Being Chinese | Half a world away from Hong Kong, I had a Chinese epiphany

Growing up, being Chinese was always optional.

I went to an international school, where my classmates and I would come up with endearing labels for one another: “stuck-up debater who wouldn’t shut up”, “athletic, but not very clever”, “class clown”. No points for guessing which one I was. But mentions of ethnicity and faith were occasional at best. At most, there was a divide between “expats” and “locals” – with the former blending gradually into the latter.

My father spent decades working as an “expat” in mainland China on a Hong Kong passport and we had perks. During weekends in Guangzhou and Shanghai, which I grew to love for the greenery, food and historic architecture, I would introduce myself as a “Hongkonger” to locals who marvelled at my carefully enunciated Mandarin, “Your Chinese is really good!”

When I made my maiden journey to Europe for my Oxford interview, I was in shock. It was surprising how pitch-dark it was everywhere by 4pm, and how old everything was.

What hit me the hardest was being in the minority. My fellow interviewees included a couple of Brits, one German, two Indians and several Americans; we made nervous small talk.