In a striking demonstration of both tragic determination and ironic absurdity, a group of beleaguered residents of T'ai-pei has embarked on a heart-wrenching journey to Guam—all without leaving their beloved city. Fueled by a combination of travel brochures, Instagram filters, and unyielding desperation, these urban adventurers are embracing the oft-lamented phrase “Home is where the heart is” in a way that nobody has ever intended. The phenomenon began when a grassroots movement, dubbed "Guam, But Make It T'ai-pei!" sprouted in the hip cafes and night markets of the city. Participants, armed with inflatable palm trees and tube tops, have taken to their local streets in a quest for paradise, setting up makeshift beaches in alleyways and turning pedestrian crossings into sandcastle competitions. As the sound of ukuleles fills the air, the nostalgic yearning for sandy shores and balmy breezes has morphed into an urban satirical circus that even David Lynch would find difficult to fathom. “Why travel thousands of miles when we can just rearrange our living rooms?” proclaimed group leader, Mabel Chen, over a cooler of repeatedly frozen piña coladas. “Guam is just a vibe, really. We can manifest it right here! Who needs sunburn when you have a UV lamp?” As the “beachgoers” set forth with sunscreen slathered on generously, the local authorities remain both baffled and entertained. “We thought we were dealing with a new tourist campaign,” said Officer Ling of the T'ai-pei City Police. "But it turns out we just have a bunch of locals pretending to surf in parking lots. It’s the saddest and honestly most confusing thing I’ve seen since that time someone tried to host a ‘real-life’ Hunger Games downtown." Suffice to say, the heart-breaking camaraderie among these urban “travelers” is nothing short of sublime. With picnic blankets blanketed over trash bins and more inflatable flamingos than a local zoo, they have made T'ai-pei's urban sprawl feel like a twisted episode of Survivor: Retail Edition. “I can taste the ocean breeze!” screamed fashionista Andy Wu, while vigorously fanning himself with a souvenir Guam postcard. “Oh wait, that’s just the exhaust from the bus terminal.” The mental gymnastics the participants employ to immerse themselves in this alternate reality deserve a standing ovation. They have puzzled their friends into believing that budgeting for ‘Beers in T'ai-pei’ somehow translates to ‘Mai Tais on the beach’—a classic case of wishful affliction. Friends and family report receiving snapshots of sun-soaked happiness, despite the cold, hard concrete that surrounds them, adorned only by the fractured hopes of an entire city. Yet, beneath the absurdity lies an undeniable truth: this journey is about more than inflatable palm trees and slathering on sunscreen. It’s a heart-breaking commentary on the desire to escape, to find sanctuary in an increasingly tumultuous world that has robbed us of many joys, not the least of which is travel itself. As participants gather to watch documentary reels of synchronized swimming and tropical sunsets projected onto the side of a local bank, a collective silence washes over them as they realize this stark reality: paradise was never as far away as they thought, but it might just be unattainable after all. In a world that encourages the constant pursuit of escape, the T'ai-pei natives have ultimately crafted a poignant satire of their own plight. “Who knew we could feel so much love while wearing flip-flops in the middle of an intersection?” mused local resident Li-Hua, squinting suspiciously at a passing scooter. As the sun sets over the concrete jungle, illuminating their improvised paradise with an almost ethereal glow, these brave souls hold tight to their dreams and inflatable rafts, hoping that tomorrow they can manifest a ten-day all-inclusive vacation that doesn’t involve the daunting task of checking in at the airport. But until the borders open, the party—and the heartbreak—will go on, one ironic marguerita at a time.