The day before the wedding

As I entered the living room, the sight was not one to surprise me, since it was a common sight in Taiwanese houses. These large and tall living rooms, with white ceilings and white tiles, that double as garages or storage rooms are ever so common here. Close to the door, to the left, a large traditional Chinese wooden sofa was facing a very modern LCD TV. To both sides of the sofa, wooden chairs guarded it and enclosed a small table, covered in fruit boxes and greeting cards. Further into the room, a temporary plastic round table and small pink stools waited together with tea sets and small pots filled with Taiwanese wine for the men to start their evening.
In a fancy kitchen, two middle-aged aunties and several young ladies, whom I affectionately call xiaojies, were wrapping individually packed sweet biscuits for tomorrow’s wedding. As I blundered my way saying the only Mandarin greeting I knew, the women stopped in their beehive for a second and unnecessarily switched from Mandarin to Taiwanese, then continued to work carelessly. Although a chopped pig waited in plastic crates in the middle of the kitchen, my eyes were mesmerised by the speed the women were turning a heap of cookies and DIY boxes into prepossessing (though somewhat kitschy) gift baskets. Their prowess made me feel useless and painfully slow. One of the aunties then suddenly noticed me and, captured by awe, stopped working. After one of the xiaojies translated what for me seemed to be an overly-ecstatic mini-rant which also involved touching my hands and my hair many times, I found out I was the first foreigner she saw and that her enthusiasm towards my blue eyes was unfathomable. Not minding my sudden reclusive shyness, she continued with her newly found ritual until the men in the other room found the amusement of the whole experience to be gone and invited me to a cup of Oolong tea from the mountains nearby. I enjoyed the tea that evening. I started appreciating its freshness and bluntness.