Berkley Center

Coming to China has, probably above all else, reminded me of how easy it is to let the world shape not only your views for you, but how and if you share them at all.

In the weeks leading up to my first trip to Beijing, few people asked me what I thought China would be like. I would have had little to say anyways; having traveled abroad to totally new places before, I knew any expectations I had would be woefully ill-informed. Nonetheless, I found that almost everybody had a word or two to share with me about their view of China.

“Bring a face mask.”

“Everybody’s going to try to rip you off.”

“You’re going to be so popular; they love taking pictures with foreigners.”

There were countless anecdotes relayed to me. And of course, there was no way to avoid the hard facts I know about the People’s Republic of China: the government has a notorious history of repressing public political expression, the Internet is highly restricted, and the culture still retains many traditional elements which can silence opposing voices. I remember preparing myself to keep my mouth shut, my head low, and my eyes open as I learned how to comport myself in the Middle Kingdom. I was a visitor, a guest, and an East Coast upbringing had taught me that polite usually meant quiet.

There were certain cultural facets which I noticed first—how people act in crowds (when I asked my Chinese friends how to say “excuse me” in Mandarin, I was offered alternate translations), how people eat (virtually all meals are served family-style), and Chinese invitational etiquette (I literally had to shake my Chinese roommate one evening to convince him that I wanted to eat wherever he wanted to eat). These came fairly quickly over the course of my first weeks, and I was able to adjust easily. Yet, there was one thing which I did not expect to stumble upon at all: the rich expressional culture of China.

Chinese culture is steeped in opportunities to share one’s feelings, one’s identity, and one’s opinion. What’s more, the culture encourages a certain frankness of expression that, while at first unfamiliar, is truly a direct and sincere form of communication. The names of people themselves oftentimes carry beautiful stories; my friend’s name, Chenglu (承潞), comes from a combination of his father’s artistic pseudonym and the word for “inherit,” meaning that his father wants him to inherit his creative legacy. Another friend’s name, Mengting (梦婷), comes from the words for “dream” and the name of a lake in Hunan province, where her parents come from; it means that no matter what success their daughter achieves, they want her to preserve her family’s simpler beginnings. Chinese names are able to express profound and complex identities and dreams at first sight.

My conversations with Chinese people have, at times, taken me aback. A Chinese friend once casually remarked, “You must love (American) football, you’re very strong-looking.” I awkwardly smiled, not sure how to accept the compliment. Another time, somebody overheard a song in passing and shared that they thought it was “beautiful,” with a “moving” melody and “heartwarming” lyrics. My Chinese friends’ colloquial use of powerful words like these are not mistranslations; they are quick to compliment and do not hesitate to express their feelings honestly. It has made me realize that though I may think another person looks strong, I may not tell them, because I worry how it would be perceived—or even because such a compliment may imply my own insecurity. I may think a song is beautiful, but I won’t say so because of how that comment would reflect on me. American society often seeks to express positive feelings indirectly or not express them at all. I have slowly begun to embrace this new, Chinese form of expression; I am trying to be less worried about how my opinions may be perceived, so long as they are honest and earnest.

I do not wish to underplay the nature of censorship or political activism in China, but after years of hearing how people “aren’t free” in China, I’ve learned that they are free in some ways which I was not before. The freedom to share one’s viewpoints, whether political, aesthetic, or merely observational, on the most basic level, person-to-person, is one of China’s greatest surprises for me, and I hope to preserve this candor well beyond my study abroad.