On Taiwan’s baseball glorious moment, its relationship appears to play—and may already be playing—this critical role. Darwin Hsieh notes in his column that sports remind us of our best selves and share the “Taiwan story.” While this story may be idealized, that is precisely the point. Its purpose is not to recreate historical events but to remind us of what we have achieved together and inspire the belief that we can succeed again, even amid disputes, confusion, and challenges.
I want to write this post to the English readers of this blog because this is a critical moment. It all starts with an invisible name.
I was born in 1985 in Taipei. I observed that people here often struggle to express themselves on national identity. While the younger generation has primarily moved past this issue, many older citizens still find it challenging to confront.
We know the hard-won fruits of Taiwan today and aware of the difficulties and threats we are facing at the moment. All three of us are now in our late thirties, living out our faith in our way – going home, staying in Taiwan, and doing what we feel we should do.
A-Bao once talked about it in an interview. Because she grew up in Kaohsiung, the Han friends asked her out of curiosity: “How to count the numbers in the Paiwan language?” She said with a little regret that she could only count from one to seven. One to seven — that was A-Bao’s limit at that time. In the “Mother’s Tongue” album, A-Bao needs to count from one to ten in the Paiwan language in the song “1-10”. So she asked for help from her mother, who is familiar with the Paiwan language. In the studio, when she wanted to confirm the pronunciation, she called her mother, started the amplification, repeated practice until the mother said, “pass.” Repeatedly, step by step, A-Bao finally put back together with the lost puzzles she should have had as a Paiwan tribe member.