Archive for: 2020

五年前, 我开始了一段奇妙的旅程​*
How My Journey with Chinese Has Changed Me 

By: Grace Nwankwo

“​Suyin-ah​! You’ll come back to us next time, right?” Mrs. Sun, or Sun 奶奶 (Granny Sun), called out to me as my classmates and I prepared to leave the Chinese American Service League (CASL) building in the heart of Chicago’s Chinatown. I turned around at the sound of her voice to see her beaming face. She always requested that I called her 奶奶 since she considered me to be one of her grandchildren—we clicked instantly when I met her for the first time. 

Tears pricked in my eyes as Sun 奶奶 asked me again, her youthful eyes glistening as she noticed my wet ones. She was 84 with a heart of gold, explaining her endless compassion towards me. She came up to me, nudged me, and said, “Stop crying, or I won’t bring any more guava candy.” We both giggled as I said my goodbyes for the year. On the bus ride back, many questions lingered in my heart: ​What if I didn’t take Chinese and chose Arabic instead? Would I be the Grace I am today if I hadn’t taken Chinese? ​

Since my first ever class, Chinese language and culture has changed and continues to change me. Chinese has made me a stronger, more open-minded, more communicable, and eager student and person overall. Chinese introduced me to a culturally vivid world and enabled me to share my experiences with other people, which is not often easy to do living in a segregated city. 

Chinese was a match that lit a burning flame in me to learn about our world. My life-changing journey all began in 2015, at my new school had which only offered 2 languages for students to choose, Arabic or Chinese. I chose the latter, but I was apprehensive about taking it. First, I learned French & Spanish in elementary school and was raised in an Igbo** speaking household. None of those languages were remotely similar to Chinese. On top of that, I was aware of Chinese being infamously known as the “language with no alphabet”. I remember thinking to myself, ​How in the world am I going to learn a language that doesn’t have an alphabet? ​However, this fear dissipated when Hu Laoshi pushed us hard to embrace Chinese culture. Our class thought she was quite the teacher. She banned us from speaking English during class and would move our desks to the front of the classroom if she heard a mere ​whisper ​of English from any of us. 

 Nonetheless, it all came from the heart: she truly wanted us to get better at Chinese. She happily showed us videos about 春节 (Chinese New Year), discussed the importance of 高考 (Gaokao) in Chinese society, helped us select Chinese names, and taught us the history of 汉字 (Chinese writing system). The realization that I was falling in love with Chinese hit me as we were practicing calligraphy one afternoon. I found my heart beating in admiration as I looked at the character 水 that I wrote. Hu Laoshi’s fiery passion to teach her students Chinese had worked its magic on me. I realized that I could speak Chinese to my younger siblings (who would just smile and nod as if they understood). I realized that Chinatown slowly became my favorite place, 珍珠奶茶 (bubble tea) became my new favorite drink, 小笼包 (xiao long bao) became my new favorite food, and Period 4 Chinese became my new favorite class. Chinese had my life under its thumb, but I did not complain not one bit. I loved it.

Therefore, I wanted to pursue my interest in Chinese and other cultures even further. Learning about cultures became one of my biggest passions because I saw how it shapes people’s views, actions, and traditions. ​Soon, I found myself enrolling in Chinese 2, then Chinese 3 the following year. Now, I have taken five years of Chinese instead of stopping at my school’s requirement of just two years. I plan to make it six as I’ll take Advanced Placement Chinese senior year. I also want to take the HSK exam soon, earn a Mandarin biliteracy seal, and study Chinese in college. Once I entered 9th grade, I enrolled in the Chinese Culture & Service class held on our colloquium days, where we have a 3-hour class. In those 3 hours, we immersed ourselves in Chinese culture via discussions, movies, and volunteered at the CASL. There, we met and talked with elderly members of Chinese and Cantonese communities, taught them English, made crafts, sang Christmas carols and Chinese ballads, and performed skits. One of my favorite memories from CASL was when one 奶奶 called me her “外国女儿 (foreign daughter)” after I introduced myself in Chinese. She insisted I was Chinese “in my blood” but that I just looked different. I’ll never forget how much our stomachs hurt from laughing.

I loved that not only did we learn about life in China and what values the Chinese hold dear to them, but as black & Latinx high schoolers, we also got to share bits of our culture, ideas, and values (like when we taught them about the Black Lives Matter movement) and other (sometimes shared) struggles that we faced in America.

It was so warming to connect—mending a generational and cultural gap—and teach one another about our differing worlds. 

Chinese also made me push myself to seek more opportunities to learn. I didn’t just stop when I left the classroom. I religiously watched Chinese movies at home without subtitles, quickly jotting down any slang I heard. I would listen to Chinese-speaking artists like Jolin Tsai, G.E.M, and 7SENSES. A bigger example was when I competed in a Chinese speech contest as a freshman among juniors and seniors from across Illinois. I earned second place (silver award) and wowed the judges, who acclaimed me for my fluency. The impact Chinese had on my life was simply amazing: I never thought I would be performing or speaking in front of people, let alone in a completely new language. Chinese had created a NEW me and also became a big part of me. Most importantly, I believe that Chinese enabled me to develop amazing skills, like diligence and perseverance, earned from being a Chinese student. Using these skills, I work actively in my school and outside to spread awareness about China and its rich culture.

Lots of people are uneducated about the diverse beauty of Chinese culture. Most have a fixed, disgusting mindset that Chinese people “look the same” and always wear Asian comical hats and eat rice. And now with the COVID-19 pandemic, whose epicenter was in Wuhan, China, these racist attitudes have further solidified and manifested themselves in physical attacks against those of Chinese or East Asian descent. We’ve even had our president—the leader of our country—go out of his way to call COVID-19 a “Chinese virus”. I’ve seen this attitude harbored in some of my classmates in Chinese. They didn’t even ​try ​to learn Chinese. They insisted that it was useless and ignorantly mocked the language, even in front of teachers. 

A myriad of examples exists of my work to promote Chinese culture to others. For example, I serve as the secretary of my school’s National Chinese Honor Society chapter. I’m always willing to help in class when my classmates need it and have gotten close to a Chinese exchange student named Diana. I also ​help 25 students develop their passions for cultures by being a teacher’s assistant for Chinese 1. ​Since 9th grade, I have been in the Chinese Culture and Service colloquium and have participated in planning and executing my school’s annual Chinese Cultural Festival, full of cultural performances performed by students. I’ve organized stations that taught visitors different aspects of Chinese culture. This year, I was an MC and choreographed a fan dance for my students to perform! The guests enjoyed it, including the Director of the Education Division of the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office of Chicago. After taking a photo with us, he commended our teachers and the planning board team for a successful Chinese Cultural Festival. 

 I’m grateful that 12-year-old me made the right choice of picking Chinese. Because of Chinese, I have blossomed into a new me: I found a new passion, became a persevering student, connected with people—young and old—from across the globe and exchanged our cultural values. Now one day, I wish to walk on the frayed cobblestone of the Great Wall, slurp on Sichuan dan dan noodles, and admire Beijing’s bustling nightlife. I have been touched by the stories and experiences of native Chinese friends and fellow Chinese students and have enjoyed sharing my experiences too. Chinese has given me so much joy, ​an amazing learning environment, and other benefits that I couldn’t imagine finding anywhere else. As I eventually grow up, move cities, have a family, and grow old, Chinese will always be in my heart. Chinese made me into the Grace I am today, and who I will forever be. 

* 五年前, 我开始了一段奇妙的旅程 means in English “5 years ago, I started an amazing journey.” 

** Igbo - one of the primary languages spoken in Nigeria, I come from Nigeria (我的妈妈来自尼日利亚）

The Transcending Power of Cultural Exchange

By: Alana Barry

Though China and the United States lie on opposite ends of the globe, separated by the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, there are more opportunities for us to breach that distance than ever before. 

Looking back on my own experiences with cultural exchange, I realize just how much I gained from them— those experiences hold the potential for us to change and enrich each other’s lives, simply by being and learning together. 

My cultural exchange journey began in 2015, my junior year of high school, when I traveled to China to represent the U.S. in the Chinese Bridge Language Proficiency Competition. Upon landing in Kunming, each competing team was assigned a college-aged volunteer to help with preparations. Our volunteer’s name was Zhang Tingyu, a tall, patient, and funny Thai language major with a love of foreign TV dramas. She took us to visit some of Kunming’s famous tourist sites, and joined us in sampling some delicious local food. We hit it off immediately, and to this day, she’s still my first and best friend from China. After five intensive knockout rounds, my partner and I won first place in the Americas and third place in the world. In the airport, while in line to check our bags for the flight home, Tingyu gave me a postcard she’d written the night before. Even after everything I’d learned in the competition, I could barely recognize any of the characters, especially the Chinese proverb she’d written at the bottom of the card. I looked to her, disappointed, but she told me she knew I’d be able to read it one day. I couldn’t wait to prove her right.  

Over the next two years, I continued to work on my Chinese, graduated high school, and packed two suitcases full of my worldly belongings to prepare for my next adventure. Thanks to the year-long scholarship awarded to me by Chinese Bridge as well as my teachers’ assistance, I was on track to spend my gap year at Fudan University in Shanghai in the fall of 2018. I knew that studying at Fudan would give me the opportunity to understand China on a deeper level, but I was pleasantly surprised when it opened the doors to the rest of the world as well. Before the start of the semester, each student was assigned to a class based on the results of their placement test. The International Cultural Exchange School at Fudan had students from all over the world— Italy, Japan, Indonesia, Thailand, Austria, Réunion, many places I’d never been to and some I’d barely even heard of. Early on, my classmates and I bonded over late-night games of mahjong, group lunches in the cafeteria, and naps on the lawn between classes. Few of them spoke English, so Chinese was our common thread. We shared the frustrations and joys of learning a second language, of having to pull out your dictionary in the middle of a conversation, of finally getting your point across after struggling to find the right words. Because we were all learning, we understood the importance of being patient with one another, and took the time to really listen.  

In addition to my academic experience, my time at Fudan also allowed me to explore a series of extracurricular activities and clubs. The first club to catch my eye was Echo, a chamber choir affiliated with the university. I’d sung in choirs since I was old enough to carry a tune, and a poster outside my classroom advertising one of their concerts piqued my interest. I signed up to audition, and soon enough, I joined the community. At first, as the only foreign member of the choir, I felt like a complete outsider. I remember my first day walking into practice, knowing no one, afraid I’d be stumped by a rehearsal conducted entirely in Chinese. But when the conductor picked up his baton, when we fell into the familiar routine of warmups and sight-read the first few bars of our new piece, I knew I was at home. Echo attracted both undergraduate and graduate students, as well as some who had joined the workforce. Many of the members belonged to several different choirs, and a few were professional singers. Although we were all from different walks of life, we were connected by our passion for creating beautiful music. Through Echo, we sang in Hebrew with the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra in their concert hall, sang sacred music in Latin at St. Peter’s Church to an audience so quiet you could hear a pin drop. After each concert, we always celebrated together, singing old favorites and toasting to the group’s hard work.

 I also joined the crosstalk club: crosstalk, or xiangsheng, is a traditional Chinese performing art, a sort of stand-up comedy steeped in centuries of history and cultural references. The club met weekly to rehearse their skits, workshopping each other’s performances and encouraging the newcomers (like me) to learn tongue-twisters and beginners’ routines. Since we communicated solely in Chinese, practicing crosstalk was both frustrating and exhilarating, much like learning a language. Even the most basic of routines would inevitably contain some number of ancient stories, proverbs, or references that I’d never heard of and didn’t understand. My fellow club members took the time to walk me through each of those trouble spots, explaining them at length not just because they had to but because they genuinely wanted me to understand more about Chinese culture. By the end of the year, my partner and I had a skit prepared for their spring showcase— the first time the club had had international students perform in a show. We’d practiced the script until we were practically reciting it in our sleep. The show went off without a hitch, and we celebrated our success in typical crosstalk club fashion: copious amounts of late-night barbecue skewers. Both of these clubs allowed me to use my Chinese skills, albeit in very different ways. With Echo, I found a community that felt familiar. I was able to meet people with similar musical backgrounds to mine, and share in one of a kind experiences with them. It was thanks to my study of Chinese that I could make it through the audition, understand cues in rehearsal, and connect with my fellow singers. With the crosstalk club, I was able to build upon my existing knowledge of Chinese to explore a new art form that I knew almost nothing about. Beyond just the recitation and the performance itself, I learned more about the history of the art as well as folktales and proverbs. Without the basic foundations of the language, I would have no way to approach this multi-layered challenge.  

 In June of 2019, Tingyu took a few days off work to visit me in Shanghai. She designed an itinerary and took us to places I’d never been, even after living in the city for a whole year. After an adventure to an internet-famous bookstore, we sat on a bench outside, looking through photos from the day. I suddenly remembered I’d brought something, and dug around in my bag for a minute before pulling it out: the postcard she’d given me almost three years ago. We laughed about how discouraged I’d felt when I could barely read any of it, especially the proverb she’d told me was the most important: hai nei cun zhi ji, tian ya ruo bi lin. “As long as one has a close friend in this world, the ends of the earth seem like next door.” 

The distance from my hometown of Washington, D.C. to Shanghai is just under 7,500 miles, and at times the gap in understanding between our two countries can seem vast. But in that moment, I thought about Tingyu and all the other wonderful people I’d met during my time in China. I thought about all the incredible experiences I’d had, all because I was able to study Chinese. I thought about the friendships I knew I’d take with me no matter where I go, and the world really did feel a little smaller. I know I’m incredibly lucky to have had these opportunities. If I could, I’d put everyone in the world on a plane to China.

But in the meantime, I’ll say it once more: cultural exchange changed my life, just as it’s changed the lives of many others. As long as we continue to value and cherish it, it will continue to make the world a better place, one experience at a time. 

This Granny Went to China 

By: Lorna Bergner

The music was blaring, people of all ages and backgrounds were dancing.  I said to my new Chinese friend, “Let’s go closer.”  We joined the huge crowd of people who had gathered in a large circle to watch the hundreds of dancers—in one section many couples were dancing, and right next to that group were lines and lines of people following a leader doing exercises to the same music.  I was fascinated and started tapping my toes to the lively tunes.  My friend said, “Do you want to dance?”  “I would love to,” I said, “but I don’t know how.”  She called to one of the ladies and asked her if she would teach me.  Fortunately, I was able to follow her lead.   

There I was, 65 years young, within a week after arriving in Chongqing, dancing in the public square in Yangjiaping, a major commercial center in that huge metropolis. Prior to my arrival there, I had visited several cities, such as Beijing, Shenzhen, Zhuhai, Kunming, Chengdu and finally, Chongqing.  All along the way, I had been accompanied by someone who could speak both English and Chinese.  Normally, I would try to master a few basic phrases of the local language; however, I landed in mainland China during Spring Festival 2008 on a whim.  The only words I knew were “Nǐ hǎo” (hello), and soon understood that most people greeted me by saying “Nǐ chī fàn le ma” (Have you eaten?).   

During my brief visits to the homes of Chinese families in the cities just mentioned, my heart was completely won over by their sincerity, respect, generosity, intelligence, and desire to be of service.  I decided to stay in Chongqing for an indefinite time so that I could immerse myself in the language and culture of the people.  No longer accompanied by a bilingual friend, I realized that my first priority, after getting a place to stay, was to learn Chinese.  Meanwhile, a local family unofficially “adopted” me, and included me in all their family gatherings and holiday trips to their hometown and nearby tourist sites.  It was Chinese New Year Festival—the Year of the Rat—twelve years ago.  None of the family spoke English, except for the 15 year-old daughter who tried to talk to me using her few words of English.  We managed to convey our ideas through gestures, dictionaries, and mainly heart-to-heart.  On those road trips, I learned “Cè suǒ zài nǎ lǐ?  (Where is the toilet?) 

 With the help of this family and so many other Chinese friends, who I feel honored to call sister, brother, auntie, uncle, daughter, son, granddaughter, grandson, I stayed in Chongqing.  I worked as a teacher of English at a private language school.  I knew I would not become wealthy by working as a part-time English teacher, and I received no perks, such as free housing or travel allowances.  However, because I worked part-time, I had a lot of free time.  I made lots of new friends outside the school environment, friends of all ages and all backgrounds, all Chinese.  Although I met a few Western foreigners in Chongqing, I did not seek their company.  I was in China, and I was immersing myself in that glorious culture and language.  The language being spoken all around me was “Chongqinghua”, a local dialect that I was slowly beginning to learn.  My first phrases included “21 lóu dào le” (arrived 21st floor) when the elevator speaker announced the floor where I lived; the names of the bus stops near my school and near my home; and enough phrases and numbers so that I could bargain effectively when buying food or clothes—one of the most important being, “Tài guì le!  biàn yí yī diǎn’r.” (Too expensive! Please lower the price.)  

 After a few years of smiling a lot and just getting by with my baby-talk style of communication in Chongqinghua,  I enrolled as a student at Sichuan International Studies University, otherwise known as “Chuanwai”, which is the abbreviated version of its Chinese name, Sìchuān Wàiguóyǔ Dàxué.  From 7:00 a.m. to 12 noon, five days a week, I diligently studied Chinese with the expert assistance of my highly qualified professors, one each for Listening, Speaking, Writing and Reading.  At noon, I rushed to catch the bus in order to make it to my school on time to teach English for the next four to six hours.  My evenings and weekends were devoted to meeting up with various groups of Chinese friends, eating out, hiking, walking in the parks.  I practiced speaking Mandarin with them, but they preferred to practice their English with me.  As a student I failed my Writing and Reading classes, and left Chuanwai after one year, having obtained minimal but useful proficiency in pinyin.  I could speak a little Mandarin but with a Chongqing accent, according to one of my friends from Beijing. 

What was my life like in the mountain city of Chongqing?  I commuted to work on the ever-expanding network of metro lines that link every neighborhood.  Some trains follow tracks buried deep beneath the crowded streets and skyscrapers blocking out the sky above.  Most trains seemingly fly through the air along the above-ground monorail lines crisscrossing the city like a giant spider web.  The scenes were reminiscent of images I had seen as a child reading sci-fi cartoons depicting futuristic cities.  I loved my Tai Chi classes in the center of the shopping area near my home, but I didn’t like getting up at 5 a.m. every morning.  I ate out with friends several times a week.  No, I did not go to “western” restaurants, and no, I did not learn the names of the endless varieties of delicious Chinese food.  “Suí biàn nǐ”  I would say to my companions, “Whatever you eat I will eat.”   On the weekends, during a leisurely stroll along one of the main avenues heading to the park beside the Yangtze River not far from the bustling commercial center where I lived, we would stop at a quaint tea shop, sip fragrant green tea, chat with the tea server and other guests, and feel that time had stood still.   

I searched the Internet and made a list of about 50 mountain areas open to the public, which were easily accessible by public transportation—all within a half-hour or up to two-hour travel time from my home.  I called my Chinese friends,  “Are you free this weekend?”  At least once a month for the next several years I climbed about 25 mountains in or near Chongqing.  The other 25 still beckon to me.  What do I mean “climb”?  I followed the lead of the Chinese people around me.  Wear comfortable clothes.  Women can choose practical shoes, such as sneakers, or high heels—both are acceptable.  Wear a hat on sunny days?  Maybe, but using a parasol is preferred by many women, including me.  Walking up and down and over those majestic mountains was invigorating.  We were merely minutes from one of the biggest cities in the world, but were surrounded by trees; we breathed in fresh air, sometimes saw blue skies over our heads, heard rushing waterfalls and gurgling streams.  It was not uncommon to arrive at a temple, some big and impressive, some just an icon set into the rock.  One day, I was having difficulty ascending the steep incline.  I had been climbing for some time, and although there were steps carved out of the rocky slope, I was beginning to doubt whether I would make it to the top.  I stopped to catch my breath.  I glanced up and was face to face with a small statue and burning incense.  I prayed, “Oh God, help me get to the top of this mountain.”  Old men and women, young people and children, passed me on their way up the mountain.  “Jiā yóu!” they cheered me on, “Keep going!”  

 I went to China on a whim, without any plan as to how long I would stay.  With each passing year I fell more in love with the people and their culture.  Last Spring, after more than 11 memorable years of living and learning with my Chinese friends, coworkers, and acquaintances, it was time for me to return to Buffalo.  Fortunately, I found the UB Confucius Institute—University at Buffalo.  I immediately enrolled as a student to improve my Chinese language skills.  Learning Chinese is still very challenging to me, especially reading and writing, but deeply rewarding.   I am sincerely grateful to the Confucius Institute for the opportunity to continue following my passion to learn the Chinese language and also to meet the kind and hospitable group of people who serve the Institute, with special thanks to my teacher, Guō lǎo shī. 

 Many Chinese friends told me that they dedicate a good portion of their lives in order to become proficient in their own language.  Indeed, learning the Chinese language is a lifelong process.  

Even though I began late in life and am now 77, I still strive to learn.  Why?  Because I believe that language holds the key to understanding not just words, but also to understanding what’s in each other’s minds and hearts. 

Learning a language goes beyond the mechanics of vocabulary and grammar; rather it provides us with the means to explore and appreciate our humanness.  As one of my favorite Chinese authors, Lin Yutang, wrote in his book, My Country and My People, “Indeed, the business of trying to understand a foreign nation with a foreign culture, especially one so different from one’s own as China’s, is usually not for the mortal man.  For this work there is need for broad, brotherly feeling, for the feeling of the common bond of humanity and the cheer of good fellowship.  One must feel with the pulse of the heart as well as see with the eyes of the mind.” 

Even now, I struggle in vain to express in my own language my profound gratitude for all the Chinese people who have been a part of my life during the past 12 years, and who, by their kind-hearted offers of friendship, helped me to feel with the pulse of my heart and see with my mind’s eye that we are members of one family, the human family.  

Twelve Hours Apart but Never Alone: The Story of Pen Pals in a Pandemic 

By: Raven Witherspoon

Each day there is a brief window of time, a small overlap in waking hours, when I catch a glimpse of the other side of the world. 

If you told me in January that I would soon regularly converse with someone in Hebei, China I would have laughed. I hadn’t taken a Chinese class in more than six years and I had never participated in a language exchange. I had no idea that a course at my local Northern Virginia Community College would expand my world so meaningfully.  

 I fell in love with Mandarin when I began learning it in middle school. Though it was challenging, I was enamored with the class and crestfallen when circumstances forced me to end my studies prematurely. My high school did not offer upper level Chinese and the classes never fit into my college schedule. Tired of waiting, this semester I enrolled in a community college Chinese course in addition to a full schedule at my home school. 

 This class reignited my fascination with Chinese history and culture. I was paired with two pen pals with whom I completed assignments and practiced conversation.Our arrangement was enriching, but my most impactful interactions with a Chinese student came about by pure chance. One of my pen pals mentioned his friend wanted to speak with an American student but was unable to find a partner. I offered to text him and we struck up a friendship beyond the classroom, completely independent of assignments.  

 Correspondence was difficult at first. We struggled to find time to talk since I was often beginning my day as he was heading to bed. Fortunately, I am a night owl, so we fell into a routine of texting around 9 P.M. and saying goodnight sometime before 2 A.M. Our dissimilar sleep habits were one of our earliest discovered cultural differences, and something we still laugh about. After weeks of urging me to sleep earlier, he explained that Chinese parents are very conscious of the health benefits of sleep and often remind their children to sleep before midnight. We have a running joke that he is like the mature parent though I am three years older. 

Our conversations began with similar lighthearted exchanges, just getting to know each other. We spoke about our classes, our families, and our interests. Sometimes we shared seemingly mundane facets of our day: a candy we loved as a child, the biscuits we baked that morning, etc. One day when I was stressed he asked if I liked pandas and proceeded to send me funny panda videos for the rest of the afternoon. He mentioned the rarity of wildlife in his province and how little he had traveled, so I began sending videos of scenic farmland and fauna from travels with my family. In this way we began trading bits and pieces of our lives. 

“Have you seen this show? I don’t know if it’s available in your country.” “I found it! I love season one so far.” “Do you know how to play Chinese Chess?” “No, but I can find the rules and we can play online together.” We spoke about popular music, sending our favorite songs back and forth until one day he asked me to sing for him. I was hesitant, but then he agreed to send a voice recording of his favorite ancient Chinese poem if I sang a verse of the popular song “可不可以”. We came to know each other by these small gestures, and funnily enough, we have never sent pictures of ourselves. I think we both appreciate learning the subtleties of a person - their musical tastes, their free-time joys -  that can’t be seen in a selfie.  

 Slowly we ventured into new territory. As he shared his passion for history, I was struck by the depth of our mutual desire to learn from it. We both marveled at the juxtaposition of our nations: while his history extends for millennia, my country has existed for less than three hundred years. As a native Virginian, I was stunned when he sent pictures of a book he was reading and I noticed my state’s capitol building—it was about the Civil War. In one of my favorite conversations, weeks later, I shared Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” I explained the context of American white supremacy after the war, and how it still impacts my life as the child of an interracial couple. He listened intently, and shared with me his knowledge of the Chinese Civil War, including the poem “Nostalgia” by Yu Guangzhong. 

As our conversations grew more nuanced and personal, we broached topics that we had not discussed even with friends in our own country. He shared with me the academic pressure he has felt since childhood, the ever-present mandate to perform well on standardized tests and their power to define so much of his life. In turn, I expressed frustration with my country’s growing wealth gap and the lack of federally directed help for those in need. In this tentative but vulnerable way, we have spent hours comparing Chinese and American life.  

Unsurprisingly, we have not had to look farther than current events to note the differences. We understand that our relationship is unique; it is being forged in the fire of an international pandemic that ravaged his home and is accelerating in mine. As a result, we have spoken at length about the relationship between China and America, the trade war, and the woeful state of diplomacy.

However, despite the rising tensions between our countries, our conversations are always tender. 

He always asks about the COVID-19 cases in my state and if my family is well-supplied. I have cheered as schools reopen in his province and he has mourned as the death toll rises while Americans protest protective measures. These moments have humanized us to each other, and modeled on a small scale the potential for deeply impactful relationships across borders.   

It is because of these interactions that we also speak of great hope, of the power of cross-cultural connection and of leaders who prioritize the wellbeing of all people above their own political power. Together we dream of a brighter future for both countries and the ways we can make those dreams a reality. 

This language exchange has encouraged me to apply for the Schwarzman Scholars Program, an international leadership program at Tsinghua University that will equip me to continue building powerful intercultural relationships. Ultimately I hope that this journey will culminate not only in a lifelong friendship, but also in a lifelong career dedicated to uniting amid differences rather than dividing across borders.  

The Great Wall: A Cultural Divide of Two Worlds 

By: Ellen Saksena

A lot of teens are trying to figure out who they will be and find their niche in the world. I am biracial. My mom is Chinese Australian, and my dad is white, neither can speak Chinese. Growing up in a high Asian population, I longed to fit in with either group. Many of my friends were Asian as a result of many of my classes in Newton, MA being majority Asian. I felt white in a sea of Asians. 

 When I drove in the car with my friends, their moms would often speak in Chinese and ask me simple questions in Chinese to test my language capabilities. “Do you understand what I just said?” some would ask. I would reply in broken Chinese; quick fragments which I learned in Chinese class and I was praised. “Wow, your Chinese is good!” 

In middle school, I desired to learn more about the other half of my culture. Among my majority Asian friends, I felt too white but among my white friends, I was too Asian.“Why are you putting sunscreen on? Are you scared of getting a tan?” they asked.  In the lunchroom, the ethnic races seemed to segregate themselves. The Indians all at one table, a few tables for the Chinese guys, and a table for the Korean and Chinese girls. These were the people who I shared the most interests with and the most classes with-the Asians. I didn’t understand why people separated themselves. Why must ethnic groups each have their own table?  

 I wanted to understand my friends and the constant stream of Chinese immigrants who were coming to my school and joining my “Chinese” lunch table. Over the next three summers in middle school, I enrolled in a one-month Chinese immersion camp run by STARTALK to better understand my family origins and friends. There, I met others who also wanted to learn more about Chinese language and culture. The Chinese teachers played Jianzi with us and tried to teach students chants and songs to help us memorize the rules of the classroom.  I bonded with my friends over learning Chinese and brought my improved Chinese skills into my classrooms and community back at school.   

 More Chinese students were migrating to my school and knowing a bit of Chinese, I wanted to help them settle in. My increased knowledge of Chinese culture and language allowed me to connect with them and help make them feel a bit more comfortable moving to America. We played badminton in PE together and they taught me Chinese phrases, their values, and interests. In the warmer months in PE class, they nagged me to put on sunscreen before going outside and taught me KPOP dances in 2016, before it became popular in America. My effort to understand their unique values and interests made them feel appreciated and helped me discover a new appreciation for Asian culture. These interactions also caused me to imagine how interconnected the world could become. My friends from China were not “evil communists,” as the media portrayed, they were people with interests and character.  I wanted to become fluent and visit China to expand my knowledge of language and culture, and to grasp an understanding of political conflicts around the world.

At the end of eighth grade, I placed into honors Chinese 3 for freshman year, but everything seemed to come crashing down when my parents announced the family was moving to Lincoln, Nebraska. 

Chinese culture became part of my Identity. Knowing the Asian population in Lincoln would not be as prominent as in Newton, I braced myself for the change in diversity coming from a school which was twenty percent to new school with a mere four percent Asian population. Let’s just say, I had never seen so many blondes in one room at a time. My questions went from: “Where is Chinatown?” and “Where will we buy our frozen bao?” to “How will I continue my journey to visit China and become fluent?” Without longing to fit in, I wanted to continue the journey for myself.  

 My parents and I managed to find a high school that offered a few Chinese classes. I wanted to make the best of my situation and take advantage of all of the learning opportunities. I was grateful there even was a Chinese class I could take. On my first day of high school, I walked into my level 3/4 Chinese class. My teacher stood by the door to look out for the incoming students and led me into the empty classroom. All of a sudden she started speaking Chinese to me. This was not AP Chinese, right? 你好来来来！(hello, come in!) I would tell you what she said after that, but I didn’t understand her myself. Her words were unrecognizable to me. I stumbled back and had to cut her off. “I’m so sorry, I’m not fluent yet.” This was the first time someone assumed I was fluent in Chinese because I look Asian. She kindly explained her directions in English.  

 Through the next couple of years, I sought out extracurricular speaking competitions to challenge myself and found a program to support students who wanted to study abroad in China. 

Discovering there was a community of people who had a passion for Chinese culture and knowing there were resources available to keep learning allowed me to feel at ease. I began to understand the phrase, “where there’s a will, there’s a way.”  

 I guess I never really understood what it meant to be a minority. Sure I’m half Chinese but I don’t really look Chinese. Back in Newton, even if someone categorized me as Chinese, the large Asian presence sheltered me from feeling all alone as a minority, but here, having black hair stands out. Some people began labeling me as “Asian” and so in the eyes of the majority, I was a minority. Stereotypes were placed on me; I must be smart because I am Asian, I must speak Chinese well because I am Asian, et cetera. In my school, there are so few Asians that every so often, someone will confuse me with another Asian.  

 I realized that there was a difference between knowing and understanding. While in Boston, I mustered up as much knowledge as I could to learn about minority culture but in Nebraska, I began to understand and experienced the frustrations minorities were having in a majority white culture.  We seek to connect with those who share similar interests and experiences. Knowing about both American and Chinese cultures gives me a unique insight. While America is diverse, various disputes between different cultures and nations are prominent. Some people do not recognize or accept other cultures, leaving too much room for misjudgment in America. 

Moving to Lincoln was the point when I realized it was my responsibility to not only be in charge of my learning but also take advantage of my potential to teach those around me about Chinese culture as an ambassador. In a world that seems to be divided by “us” and “them”, I strive to use my skills and cultural understandings to connect people to people.