SAMUEL SKUSE

WugaYan Bamboo Forest, Taiwan

​

At 21, coming out of a messy and emotionally draining break-up, and driven by little other than a desire to settle my parent’s nerves over my constant state of drifting, I got a job selling houses. I was good at it, and for a while I enjoyed it. I always had a vague notion that if I committed myself to a career like my parents clearly wanted, I might do well at it. In my mind, this was it. I liked working in a team, feeling part of something, feeling like I belonged. Sales calls, coffee runs, open houses, commission charts, pre-packaged lunches in my car: this was my life now, and that was okay with me. My parents smiled more when they saw me.

​

The WugaYan Bamboo Forest stretches out endlessly before me, nestled amongst the sleeping mountains of western Taiwan. Leagues of tightly packed bamboo arch over the crude dirt path like pensive fingers reaching into the stillness. My guide Suzie, and her young son Barney, move on ahead, indifferent to the whispering structures that dance above them, until they disappear from view and I am alone. As the gentle mountain breeze hisses tenderly through the snaking jungle, the stems creak and rattle against each other like ancient wooden ships buckling under the weight of some unknown load.

​

Over time, my stock in the company appeared to grow. But the better I did, the more seemed to be expected of me. Each time I reached a goal, a new one was placed ahead and out of reach. I remember meeting after meeting where I was told that I was doing well, but that I was still capable of so much more. I was asked endlessly, “how can we help you improve?” which began to translate each time in my mind to “how can you make us more money?”. The pressure grew into a heavy weight. 

​

The sky is almost totally obscured here, but for the mid-morning mist that leaks through the multitudinous formations – ghostly nebula searching through the forest, interweaving.

​

I was given a pay rise. I forget how much. A company car. I forget which one. Family and friends were excited and happy for me. But the more I was given, the emptier I felt. Days blurred into years. An unsettled energy fizzed inside me like a lit fuse. The water in the cooler tasted stale.

​

Shrill cries of hundreds of wild macaques echo in the distance and with a start, a valorous few rise from the murky depths. They burst through the mist as if propelled from a cannon, moving with strange chaotic elegance like drunken ballerinas. A flash of grey fur, flailing limbs and excitable shrieks. If the bamboo’s incessant groaning is the bass note of this forest’s symphony, the calls of these glorious creatures are surely the melody. They glide through the bamboo and cling to the poles like firemen, navigating the forest as if it were their own creation. Perhaps it was… 

​

One afternoon, I was waiting in an empty house for young couple to arrive for a viewing. I sat at the top of the stairs and watched the rain glide down the window. I found myself thinking, is this what I want? This is what I’m supposed to want isn’t it? A career, money, stability. My parents were proud of me, so why wasn’t I? 

​

Morning under the shadow of the mountain is bitterly cold. By lunchtime, as the beat of the drums from the local temple soars, so too will the temperature. The cold will be shed to a distant haze, and as the sun reaches its zenith my heavy-duty fleece will have been long-discarded. 

​

The couple never arrived. The rain grew heavier. I had wanted to travel after I left school, experience other cultures, see what this earth had to show me. I don’t know how long I sat in that empty house, staring out the window as if in a trance. My phone rang. And again.

​

But for now, the passing waves of icy wind sting my cheeks. I barely notice, hypnotised as I am by the majestic beauty of this swaying harbour. 

​

That evening, staying late in the office as I routinely did, I found myself looking up my Uncle Roger on Facebook. I remember hearing that he had relocated abroad years ago. Where was it? Thailand? No, Taiwan, as his account told me. From his pictures the country looked captivating; luscious and green and begging to be explored. His profile picture showed him stood on the edge of a giant Bamboo Forest. I’d never seen anything so captivating and beautiful.

​

In this moment, there is nowhere but here. 

​

Impulsively, I sent him a message asking whether I could come and stay with him at some point. Unsure of the time difference, and seeing that he wasn’t very active on his account, I packed my bag and went to log off the computer. As I did, a message popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen. 

​

A sense of warm and emotional reminiscence momentarily overwhelms me. I reflect on the journey I have taken to arrive at this Eden. The many paths I have walked before this dirt trail beneath me.

​

Ten minutes later, I was booking a one-way flight to Taiwan for more money than I’d ever spent on anything. As I confirmed the purchase, I nearly forgot to breathe.

​

I remember to breathe.

​

Gathering myself, I press on. I’m aware of the growing distance between my guide and I ahead of me, and at my back all that I am leaving far, far behind. As I walk, bliss flows through me like the seas on which these creaking vessels drift ever on. I will drift with them.