has to be -- for everyone living here including myself.

Taiwancore is the new Japandi

A touch of vintage wood, some plants, some funky ceramics and a concrete wall all add up to a tiny Taiwancore moment

Here's something you didn't know about me but might have been able to guess: I have many hobbies, but when I really need to de-stress by hiding in my home curled up on the couch, I binge-watch interior design Youtube. 

Sometimes it's fantastic -- it's given me DIY and space arrangement ideas I would have never thought of on my own. I've learned that the "pop of red" is a bona fide Thing in design right now, and how it can look good.

Taiwancore includes plants and natural materials but can incorporate mid-century modern design (or imitations of it), smooth hard materials such as terrazzo and even faux leather

It's not all worthwhile, however. Even the more engaging creators pore over the same advice about, say, lighting plans, rug size and curtain length. A lot of it boils down to "elevating your space" by simply spending more money. Do you want furniture and floors that look good and will last? Spend more money on floors and furniture! 

The oeuvre does one thing right, however: I've absorbed quite a bit about different design styles and how to approach them. Take "Japandi" for example. It's a made-up word but accurately describes a warm, minimalist, organic style that finds a connection between the clean lines and pared-down aesthetic that is popular in both traditional Japanese and Scandinavian (Scandi) styles. Both rely on neutral colors and an edited look -- that is, having less stuff -- but can be cozy or incorporate a bit of funkiness, whether that's an unexpected color or, say, twisted tree branches or a big weird vase. 

You know Scandi, you know Japandi, but do you know Taiwancore?

The term describes fairly well the style that many upwardly mobile Taiwanese aspire to: perhaps recently free of the clutter of their parents' homes, which may be stuffed glass-fronted wall units full of things nobody uses, boxes in the corner and plastic where plastic simply shouldn't be, so many people I know in Taiwan want light woods, warm neutrals and fewer possessions. 

Take this popular sofa from the Taiwanese maker AJ2, which I happen to be lusting over. When I talk interior design with students and friends, this commercial seems to capture their dreams. I get AJ2 ads that offer "city living, beige vibes". I'm the least beige decorator I know -- my home office is electric purple and fire engine red -- and yet I want their damn sofa. Which means that their ads are good, and capitalism is inescapable.

AJ2 seems to take a lot of style cues from Muji, which is quintessentially minimalist Japanese and also popular in Taiwan. I don't want to talk much about Muji, however, due to allegations of forced labor in their supply chain. 

Or consider this tour of celebrity Chen Zijian/Retina's (視網膜)'s home. It doesn't just scream Japandi -- it's straight-up Japan. Not everyone wants such a literal interpretation, but incorporating overtly Japanese elements into design is very popular in Taiwan, for both historical and contemporary reasons. 

Taiwancore is fundamentally Japanese, but can include a touch of the weird or out-of-context

Japanese design also suits the Taiwanese environment, not only because there are still many old Japanese-era houses to take as reference points, but because high-quality durable natural materials do well in this climate, whereas thick rugs and particle board don't. There's a reason why maintained or restored Japanese buildings, despite being decades older, can remain lovely and even inhabitable, whereas the junk built by the newly-arrived KMT is falling apart and looks like crap no matter how much work you put into it. 

Taiwancore does not require Chinese design elements, but vintage Japanese and early 20th century elements are major reference points

There's another style in Taiwan, though, that is popular across commercial spaces, from boutique hotels to twee cafes. I would like nothing more than to see it creep into residential design, and perhaps it already is. 

Taken from the recent popularity of interior design buzzwords like cluttercore, Barbiecore and carnivalcore -- as well as their antecedents, such as normcore and cottagecore -- I would like to officially dub this particular style Taiwancore.

But what is Taiwancore? When I posted about it on social media, not everyone shared my vision of what is and is not part of this style. It's not the same as "your grandma's house", because while I can't speak for Gen Z, the Millenians and Gen X Taiwanese I know aren't at all interested in their homes looking like Sunday at Auntie Chen's in Yunlin. 

It's something a bit more than that. More modern, more pared-down, more relaxing and aesthetically pleasing.

What I'm about to say is of course just my opinion about the design elements behind Taiwancore, which is a term I made up, not a real thing in any official sense. I'm not a designer, and I don't speak for all of Taiwan (or any of it, really). I speak for me. 

Perfect Taiwancore: terrazzo, wood-frame furniture, milk and textured glass, big windows, white walls, vintage lamps, plants and a shoe rack. From Sunnyday House homestay in Hualien.

Taiwancore may draw its base inspiration from Japanese design, but it doesn't stop there. I'd argue it's just a bit more cluttered, more reliant on the use of plants, and quite a bit more colorful. 

I would say Tainan is both the spiritual and literal home of Taiwancore, and has the biggest concentration of it. All those creatives who decided Taipei was too dour, expensive, and full of old people with crappy opinions who moved to Tainan to do their thing have really contributed to this. That said, you can find examples of it across Taiwan. For instance, here are several fun cafes and restaurants in Miaoli -- yes, Miaoli -- that embrace the style. (The post is pre-pandemic so I can't guarantee they're all still open).

Taiwancore is more than just a way of decorating that happens to have originated in Taiwan, which can be used to describe the interiors of many popular cafes and restaurants. I'd call it a design style for two reasons: first, it's recognizable and cohesive. There are principles, and you can design according to them. 

Wood, woven materials, concrete, terrazzo, vintage amber glass and a dog: classic Taiwancore, and each has its cultural place.

Secondly, it's tied to Taiwanese culture and identity. After successive waves of colonization over the centuries, from the Dutch to the Qing to Japan to the ROC, and decades of the KMT telling Taiwanese they are merely a subset of some Great Chinese Nation and do not have their own culture, a Taiwan that has discovered itself, taken note of its distinct culture evolved from multiple roots -- which include but are not limited to Chinese cultural heritage -- design elements that may not seem meaningful at first glance actually do carry some weight. 

Tile and polished concrete are such common building materials that of course they'd have an impact on the style. The climate helps the whole plant-based element. That bright cyan color can be traced to its heavy use in the 1950s. Design icons, from blue and white sandals to blue, green and red shopping bags to mullet roe and milkfish, have turned into totems or even shibboleths (in that they are also items in past and current use) distinguishing Taiwan as a cultural entity. 

And, of course, when one looks back on Taiwanese colonial history, and Japan -- as horrible as the Japanese empire was -- seems to have been a better deal than what the KMT pushed on Taiwan -- of course the reasons for the heavy Japanese influence become apparent. Or perhaps Japan left behind so much infrastructure that it's made its way into contemporary design style just as concrete and tile have.

At Daddy & Mommy in Houlong, Miaoli, you ring a temple demon bell to get the boss's attention -- a more intentional connection between design and culture.

Yes, this is culture. Culture is so often too narrowly defined by just a few of its aspects, such as literature, traditional dress, cuisine and music. Those things matter, but culture is better defined as how a group of people make sense of the world in identifiably similar (though perhaps not exactly the same) ways. That includes things like how climate impacts your daily life, how you relate to your living space and objects that immediately convey a sense of 'home' or 'daily life' to those who recognize and use them. It includes how history impacts lives today.

Interior design is an outgrowth of culture -- which you can see in all sorts of styles, from Scandinavian to Japanese to Early American (which in its worst form might be called Coloniawful) to Mediterranean to, yes, British design. How houses are built is part of culture. That American houses tend to use wood frames but Asia has gone all in on concrete is part of culture. That Mediterranean style leans on blue and white but India prefers a rainbow of Dayglo colors is culture. What we put in our homes and why is culture. Intentionally repurposing and restoring old spaces after decades of tearing them down is culture. Taiwancore is culture.

The restored aesthetic at Sun Hong Ho in Tainan, complete with colored glass eight-sided window.

 

Polished concrete walls, textured glass, a pop of blue-green, plants and even a Taiwan map: not your mother's house, but excellent contemporary Taiwancore at Reinstatement in Houlong, Miaoli

It is very vintage-inspired and relies on heavy use of bamboo, wood and woven materials, which in a sense gives it elements of boho style (or, as that word has been called offensive as it comes from "bohemian" meaning Romani-inspired, "global eclectic"). 

This is perhaps a bit too literal (and literally old) for Taiwancore, but the reference points are there

This doesn't mean grandma's deeply uncomfortable cherrywood sofa with the thin, scratchy cushions; nothing can make that look good. But it does mean wood-framed and rattan furniture, old bookcases and curated antique items. Nothing screams Taiwancore more than a vintage or vintage-inspired chair on a terrazzo floor, next to a big window looking out on a slightly wild green garden. On a side table or the windowsill, perhaps there are a few interesting books and a textured ceramic vase.

Pops of color (although colored walls are unusual), terrazzo, wood and a touch of clutter: excellent Taiwancore from Bar Home in Tainan

Other popular materials include terrazzo, preferably authentic or original to the space and polished concrete. The old-style textured glass with bougainvillea or star patterns is prized rather than thrown out (and as a result the cost of secondhand windows has gone from "almost nothing" to "surprisingly expensive").

Polished concrete, even on walls, lends an industrial element to some Taiwancore.

There are other vintage elements that are either key to the style, or could be. Older iron window grilles are very much a part of this style, but I haven't seen those old-style terracotta tiles coming back, but I think they should. The same goes for vintage Majolica tiles, although they sell well in the collectors' Facebook groups I'm in. Majolica-inlaid stools and side tables would work perfectly with this style. Less expensive patterned tiles, however, have seen a resurgence -- commercial spaces, at least, seem at least somewhat more interested in preserving them than tearing them out.

Old style tiles and a Taiwan Independence flag at Chan Shifan, a popular Taipei eatery

Neutrals are a big part of the style, especially considering the use of wood, bamboo, rattan and polished concrete. Linens and undyed canvas are right at home in this style, and can even be paired with, say, faux leather.

That said, Taiwancore can and does include more color than you'd expect. Taiwancore is very good at the "pop of red" and incorporation of blue and white, given the Chinese influence. Green comes in through the profusion of plants, if not in the house, then just outside it. The bright aqua or cyan color I once wrote about is a part of the style, especially when paired with red, but actually seems to be on its way out a little bit: a few years ago, every new cafe seemed to have a false wall made of reclaimed wood or windowpanes, and parts of it inevitably included the cyan color one sees everywhere, especially on old window casements. They're less popular now, but I'd love to see cyan come back in other ways -- paired with red for a more traditional look and eye-catching contrast, or in a more unexpected place, such as textiles. 

Textured glass, pops of color such as red and cyan and window grilles are key elements of Taiwancore

Wood, textured glass, window grille, natural materials in the blinds, and a pop of red: Taiwancore at its finest

In fact, textiles are already a popular way to add color, from vintage '70s knits that use hot pink, green, yellow, orange and brown to contemporary patterns by Taiwan-based companies like inBlooom and Gimgoanheng. While inBlooom tends to feature traditionally Taiwanese designs with a more muted or pastel palate, Gimgoanheng dives straight into color, including a blue/green/red shopping-bag inspired pattern that I absolutely love. Those shopping bags are making a comeback, and I especially like seeing the color palate in new contexts.

The only place where color doesn't often make an appearance is on walls: whitewashed, polished cement or wood paneled walls can all be found in Taiwancore, but not so much walls painted a color. While I'd like to see that change (remember, I'm a "let's paint it electric purple" type of person), I suppose this allows brighter colors in textiles and tiles to be more of a focal point.

Plants are indispensable to Taiwancore, even if they're outside

One could say that Taiwancore is a confluence of traditional Japanese and Chinese design, and in a way it is. I'd argue, however, that you can take the Chinese influence out of Taiwancore -- lean less on, say, the reds, golds and the plants in mismatched blue and white ceramic pots -- but removing the Japanese influence is simply not possible. That Japaneseness can be paired with other things, like furniture that leans more mid-century (in fact, Mid-Century Modern chairs and tables work very well), or accessories that reference Art Deco and the Jazz Age, or a more organic-hippie look (think baskets and creamy canvas reusable shopping bags). It cannot, however, be ignored. '

Taiwancore can include elements of Chinese design, but the vintage elements and emphasis on plants are more central.

Taiwancore embraces vintage dishware, deep jewel hues and unusual or curved shapes -- it's not all Japanese neutrals and light woods

Speaking of the 1920s, I've actually seen more Art Deco elements enter the style in recent years, which might be due to the Japanese influence present in Taiwan in that era, or because Art Deco is regaining popularity now. Some of my favorite restaurants and cafes in Tainan have been leaning hard into brass curves and jewel tones, perhaps through an unexpected pop of peacock blue, or inspired by the green glaze of traditional ventilation tiles.  

A pop of blue, a funky shape, ceramic -- all elements of Taiwancore even in the smallest accessories, like this soap dish.

If you want to break up the neutrals, grass, lime, bottle green or green glaze are all good choices for Taiwancore colors. Any green or blue will do, though.

Again, notice that this isn't exactly the same as simply old-school Taiwanese interiors that you might see at someone's parents' house. You know what I mean: the cherrywood, overstuffed faux leather sofas, scratchy white lace antimacassars, "bunch of stuff" on the coffee table, including some candy and a box of tissues. The heavy beige curtains with floral patterns and perhaps edged with fringe or little puffballs. The tile floors and perhaps even tile walls, even in the living room. I suppose the tiles are easier to clean, especially when the refrigerator is also in the living room.

That is perhaps another, older version of Taiwancore, and elements can be taken from it. Artfully placed blue and white plastic sandals on your (non-tile) floor. A touch of faux leather, but not quite so worn out and overstuffed, and certainly not blue. Perhaps your parents' slightly ugly side table, but without the Bunch of Stuff. Just a touch of clutter: we're not going for perfect minimalism here. Shoe rack by the door -- after all, that's functional. But the decor pieces are more likely to come from grandparents' farm than your parents' place that they decorated in 1982 and never changed.

This advertisement featuring a pun referencing buckwheat milk and boobs is both funky and fundamentally Taiwancore -- not for the pun, but for the art style

Organic shapes are also an under-appreciated element of Taiwancore. Plant shapes are present in the style, from the patterns in bougainvillea glass to the leaves and waves popular in Japanese design. Curves matter too, whether from mid-century style chairs or, for those who lean hard into old-school furniture, tree trunk tea tables, tea trays and wooden baskets.

If you're lucky enough to have a round or otherwise interestingly-shaped window, all the better. If not, embracing geometry also works: a vintage hexagon or octagon window is a nice touch, if you can get it. Stuck with squares and rectangles? I've been seeing hexagon and octagon coasters and trays, too. The hexagon is probably a global trend -- Millenials loved it. Octagons are perhaps more of a nod to eight-sided bagua (八卦) from Chinese culture.

Rattan lends itself well to this; nothing brings in curves quite like a vintage bentwood rocking chair. One of my favorite Tainan hotels has a room that features such a chair. I covet it.

All this to say, Taiwancore is unique, and its underlying design principles -- organic and plant-based elements, vintage furniture, Japanese roots and less fear of color than some design styles -- are identifiable and worth consideration. And while the decor elements one more immediately associates with Taiwanese homes, such as uncomfortable wooden furniture, plastic-topped tables, white tile floors and heavy beige curtains. 

Taiwancore is your grandparents' vintage, not your parents

Unlike those outdated living spaces, Taiwancore embraces color, wood, cool and smooth materials, funky shapes and patterns, connections to the outdoors thanks to big windows and lots of plants, and a reference point that dates from long before heavy beige curtains became a thing.

A colorful antimacassar, faux leather sofa, bamboo blinds and plants at Tainan's Chung Fu Inn (also note the false wall made of white abacuses, because Taiwancore embraces funky elements)

Not modern Taiwancore, but the tiles, plants and Mt. Fuji window grille are all popular elements

A reclaimed wood built-in at Good Food Good Times in downtown Miaoli

Unadorned white walls and neutral woods allow the patterned vintage tiles to stand out, and note the plants visible from the windows at Cafe Kokoni in Tainan

Lime green, old brick and concrete, bentwood chairs, hanging vintage-inspired lamps at Cheng Kang Noodle Bar in Hualien

Don't forget the heaps of plants and the pops of color -- at La Belle Maison in Anping, Tainan

A bit literal for contemporary Taiwancore, but the brich, tile and funky shapes -- from the peaches to the wood elements -- are all part of the style.

Big windows, plants, terrazzo and wood at Daddy&Mommy in Houlong, Miaoli

Brick, plants, wood, ceramic and pops of color in blue, green and red

Red tiles -- I'm telling you, that pop of red -- plants, concrete and an eight-sided door at Reinstatement in Houlong, Miaoli

A big window, plants, vintage chairs and a touch of industrial chic at Follow Green in Tainan

Vintage chairs, wood, old glass, a big door, pops of red and green with a little clutter and a touch of Chinese decor at Cafe Bar in Tainan