To us five years from now. I hope we still argue about the map and remember the Pacific's November hue.
Four fragments we will still be arguing about in five years
The 6 AM Pajama Summit. We stood on the sea-view balcony of Hualien Hai Yue Hotel, shivering in that specific 22-degree November chill. The sun pulled itself out of the Pacific in a seamless blend of slate blue and pale gold, while we debated—with an intensity usually reserved for politics—whether someone had stolen the last of the coffee. "I saw you take it," I remember whispering, the salt air stinging my nostrils as we watched the tide pull back.
The Red Oil Consensus. The steam from the red oil wontons hit our faces in a cramped alleyway, the scent of toasted garlic and old newspapers swirling around us. We fought over whether the spice was too aggressive or just right, our voices competing with the clatter of porcelain. We claimed we wanted "authenticity," but really, we were just three people huddled in the autumn wind, finding a portable home in the shared heat of a plastic bowl.
The Rooftop Reverie. The rooftop bar at Hualien Hai Yue Hotel felt like a sanctuary of glass and wind. I remember the cold condensation on my glass and the way the night lights of Hualien Port twinkled like fallen stars below us. We were in the middle of a loud disagreement about the itinerary, but the vast, dark horizon seemed to absorb our noise, reminding us that the ocean doesn't care about our schedules.
The Waterfront Drift. Our walk toward the Pacific Waterfront Park, where the November light turns a thin, translucent silver, was less of a journey and more of a collective stumble. The wind whipped through our coats, smelling of brine and wet concrete. We spent more time criticizing each other's walking pace than looking at the scenery, yet that friction is how we actually experience a place—not through a postcard, but through the messy reality of being together.
When this memory is opened five years later
I suspect we will forget the room number or the layout of the breakfast buffet, but the lightness in the chest—the one that happens when the city falls away and the Pacific opens up—will remain. Perhaps a scent of salt on a cold wind will trigger it, and we'll realize the trip wasn't about the destination, but about being entirely ourselves while being completely lost.
The sound of the tide retreating over grey pebbles.
- Visit the rooftop bar at Hualien Hai Yue Hotel for the starlit port view.
- Savor the red oil wontons in a hidden alleyway and ignore the queue.