Chinese Compliments: Peeling the Cultural Onion

"A Culture is like an Onion!"

The First Layer: Appreciation ("Your Chinese is so good!")

As I continue to live and serve in Taiwan, certain parts of Taiwanese culture I learned at the beginning reveal themselves to be more complicated than they first appeared.

Years ago, during my previous stay in Taiwan, I felt like Taiwanese people were very generous with compliments. People often commented at how I was good at using chopsticks, how my Chinese was impressive, etc. I felt it was just a way to be polite, especially to a guest in their country.

Another missionary commented once that if your Chinese gets really good, you stop getting compliments. His theory was that people stopped thinking of you as struggling to speak the language and needing encouragement, and simply focused on communicating with you, or even that if your Chinese was really good, they would start comparing you to themselves or other native speakers and not feel excessive praise was warranted.

The Second Layer: Realization ("Oh, it's Just Saving Face")

He may have been right, but I think there is something else in play as well. As I think back on the times I've been complimented, sticking to the examples of using chopsticks and speaking Chinese, there are usually two special situations where someone will most frequently offer a compliment (obviously in many parts of the world if you do something well someone might notice and compliment you on it; I am speaking of situations where cultural factors are more obviously at play):

1) You are a foreign stranger
Compared against the average stereotype of a Westerner, any 'waiguoren' in Taiwan who can use chopsticks without dropping things all the time, and speak even a few intelligible sentences in Mandarin, is already ahead of the curve. The bar is typically very low for anyone who "looks like a foreigner" (ethnically non-Asian based on appearance), so you get a free chance to fly high over it and impress someone the first time you meet them. After that they know you, and will probably tone down the compliments as they now expect it from you.

2) You fumbled
As Westerners the first example makes sense. Meeting someone at your work for the first time and witnessing they're fluent in Mongolian or skilled at origami, a compliment might come reflexively. It might not be so special in Mongolia, or Japan, but outside of those countries, and if they aren't from there, it's the kind of accomplishment that naturally garners some praise.

But in this second example of when people compliment you in Taiwan we encounter some significant cultural differences. For me, it began with noticing a funny discrepancy in the times I got compliments, in that often I felt like it came not at a time when I felt particularly fluent in Mandarin or adept at chopsticks, but when I was struggling. I might almost drop a piece of food, or barely manage to get my brain and mouth in sync to get all the right words out to express myself, and it's right then that someone smiles and compliments me on how good my chopstick skills are, or how good I am at speaking Chinese.

It confused me until I remembered the idea of "saving face" in Chinese culture. A lot of politeness that adults show to each other in Taiwan revolves around helping each other to "save face." It's an inheritance from the honor/shame aspect of Chinese culture which is still strongly influential in Taiwan. Saving face can either be positive (something done or said to "give face" to someone, honoring them), or negative (avoiding words or actions that would cause someone to lose face, or incur public dishonor).

Sometimes that looks like what we're familiar with in the West, trying to help someone get through an awkward moment gracefully to spare them embarrassment, or complimenting them in front of others to build them up, but sometimes it can happen in ways that are surprising, or sometimes even irritating, if one doesn't take the extra mental step of remembering what's going on behind the scenes.

[The Books aren't Always Right: While studying up on Chinese culture before coming to Taiwan, I read in a culture book on the topic of saving face that it was normal for people to not react when something was dropped and broken, and not come to help someone pick up what they dropped, in an effort to save them face and pretend they hadn't done anything potentially embarrassing. I can say from experience that neither of these scenarios are so extreme in Taiwan: a number of people will turn around to look if a dish is dropped loudly in a restaurant (but some will smile reflexively, to cover the embarrassment), and someone will often run to help a person who has dropped things, the one being helped typically thanking them profusely. I don't know if the mainland is different, or if that describes Chinese culture decades ago, but rubberneckers are alive and well in any part of the world I've visited thus far...]

So in the case of compliments, then, they are often not compliments per se, but a polite way to get past the awkwardness of a mistake or struggle in performance.

The Third Layer: Understanding ("I Guess that Actually Makes Sense")

Having realized this, I was tempted to be vaguely resentful: so in the end people were not "really" complimenting me, in fact they were doing something nearly the opposite--acknowledging that I'd messed up. From a Western perspective, it's less like an acknowledgement of merit, and more like whipping out febreeze and spraying it around in the awkward silence after someone has a bout of flatulence: in a sense it magnifies exactly the embarrassment the gesture was meant to cover/relieve.

In Chinese culture, however, there is a tacit collective understanding that mistakes or failings which everyone is willing to overlook or graciously cover for are like the tree that falls in the woods with no one around to hear it. No ears, no sound-no acknowledgement, no shame. Everyone covers for each other, if you have a good relationship with them, and the problems don't exist. (Which is one way that sometimes in East Asian cultures small problems can become enormous issues, but that's a topic for a different post)

A similar situation arises with making cultural mistakes, something I blogged about previously. While I typically want to be told when I commit a cultural faux pas, so that I can avoid making the same mistake next time, my friends might try to help me save face by not saying anything. We therefore have a somewhat humorous impasse: to me, being a good friend is telling me what everyone else already knows so I don't keep acting improperly and being the only one who doesn't know it, and to them, being a good friend means pretending I didn't do anything wrong so that it's not awkward. (Friends who understand you are trying to be a student of the culture and are good at explaining those things are very valuable)

This also explains the observation at the beginning, that as one's Chinese improves, the number of compliments you receive for it diminishes. You don't need as many compliments, because you are making fewer mistakes! Like so many things, it only seems counterintuitive until you understand the reasons behind it.

The Fourth Layer: Responding in Kind ("Do Unto Others...")

In the end, when one begins to become more familiar with the reasons behind the way people act, there is always a choice to be made. You can judge the cultural habit, and decide whether you approve or disapprove of it, or you can judge the motive behind it. In this case, trying to help you save face is definitely a friendly action. It's following the Golden Rule; what they would want you to do for them, they are doing for you. And that's the most you can ask of anyone.

So, one reaches a deeper layer of the cultural onion: learning to understand why people do what they do, and appreciating the good motives behind the action. Then instead of confusion, stress, or resentment, there is gratitude. That is also a necessary step to reaching the next layer down: learning how to help others save face, but doing so in a way that not only corresponds to the culture, but to the often counter-cultural teachings of Christ.

Think about the excruciating extent to which Jesus, as an honored teacher, let alone the Son of God, willingly lost face, allowing Himself to be publicly humiliated and dishonored as far as humanly possible, out of His love for us. 

As He taught us, we must often, rather than saving face, turn the other cheek.

That Time I Almost Fought a Hobo: 3 Stories from Taiwan

Doing ministry in Asia, one encounters all kinds of interesting situations; interesting both because the cultural context is not one's home culture, and because one's reason for living in that culture involves not just trying to make oneself as comfortable as possible "despite" the unfamiliarity, but immerse oneself in it to understand it better. That immersion leads to lots of interesting situations, which are not always pleasant at the time, but those always make the best stories later...

Today I'm sharing three random stories of life in Taiwan.

1. Southern Hospitality

Last summer I was down in Kaohsiung visiting some American friends, and they decided to take me to a certain beach near a university. (The night before we'd climbed a mountain with dozens of monkeys surrounding us as darkness fell and took pictures of Kaohsiung's nighttime cityscape from the Martyr's Shrine, but that's a story for another time) We took a short cut which ended in a locked metal gate, with various warnings about not going that way, but also a very obvious wallowed out spot under the door where everyone had been going underneath it. We hesitated, not wanting to trespass, and asked a Taiwanese man on his scooter whether there was another way. He looked at us kind of funny and said we should just go under the door. Going by his seeming confusion that we would be considering other options, we decided it was established practice enough that we could "do as the Romans." So, we did, and I was happy I'd lost a good bit of weight since getting to Taiwan, as it was not much more than literally a human-sized gap, and not an especially large human.

Once we were through we quickly descended to a nice beach, which was "maintained" by the people who used it. They regularly picked up trash, and had constructed a little walkway down to the beach (from the main road, if you were coming from the opposite direction we had been) made only of driftwood and scraps, which led down from a path that led through some woods and then dense hillside foliage.
There was also an artificial basin that held water from a spring, clear and cold, which wasn't for drinking but could be used to wash the sand and saltwater off. People had also constructed a changing booth and a couple of beachside huts, again from mostly scrap materials, wire, and some boards and bamboo poles, sheltered from the wind behind large boulders/rocky outcroppings. (It was well and efficiently designed; as an engineer by trade, I approved.)

I don't have many pics from the beach, but here's one showing the scrap-constructed walkway

While at the beach we met a Haitian student who'd been studying in Taiwan for a while and seemed to find solace in the beach from her loneliness and culture shock in general. There was also a random streaking incident by a young lady we were told was mentally confused  ("Whelp, guess we'll have to go find her again," said the older lady who'd brought her). There was a pack of dogs roaming around too, but they were not quite wild, more like beach community dogs, who would bark a little but just to make sure you knew it was their beach that you were borrowing and didn't bother you otherwise, but appeared to be greatly enjoying themselves in general.
It was an interesting day all around.

As we were enjoying the ocean (though siltier than usual), we bumped into some students from the Taipei police academy. After chatting with them for a while, they invited us back to a small gathering which had convened in one of the beachside huts. It seemed to be a family and some friends, and they kindly offered us a spot to sit and cold drinks they'd ordered a lot of, not even thinking of accepting payment. Though they spoke on English at all, it seemed perfectly natural for them to have a few foreigners drop by and chat, eat some snacks, and then wander off. (Southern Taiwan especially is like this, I am told) The hut was constructed so that the breeze could easily blow through, yet it was sturdy enough to apparently withstand typhoons (or had been repaired since the last one). We chatted until more people came and we felt we should let them have our seats, then thanked them and took our leave. It was a friendly and laid-back sort of encounter I rarely have up in the hurried north, though sometimes one merely has to get out of the city to find them.

2. Attack of the Belligerent Hobo

Over a year ago now we had our Winter VBS for the community kids. The community center where we held the VBS has an outside courtyard and little park alongside it, a great place for a VBS in our area where community centers are usually small and cramped or share a building with other occupants/businesses.
Having decided to take advantage of some good weather and this outside area, we let the kids go on a scavenger hunt, with a list of things they needed to take pictures of using their cellphones.

Where it all went down..

A couple days previous, a hobo had claimed a spot on the perimeter of the courtyard area. I call him a hobo because that's seemingly what he was; an older man with unkempt hair and beard in old but not filthy clothes, seemingly well-fed and not on drugs, but who was obviously homeless and carried his things around on a large cart. In the US someone noticing a hobo hanging out by a park where kids play would probably fear for their children and call the police, but in Taiwan the police won't come if he hasn't done anything specifically wrong yet (which I think is fair, being homeless doesn't make you a bad person), and also by the time they get there he's easily able to wander off, as he did on at least one occasion when the police did eventually show up to check things out.

They did show up in this case, later on, because he was what I'd call a belligerent sort of hobo. He seemed somewhat bitter, acted like having parked his cart there meant he owned the place, and had no qualms about angrily lecturing those using the playground equipment if he felt they were doing so improperly. He yelled at kids and made them cry for using equipment which was really for adults to exercise on, and when the mom asked him to stop since he was scaring her child, he scoffingly explained the reason the child was crying was not his warning but her own poor parenting.

So as the kids are going on their scavenger hunt, they are mostly skirting the old man but aren't necessarily afraid of him. But one of the items on their list was "dog" and since the old man had two dogs with him, they skipped over and took a picture of one.

"Raaaargh!" -instantly the man jumped up yelling angrily, and began wrestling the camera from the child. I couldn't understand what he was shouting at the kid in Mandarin at first, but as I physically interposed myself between him and the kids, I heard him saying "delete it! delete it!" As best I could make out, he considered the dogs his own property and not a public display, and was offended that the kids felt they could take a picture without asking. Furthermore, he informed me as he calmed down (slightly), after I showed him that I had deleted the pictures in question, he didn't think a foreigner should be teaching Taiwanese kids anyway, as this was "educational failure" according to him. (This was a really great incident to occur right during the most difficult portion of my culture shock adjustment, let me tell you..)

Fortunately (and interestingly) the kids were only briefly startled and not terrified, perhaps since many of them were neighborhood kids and familiar with odd customers coming and going and grumpy old men in general. So "I don't like him"/"He's weird"/"What's his problem" was the consensus, versus the reaction I can only imagine a lot of American little kids would have had in that kind of confrontation, of stark terror. I was probably more shaken up by it than they were, as having to use my limited Chinese to half take, half talk the camera away from him was also a rather stressful language test (Hey, Mandarin pop quiz! Violent-crazy or just crazy?), and at the beginning I was beginning to physically intervene as I thought he might hurt the kids. (And though I was willing to drop him if necessary to protect the kids, being seen as "the foreigner who beat up that old guy" would be a terrible way to start out in this very aggression-averse culture. The really tough cultural hurdles are those when local moral sensibilities like "there is almost literally nothing more shameful than ruffianism like fighting publicly" collide with my upbringing of "if you had to fight someone off to save a child, you did a praiseworthy thing." In a pinch, I'd have to stick to my principles and take the consequences whether I was understood or not. So I'm glad in this case it turned out not to be necessary.)

Interestingly, the nearby moms (of other children in the park, not our VBS kids) stood by awkwardly during this incident and seemed not angry or indignant at the man so much as relieved the publicly embarrassing situation was resolved peacefully. (I'm guessing part of that really was embarrassment on their part, due to the fact that I was a foreigner and that was not a good face of Taiwan to be showing me) The man remained there for another day or two, with more angry lectures (we have a great word for this in English: "haranguing") but no more confrontational outbursts, until people finally asked the police to come, as they'd begun to threaten him to do if he didn't stop yelling at their kids. (He disappeared before the officers showed up, leaving his stuff, then disappeared altogether later) Massive cultural learning experience all the way around. But once is enough!

3. Chinese Mafia Noodle Soup

In the wider community where I live, there are a number of small restaurants, but fewer than in many parts of the metro area. So I was happy to discover, about seven minutes' walk from my home, a beef noodle soup restaurant. These are common in Taiwan, and beef noodle soup is a Taipei specialty, with nearly infinite variations on a few basic types. This place was run by an older gentleman, who looked to be well past potential retirement age.

He greeted me politely and after I ordered, suggested I try the tomato beef noodle soup next time, because "you foreigners all like that kind." (He was being friendly, and I wasn't offended. Nor would it have mattered if I was offended. Some people these days need to take the rhetoric down a notch.) He knew this was true, he explained, because HTC (the Taiwanese mobile phone manufacturer) main HQ is within eyeshot of the restaurant, and there a good number of westerners coming through on business trips who always liked the kind with tomatoes.

I said I might try it the next time (I still haven't, come to think of it, the kind I ordered was so good I get that every time), and enjoyed my meal immensely.

Now, there is a certain table in the back that's the sort of place and angle where I like to sit in restaurants, and I always try to sit there. I haven't yet succeeded, because the owner moves me every time. "No no, that table is too small, please sit over here, it's much better, you can see the TV," etc. Sometimes he doesn't even offer a reason, just apologetically moves me. In all the times I've gone, I've never seen anyone sit at that table, regardless of how many people are there.

Also, as I left that first time, and all the times since then, I've noticed the cook is a man of about the same age as the owner... with arms covered in triad-style (Chinese mafia) sleeve tattoos. I should note that tattoos (at least obvious noticeable ones) are still somewhat culturally taboo in Taiwan, partially due to gang associations. So when you someone in Taiwan of his age with the sleeve tattoos like that, it's more or less a dead giveaway.

 I also noticed that the cook and the owner seemed to be friends more so than boss/employee. So now I'm pretty sure I know what happened...
A mafia higher-up had a dream: He was getting too old for this nonsense, and one day soon, he would quit this life of crime, and open a nice little noodle shop. One of his mafia brothers joined him, and together they retired and settled down in a suburb of Taipei City to make amazing beef noodle soup.

One cannot simply leave the mafia, however, and there is necessarily a certain level of 'business' that still goes on. Those wishing to partake in it signal that... by sitting at a certain table in the back of the restaurant. I wonder if there's a certain dish you have to order. ("I'd like the beef noodle soup with the very special spice.") Like I said, I've never seen anyone sitting at that table, even with the restaurant busy, so maybe one day I'll have the chance to find out...

One reason it's an awesome place: So much meat! Some places only give you slivers

Hope you enjoyed these little anecdotes... Though most days aren't full of crazy situations, it's still true that when you walk out your door here, you never know exactly what might happen by the time you get back...

Walking on Eggshells... Difficulties in Learning Chinese Culture

(Note: None of the characters in this story are based on anyone I know, they merely represent generalizations of situations I've encountered on my path of cultural learning in Taiwan.)

Let us say that you have been invited to a party. You recently moved to a new neighborhood, and you're excited about getting to know your neighbors. You receive the fancy invitation and are impressed, it looks like people here really have style, you'll be careful to make the best impression you can.

Arriving at the party, you enter and are surprised at how warmly you are greeted by the hosts and everyone else present; you've never felt so honored as a guest. The decorations are beautiful and different from the ones in your old neighborhood, and the refreshments are unlike anything you have tasted before, but you decide you like them. This will be great, you think. You did stumble a bit as you entered, feeling something underfoot, but you are too busy meeting new people to notice.

Soon after many polite words the host graciously takes his leave to welcome other guests, and you pass into the main room beyond. At this point you stumble again. You definitely stepped on something. Looking down, you see that it was an egg. Yuck! The shell is crushed beneath your nice leather shoe and there's yolk and albumen everywhere. Embarrassed, you look around. Fortunately no one seems to have noticed.

Making your way carefully to a table, you notice there are no napkins. You ask someone where you can find one. "Oh, please, allow me," they say with a smile, and offer you their own handkerchief. "Oh, no," you protest, "I don't want to use your handkerchief to clean this up, I just need a disposable napkin." But they insist, and you can't figure out a polite way to decline. Thanking them profusely, and deciding people around here must be incredibly nice, you look around, wondering why you couldn't see the egg before you stepped on it.

The floor is clean, though, no other eggs to be seen. You try a few snacks and mingle with the other people, who are all interested to talk to the guest and lavish with their compliments. Soon, however, as you are approaching to shake hands with someone, you feel it again. "Crunch." Looking down, you see your shoe is again slimed by a raw egg you've stepped on. You smile apologetically for the unusual incident, but no one else has changed expressions or taken any notice at all. The man shakes hands with you, and everyone continues the lively conversation.

This seems strange. Turning to one new acquaintance, you motion down at the smashed egg. He gives you a very brief confused look, then smiles and invites you to try more snacks before moving on.
Suddenly you notice something strange about the way he is walking. He seems to be choosing his steps very carefully, as if avoiding something. Looking around, you see that everyone is walking in this way. They must be able to see the eggs on the floor! But why didn't they warn you about them?

In your old neighborhood, there were a few eggs on the floor too. Sometimes they were hard to spot, but there was always a little sign warning people of their presence, or at least a mark on the floor. This way even newcomers could know to avoid them. If they would do that here, it would make things so much easier, but it seems like no one has thought to do this. You think about suggesting it, but decide it would be a little too forward to do at your first party here. Maybe next time.

You still have egg on your shoe, and begin looking for napkins. Still none to be found. You don't want to ask anyone for fear they'll offer you their handkerchief again, but eventually you break down and do so. This time, the person is unlike the others, a little less friendly. He offers you his handkerchief, but seems a little reluctant to do so, as if it's an obligation. You try to decline, but he seems to be getting increasingly annoyed, so you give in and accept the handkerchief. He moves on quickly, and you really start hoping you can find some napkins soon.

As you walk away, it happens again. "Squish." Now you're starting to get annoyed too. You beckon to someone you met earlier, and they come over with a friendly smile. "Are there a lot of eggs on the floor here?" You ask. The person seems startled by the direct question. "Oh, it's possible that there may be one or two," they say, "but you shouldn't worry about that. Just enjoy the party!" You point at your shoe. "Do you not see that I have egg all over my shoe?" They shake their head quickly, not looking down. "No no, I'm sure nothing like that would happen." You can't get much more out of them, so you thank them and continue on.

You need to clean your shoe, this egg even got a little on your pant leg. But you are beginning to think there really might not be any napkins at this party, and you didn't know to bring your own handkerchief.

You notice someone's child standing nearby, and she is giggling at your shoe, clearly because of the egg all over it. It seems rude, but mostly you're grateful someone has acknowledged the egg at all. You motion to her, but she is shy and runs away. Before she leaves, though, she points to a spot on the ground nearby and grins.

Walking there carefully, you nudge the place she pointed to with your foot, and sure enough you feel an egg roll away. Why don't they just mark where the eggs are like normal people!? "If only I had someone to walk around with me," you think to yourself, "they could point out all the eggs and I would know where to step."

You see someone who greeted you when you first arrived, and walk quickly over to ask them for help. As you move in that direction, however, your knee suddenly strikes an unseen obstacle. With a strange sound, a whole giant pile of eggs tumbles to the ground, sending puddles of raw egg everywhere. Some of it gets on the other guests, who give you irritated looks. One or two look outright angry. One of the hosts who greeted you rushes over. "Are you enjoying the party?" he asks, looking concerned. "Yes thank you," you say, "but all these eggs... I'm sorry." The host smiles a little painfully. "Oh, no need to apologize at all, just..." -he lowers his voice so only you can hear- "try to watch where you are going, ok?"

He turns to leave. Almost panicking, you grab at his sleeve. Several bystanders wince. He turns, and now his smile looks very artificial, the duty of a gracious host encountering a painful social situation with all the courtesy he can muster, which to his credit is considerable. "I'm sorry," you begin, "I appreciate the invitation so much and I don't want to be rude, so if someone could please just show me where the eggs are on the floor, I could avoid them and everything would be ok. In my old neighborhood we always marked the eggs, but it seems like here I'm the only one who can't see them." He looks confused. "You are new here, of course, and we are so glad you have joined us tonight. But you know, forgive me for saying so, but this is not your old neighborhood, so we will be very pleased if you can understand some of our rules. One is that it's... a little uncomfortable to talk about the eggs. It's better not to talk about them at all. Please just watch where you step very carefully, but really, what is a broken egg or two between friends? We are so glad that you were able to come."

You watch miserably as the other guests begin scooping up the puddles of raw egg in their handkerchiefs, some even using their suit coats and expensive purses. Some manage to force a smile at you in the process, but others whisper and glance furtively in your direction.

Just then you see an attractive young lady who has already given you an appreciative glance or two headed your way. She smiles at you. "What a mess! I see you are new to our neighborhood, yes?" You nod, and she moves in to whisper. "I see you have found out about our eggs." You feel a rush of relief. "Yes, these eggs, I'm so embarrassed, I don't know where to step. There aren't any markers here." She laughs. "Don't worry, I have lived in other neighborhoods before, I know they usually mark where the eggs are. But here is different, you have to learn to know where they are without markers. We can't see all of them either, but if we can't see them we know where they will be." You sigh. "But how long will it take me to figure out how to do that?" She shrugs. "I'm not sure, some of our guests learn quickly, others never do, they have to bring people with them to parties to show them where all the eggs are, and to clean up the messes they make when they miss one. But why do you want to stay here, wasn't your old neighborhood better than this?" You hesitate. "I don't know, this place seems nice too." She rolls her eyes. "It's boring. I liked the other neighborhoods I visited better. But there's no place like home I guess. Anyway, let's talk about the neighborhood you came from, what's it like there?"

You hesitate. "I really need to know about the eggs, can't you help me with those?" She thinks for a moment. "Actually, since I lived in other neighborhoods for a long time, it's hard for me to teach you how to see the eggs. I even step on an egg now and then myself, but I have a handkerchief so it's no problem." You nod enthusiastically. "Yes! I need a handkerchief, at least that way I can clean up my own messes. Where can I buy one?" She smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry but they don't sell them. Your parents give you one when you are a child, and you keep it your whole life."

You sigh. "You mean there's no way to get one?" She grins mysteriously. "There is at least one easy way."
"What's that?" you reply, eager to find at least a partial solution to this mess. "I can let you use mine," she says. "I don't need it all the time, and I can also help tell you where some of the eggs are." You agree enthusiastically, certain that the worst part of the party is behind you. (And her attractive company is not unwelcome either.)

Soon, however, you realize that all is not well. The girl sticks close to you, not seeming to be familiar with the others at the party, and seems more interested in chatting about the place you came from than helping you meet more people at this party. You also get odd looks from some of the other guests that you weren't getting before. Once the host makes eye contact with you and shakes his head slightly, pursing his lips. You don't know exactly how to interpret any of this, and mention it to the girl. She shrugs. "I don't know, I don't really understand half of why they do what they do here." "But wait," you ask, confused, "isn't this your home?" She frowns. "Eh, I never really liked it much. I loved watching TV shows about other neighborhoods when I was a kid, and began visiting them as soon as I could. So there are some things I never bothered to figure out. It's not a big deal, just ignore them."

As she continues talking, you glance at the floor. There is an egg at your feet! You interrupt her excitedly. "I can see an egg! Right there!" She gives you an impatient look. "Yeah great, anyway, what I was saying-" you don't hear the rest, being too excited about this development. Motioning to someone nearby, you point at the egg. They frown at first, confused, then smile happily and nod. "Yes yes, good job, you are learning."

You turn back to the girl, but she doesn't look happy. "You're weird," she says, "I thought you were more like the guys I met in other neighborhoods. They weren't obsessed with egg-spotting, they just liked to have a good time." You are confused. "Isn't it good for me to learn how things work here?" She is digging through her purse for her phone. "Yeah I guess so. Hey I have another friend from different neighborhood who just got here, so I'm going to say hi to them. Maybe I'll introduce you guys later." She holds out her hand, taking back her handkerchief (which you notice is tattered and in poor condition), and waves as she turns and walks away.

You are a little sad to see her go, but at the same time get the inexplicable feeling you might have avoided a bad situation. Looking around, you see that in front of you is a large, open space of floor. One or two eggs are visible to your newly sharpened vision, but you suspect there are many more. You realize that despite her friendliness, the time you spent talking to that girl didn't help you learn how to see the eggs at all.

Suddenly you notice there is something sticking to your hand. Several threads of her handkerchief seem to have come unraveled while you were holding it. Without thinking too much, you thrust them into your pocket and begin the slow task of making your way across the open floor to a table with even more delicious-looking snacks further on.

You tread very carefully, ready to pause at the slightest feeling of something under your foot. Just then a stranger, seeming to have already had too much to drink, stumbles into you, muttering something insulting about stupid guests not even knowing how to walk correctly. You stagger back several steps, crushing three or four eggs in the process. "Why don't you watch where you're going?" you say angrily, trying to help him to his feet. There is an audible gasp from a couple of bystanders, and everyone averts their eyes.

The host is suddenly there, looking serious. He too ignores the drunken man, who trots away unsteadily breaking an egg or two himself, though no one seems to notice, and lays a friendly hand on your shoulder. "We are so glad you were able to visit us," he says, with a smile that is not entirely convincing, "but maybe you are growing tired? We don't want you to feel obligated to stay if you would like to rest." You are sure he is annoyed and wants you to leave, but you are angry too. It's not your fault there are so many eggs but no one wants to talk about them, not your fault someone had too much to drink, not your fault there are no napkins anywhere. This whole complicated situation could be resolved if someone would just clearly mark the eggs or at least set a stack of napkins out somewhere.

Summoning all your patience and courtesy, you thank him, but assure him that you are not tired yet, and would love to try some of the other delicious-looking snacks before you leave. He looks much less annoyed after you say this, and repeats your words for others to hear. "I am so glad you are not tired, and you are welcome to try any refreshments you like, although we apologize that they must look and taste terrible compared to what you are used to." You shake your head. "No no, they really are delicious."

He pats your shoulder again. "Don't be so polite! Here, let me help you, there might be something on your shoe." Your anger is cooling now, and you feel terrible that the host himself is now having to clean the raw egg off your shoes. "Please, let me," you say, trying to take the handkerchief from him, "I am embarrassed for you to do it." He refuses, and you repeat the offer twice. To your surprise, he then immediately relents, seemingly very relieved for not having to do it. "Alright, although I admit that it is we who are embarrassed by our floor having so many eggs in these modern times. No doubt it is very difficult for someone who comes from a high-class neighborhood with no eggs."

You blink. "What, no eggs? That's not true at all, we have eggs on our floors like you. But we mark them so people can avoid them. Well, most of them." It suddenly occurs to you that not every single egg was marked in your old neighborhood either. But those were the obvious ones, right? The host shrugs. "We always thought our guests must have no eggs, otherwise why step on them here? But it's not important, please, enjoy the rest of your time! Forgive me, but I must visit the sink. You know..." He nods at the egg-covered handkerchief. You carefully hand him back his handkerchief, feeling bad that he must now go wash it. As he leaves, you realize several threads from his handkerchief are stuck to your hand, just like before. You put these in your pocket as well, wondering why the handkerchiefs in this neighborhood seem to lose threads so easily.

You manage to make it to the next table without stepping on any more eggs, to your great relief. There are more people around this table than the earlier ones, and the snacks really are incredibly delicious, though even more unusual and unlike anything you had in your old neighborhood. Eating them there, you wonder if you even would have enjoyed them, if you hadn't had the chance to try some of the other snacks here first. You step on a few more eggs, but the guests are always graciously willing to lend you their handkerchiefs. Like the others, their handkerchiefs are always losing threads in your hand, though they are noticeably in good condition and not threadbare at all. You notice there are several different colors and shades, but nearly all of them have strips or patches that match those that other people are carrying. Strangely, the people back near the door have the most colorful ones, but looking ahead, at the innermost table with the craziest looking snacks, nearly solid-colored handkerchiefs are more common.

Looking back towards the door, you see the girl from before, talking to another guest who looks like he's from a couple neighborhoods beyond yours. He has so much egg on his shoes you can't tell what color they originally were. He points at them and they both laugh, and then she steps in close to hug him, getting egg all over her own shoes in the process. Strange, does she not care? And why doesn't she tell him about the handkerchiefs?

Thinking about this, you don't watch your feet, and step on another egg. This time you reflexively reach into your pocket, forgetting you didn't bring any napkins, and feel something small and soft. Pulling it out, you see that all the threads from handkerchiefs you've borrowed that kept sticking to your hand and ended up in your pocket have twisted around each other and started meshing together; it's starting to look like a really ragged version of one of the handkerchiefs the people here carry.

Stooping down, you begin to clean the egg white off your shoe with the loose web of threads. It's messy and the egg gets all over your fingers, but it's something.

Suddenly, you realize that you know what to do. At this rate, learning to spot the eggs is going to take a long time. But in the mean time, you're going to be borrowing a lot of handkerchiefs...