A Southerner in the East



A Southerner in the East

By Christopher Campbell

International students studying at Tsinghua University in Beijing celebrate Christmas during a party in 2014

‘It’ll be no problem.” “I’ve been to China before, how hard could it be?”“Bruh, I’m basically Chinese, no worries!” These were the words I was swallowing as I sat in my dormitory room at Tsinghua University, which was occupied by two suitcases and me. It was the second day of what would be at least a one-year stint in Beijing. I was to complete my final year of law school there and potentially seek employment thereafter, but right then, I didn’t know if I’d stay another week.

I had spent the day wandering around in circles, and my Chinese was worse than I thought (having not studied it in several years). The day started simply enough—I needed to register with the local authorities; to do that I needed a student card, but to get that I needed a bank account (to pay fees), and to get that I needed a Chinese telephone number. Thus, after spending a whole day with my student guide (a Chinese student), speaking broken English and Chinese, I ended up with none of these things. Oh, and because I didn’t have a student card, I couldn’t access the Internet. I felt alone and overwhelmed, but I figured I would give it another couple of days.

Indeed several days later, my room was decorated, though poorly, and I had my Chinese phone number, bank account, and a temporary student card (until my program started a couple of weeks later), but I still felt so alone. Not many international students were on campus yet, and my host student wasn’t available since he was studying for exams. I paid my tuition and dorm fees, and was now broke. So there I sat again, alone and penniless, and seriously contemplating pulling out my emergency credit card and booking a flight home.

I mean, I had been to China before, and I did speak some Chinese. However, the last time I came it was with classmates from my undergraduate program. There were always people to help me and rely upon for support, and as I mentioned, my Chinese had become the most basic of basics. This time, there were no familiar faces; communicating was difficult; I was walking everywhere, so I was tired; I had no money, no comfort food or sweet tea. Even if I tried to ask for help with these things, I didn’t know how to start.

But the most gnawing part was the sense of isolation and being alone. I wanted to go home…

A year later, I’m so glad I didn’t…

Had I done so then I would have never:

——Met my wonderful classmates from all over the world

——Snuck into a meeting where I met Mark Zuckerberg (sort of)

——Got a degree from the 25th-ranked university in the world

——Worked as an English teacher

——Worked in two different Chinese law firms

——Discovered my area of practice

——Found some of the best local and international cuisines in China

——Met the girl of my dreams (She’s by way of Macao)

——Improved my Chinese

——Had a life-changing, once-in-a-lifetime experience

——Become a Beijinger.

In short, had I turned tail and run, not only would I have been a coward, but I would have missed out on an amazing adventure. Apparently I’m not alone in this phenomenon. Many expats or foreign students I’ve talked to say they have all had moments when they wanted to go home within first two weeks of being away, but subsequently had no regrets. Though I’m back in the great state of South Carolina (for now), my second home will always be Beijing.

The author is an American who studied in Beijing Copyedited by Dominic James Madar

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