Stepping into a new school can be both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. I have studied at Pakistan Embassy College Beijing (PECB) for 11 years of my life since kindergarten. It was a huge adjustment to join a new school halfway through my high school career. However, Canadian International School of Beijing (CISB) has been nothing if not welcoming and has exceeded all my expectations. The entire community has made my transition incredibly smooth and hassle-free. With its lively environment and dedicated teachers/staff, CISB has now become my second home. The friendships I’ve formed and the opportunities I’ve been given, have truly developed my educational journey and shaped me into a more confident and well-rounded person.

CISB has challenged me academically and helped me exceed my previous limits.

The firm dedication to nurturing critical thinking and problem-solving abilities has facilitated my growth as a learner. The teachers have gone above and beyond in their efforts to promote engaging and interactive learning experiences, especially during the challenging times of the COVID era. They consistently went the extra mile to encourage us to think critically and explore our passions, ensuring that our education remains lively and enriching. The guidance and expertise of our teachers have not only improved my academic journey but have also inspired me to push beyond my comfort zone. Transitioning from studying the IGCSE curriculum to the IB curriculum was a significant change for me. In my first year of the IB program, I was introduced to the Personal Project. Despite my initial fears, I was able to achieve great success in my Personal Project with the invaluable guidance and support of my supervisor.

Beyond the classroom, CISB provides us with a wide range of extracurricular activities, also known as ASAs (after-school activities), which have played a crucial role in allowing me to pursue my interests and uncover hidden talents.

Last year and continuing into this year, I eagerly participated in Stagecats and TEDx, where I had the opportunity to express my creativity and engage with like-minded individuals. I also got to participate in the Girls in STEMM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics, and Medicine) program, which intensified my drive to explore the fields of science and technology. These extracurricular experiences have expanded my perspectives and equipped me with valuable skills and unforgettable memories. Engaging in these activities has not only provided me with communities of like-minded students who share similar opinions and interests but has also allowed me to develop essential skills such as teamwork, leadership, and time management. These opportunities have enabled me to learn from and collaborate with diverse individuals. CISB’s emphasis on creativity, innovation, and collaboration has prepared me to thrive in this developing world.

Making new friends has been an incredibly positive experience. From the moment I arrived, I was greeted with open arms by fellow students who have shown nothing but kindness and warmth towards me. The welcoming environment at school has made it easy for me to connect with others and establish meaningful friendships. Whether it’s during class discussions, extracurricular activities, or simply hanging out during breaks, my classmates have been supportive, considerate, and always ready to lend a helping hand. Their genuine friendliness has made me feel accepted and valued, and I am grateful for the sense of belonging they have created within our school community. Forming new friendships has not only allowed me to build individual connections but has also opened doors to diverse communities of like-minded individuals. For instance, being part of the Girls in STEMM program has connected me with inspiring young women who share the same passion. Collaborating on projects and engaging in discussions with them has been both empowering and enlightening.

Amidst the incredible experiences I have had at CISB, I must admit that I still hold a special place in my heart for my friends and teachers/staff from my previous school, PECB. Having spent 11 memorable years there, the bonds I formed were deeply rooted in my heart.  Whenever I have the opportunity to reunite with my PECB friends and teachers, it warms my heart to see their genuine kindness and the steady support they continue to offer. In particular, my principal has been a source of positive energy and happiness, always expressing genuine cheerfulness in our reunions. Although my new school has become a cherished part of my journey, I will forever treasure the memories and connections I made during my time at PECB.

Images: Zonaira Ali

What’s your name? For third-culture kids living in Beijing, a seemingly straightforward question such as this is wrought with complexity. Names are often the first things you learn about a person, not to mention the first thing you’re taught about yourself. They play a critical role in shaping our identity and the ways we move about the world. As a result, it makes sense that so many of us spend years grappling with that question.

From nicknames to English names through to Chinese names, we asked three Beijing teens to tell us about their names and what they mean to them.

Meet XueFei Liu

I’m often faced with the question: “Do you prefer XueFei or Rosalind?”

To be honest, I used to prefer XueFei, which prompts the obvious question, “Then why did you have Rosalind?”

My reason for choosing an English name was very disheartening. I was so sick of being bullied in primary school for my Chinese name by teachers and students that I decided to come up with an English name. For once, I ignored my parents’ advice. When I was reading Shakespeare’s As You Like It, the name Rosalind called out to me, and I settled on it. Going back to school with an English name made me feel different. People no longer pronounced my name wrong, no longer gave me silly nicknames, nor laughed at my name. So, for four years, I was proud of being Rosalind.

But when I hit freshmen year and transferred schools, COVID-19 forced us into quarantine and gave me time to think. And I started to realize that Rosalind wasn’t that perfect anymore. Walking down the halls with an English name was what I wanted, but it was hiding my Chinese identity. So, when I returned to campus during sophomore year, XueFei started appearing on my tests, reports, and signatures. That’s when it dawned on me. I realized that Rosalind and XueFei are equally important to my identity, and I didn’t need to ditch one part of me for the other. While my papers are all signed with XueFei, my friends and teachers call me Rosalind. Going back to the original question, here’s my answer: I prefer both, and it’s amazing being in the best of both worlds.

Meet TianTian Xu

My name is TianTian and no, I don’t have an English name. TianTian is my English name and my Chinese name.

“TianTian” means “sky sky,” or “day day,” or simply, “every day.”  My parents gave me this name because they thought it would be easy to pronounce in both English and Chinese. But it turns out nothing is ever easy when it comes to names, especially for those of us living between two cultures.

In the US, people hesitate before reading out my name or don’t bother trying. I joined a Zoom webinar-based in the states this year and was the only person whose name was not read aloud with their question. In China, the statement, “My name is TianTian” is always followed by, “But what’s your full name?” because it’s so hard for people to believe my real name would be so simple, a nickname typically given to children.

In international schools, it’s almost expected that you have a Westernized English name. My fifth grade English class in Beijing briefly knew me as Skye, a name that never felt mine. Never underestimate the subtle peer pressure of being the only one in a class of 20 without an English name during rollcall.

But I don’t want to change my name for the convenience of others and to avoid standing out anymore. Just like our identities as third-culture kids, my name falls between two cultures. Blending in was never an option.

It is my choice and my honor to be TianTian, every day.

Meet Tadej Trpkoski

I see my name as a representation of two things: my cultural and personal identity. Both of these things make my name what it is, and a change in either would alter my perception of my own name. The simplicity of my nickname, T, allows me to merge both of these concepts and create a solid self-identity which I am happy with, by keeping a part of my old name inside, and to fit in better with the new people that I meet thanks to the brief structure and simple pronunciation. When moving to a new place, I believe it is important to be able to merge with the new culture that you encounter. While this can’t always be accomplished with a name change, someone who is in my position – having to sort of start over in life and get to know an entirely new world, almost – should switch some aspect of their name in order to fit their foreign status better.

KEEP READING: How To Get a WeChat Name That Doesn’t Suck

Images: Uni You

This article appeared in the jingkids 2021 July-August issue

If you’re a parent of a teen, there must be one question that’s always running through your brain, and that is, “why is my child so illogical?” Written from a teen’s point of view, I’m hoping to tackle precisely this question. This essay will summarize what a teen thinks versus what you might feel a teen thinks. Does this sound complicated? Well, it is! I’ve interviewed a lot of people to help me prove my theories, and they have given me a lot of similar answers, but it all comes down to two big points; what we think, versus what we do.

  “Treat your teen as an adult!” This is definitely not the first time that you’ve heard this statement. But, I’m here to say that this might not always be the best idea. As a teen myself, I want to be treated with respect, I want my ideas to be heard, and I want to be taken seriously. Many people interpret these needs in their own way and assume that it means that we want to be treated as adults, but this isn’t necessarily true. But part of the journey towards becoming an adult is gaining more responsibility and trust; after all, for teens, adulthood is just around the corner.

We want to act like adults, but since our sense of maturity hasn’t fully developed, there really isn’t much that we can do about it. So, if you the parent try to treat us this way (expecting us to act beyond our age), you’re going to get disappointed by the results, and this will also likely cause us more anxiety than we are already experiencing in these developmental years.

It is also worth mentioning that in China, many people compare their children to other kids in school, and even to other geniuses they might encounter in the news or through social media. These comparisons are also a source of extreme pressure that ultimately pushes us away.

Our anxiety to act like adults is now also affecting the way we treat other people. In some ways, adults are representative of being able to problem solve and being the pinnacle of maturity. After some interviews with adults, I’ve concluded that they don’t express themselves often and even when they do, they do so in short sentences because efficiency is needed. Every word counts! That’s what also leads to some teens becoming impatient themselves. They also want to solve problems as quickly as possible, just like an adult.

We know that adults do certain things for our own good; this is another commonly used trope. But, we also want problems to be solved with high efficiency since we have so much to do in our lives but still haven’t been endowed with the necessary means of expressing ourselves. This might cause us to sometimes have an undesirable “do whatever you want” mentality, which can be taken negatively. But you have to keep in mind that we’re actually not trying to upset you, but instead trying to solve these conflicts as quickly as possible and we forget how to sound cooperative.

Just like adults, we need to be understood and tolerated. If parents, at this point in time, keep on labeling teens as “illogical,” “troubling,” or “emotional,” there’s going to be a higher chance of your teenager not wanting to communicate with you at all, or even worse always asking for your help to solve their problems instead of acting independently.

There is no one specific group that is impervious to life’s pressures, just like everyone can get sick. We want to stop talking and start working, and that’s why we sometimes end up communicating with a bad tone. Sometimes parents just need to let go a bit and let us do our own thing and be confident that we can do it, even if we stumble along the way. It could be a win-win situation for future communication between the ages.

Finding the balance between autonomy and overparenting is also very important. Some teens like me, need to be treated with respect and freedom. Adults get to decide for themselves, so we should also be able to gradually do the same. International schools do an excellent job of letting us choose our electives, and we appreciate it. Parents should also be able to let us exercise choice. Of course, there should be boundaries in what we can and cannot do, but inside that box, there should be enough freedom to let us breathe and grow. Not enough freedom makes us feel pressured, and most importantly, when we get used to these styles of over-parenting, we might lose the ability to make decisions altogether.

A friend of mine in Grade 7 has her schedule filled up with all sorts of classes. So much so that she has zero opportunities to be social. She has never traveled abroad. The only place she’s been to on vacation is Xi’an. I am shocked by her lack of social experiences, and whenever she needs to choose her electives and should have the freedom to make these choices, her mom is always involved. This is preventing her from maturing and being able to discover more about herself by developing her ability to make decisions.

Parents need to let us make decisions, not because it makes us happy, but more importantly, it’s an opportunity for us to develop. One day we will leave, and be on our own. We might be at the top of our fields, making billions of bucks per year, but if we can’t decide for ourselves and have no hobbies, are we just going to spend the rest of our lives lying to ourselves in that coveted corner office? Where should we spend our weekends and holidays? What should we do when we get old? Is there anything more important than being able to organize our own time and being able to live life the way we want?

It’s essential for us to learn how to stand up for ourselves and do what we want, but parents, please also know that we’re still kids, that we still need your help in teaching us how to deal with relationships between people and how to solve problems. Please guide us, and not just plan for us. We need a road map for this journey, and if we don’t get lost a few times, we can’t learn anything. These teenage years are a time for us to start reaching for our own life, and for you to slowly let us into the driver’s seat.

This article appeared in the beijingkids July-August 2019 Teen Takeover issue

Photo: Adobe Stock

At some point in our lives, we reach a time where we have to decide on a new home. That time came for me last fall, when I began applying for college. The difficulty of the process made me realize that my designated home for the next four years would have to be an optimal space for me to share with what I have come to embrace as my metaphysical home— literature.

Logically, the obvious choice for a prospective English major is a college renowned for its excellence in the humanities. However, I instead chose Stanford University, a campus known for its technological innovations, as my first choice. My reasons for deciding that Stanford was the most suitable for me to develop my literary skills trace back to my childhood adventures with books, which lured me into the English language in the first place.

Believing that I was of a mathematical lineage (my grandparents and my parents all majored in fields affiliated with math), my mother encouraged me to read from a very young age to ensure that I didn’t develop an “aversion to fiction” as she had. Though this originated from a somewhat comical worry, this notion of my mother to give me a balanced education sustained me through my academic endeavors. Ironically, contrary to my mother’s fears, I ended up becoming a literature nerd.

When I moved to North Carolina in the third grade, between my mother’s aggressive shopping at Scholastic Book Fairs and my school’s Accelerated Reading system that rewarded me with increasingly fabulous toys when I read more books, I fell in love with reading. I found myself lost in the fantastic worlds of Harry Potter and Ramona Quimby. Feeding off this fiction to build myself a better reality, my imagination flourished.

In my childhood craze, the guest room became a den for Lionblaze, Jayfeather, and Hollyleaf from Warriors, our patio became the throne upon which Zeus ruled the heavens, and the one-hour recesses at school became a ten-page chapter in the grown-up lives of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Those two years were simpler times that I had with books, when they merely supplemented my daily routine with doses of amusement and adventure, before I relied on them for solace and much-needed consistency.

I moved back to China for 5th grade. My liaisons with books gained an intensity that started evolving into dependency. Back in China, I realized that the essential parts of my identity were developed under American values, values that had begun eroding in a different society under a different culture. Books supported me through my transition between the two countries. When I had lost a sense of where “home” was and what culture I identified with the most, I constructed a permanent home out of my books.

This conceptual home directed me to my new home at Stanford. Many of the activities that I ended up writing about in my application essays I did to gain intimacy with literature. Wanting to build a haven for kids like my younger self, who craved the space and freedom to browse through shelves of English books, I founded the Minted Library, an English children’s library, where children could volunteer and are encouraged to help each other discover interesting new books. To dive deeper into academia and examine literature from more than a commercial point of view, I conducted research on the morality of using violence to induce aesthetic pleasure in readers, evaluating the role literature plays in constructing the values of a society.

During my increasing obsession with literature, my mother, now feeling that I was straying farther and farther away from my heritage, swooped in repeatedly to prevent me from becoming completely inept in math. Thus, at the same time that I took online courses in literature and composition, I participated in online creative problem-solving forums and entered math competitions (although I failed miserably).

Despite the obvious disparity in my passion for math and literature, I put in enough effort to do well in math and gain an appreciation for the mystery of numeric connections. In a chase for the adrenaline rush of solving a problem and keeping in mind my mother’s principle of balance, I chose Discrete Math (the hardest course in my curriculum and a prerequisite for Computer Science) for my Senior-year math course. In the maze of logical equations and proofs, I found that my literary skills were a crutch. My experience with words, from arranging debate arguments to writing essays interpreting literary works, helped me develop a way of thinking that supported my endeavors in mathematical proof-writing and problem-solving. When I write speeches for debate tournaments, I bear in mind the listener’s perspective to make sure that they can understand clearly my reasons for holding my point of view. In these speeches, I arrange words in straightforward sentences with clear, logical progression. Similarly, in the proofs I write for math class, I arrange symbols, careful to avoid ambiguity while keeping in mind that I’m writing for an audience.

More unexpectedly, I found my ability to make connections between literary texts helped me associate foreign concepts in math with what I have learned before. Unions and disjunctions in set operations are merely more complicated versions of additions and subtractions. The conclusion that I then arrived at is what is called in mathematical logic “a necessary and sufficient condition”. If learning literature can improve my math skills, then vice versa, because literature and math share common skill sets that are developed in both areas.

Out of all the possible advantages math could give me, math gave me faith. This faith gave me the confidence to articulate my theories and ideas even when they seemed impossible to prove. Through all of the young adult novels sermonizing the importance of believing in oneself, I never learned to have the faith to tread down the path of a seemingly farfetched understanding of a story and flesh out my theory into a written critique. Instead of analyzing how the car crash in “The Great Gatsby” symbolized the culmination of the conflicts between poor and rich in AP Literature class, I wrote about a classic, appears-on-SparkNotes interpretation that the green light Gatsby reached for symbolized his delusional yearning for the American Dream.

As a result, I lived in my head after reading a book, always thinking but never putting my thoughts into words. However, what I couldn’t do in writing, I have done solving geometry problems since middle school. It’s taking a leap of faith that the tiniest strand of connection between two clues can be the starting point for a solution. Then in preparation for China’s strictly-timed exams, the zhongkao, I was forced to have the conviction that following through with my perception of the problems is going to lead me to the answer.

Finally bored with writing safe but not challenging papers, I took a leap of faith with my end-of-term essay at the Summer Stanford Humanities Institute. I found two instances of a conversation in “The Brothers Karamazov” where one person is talking, and the other is silent and compared them to the act of praying to an icon of God; my reason for comparison is that the icon is also silent while the praying person spoke. Another area where I found that math helped improve my skills in literature is with increased precision in my writing. Mathematical language is very concise and efficient. This trained me to write clean sentences, making sure that every word is used with a precise purpose.

The tricky thing with houses of thought is that one can dwell so long in it that eventually all that’s left are shaped ideas and a rut one can’t get out of. Stanford is the perfect place for me to step out of my comfort zone, to hear the buzz of innovation in other fields outside of my interests in literature. Nestled next to Silicon Valley, this university receives a massive influx of the newest ideas in tech. Students interested in these subjects offer their viewpoints in a constant churn of discussion, which can add a new perspective to what I have learned in the humanities. A conversation about artificial intelligence can give way to the philosophical debate about whether humans have a metaphysical mind separate from the brain that deems machines forever unable to replicate human intelligence. Rapid mechanization in society can elicit thought on the ethics of technological advancement. Becoming increasingly intertwined, every area of study cannot progress without the other.

Ultimately, I keep in mind that a good balance sustains a house, and that my house of literature needs knowledge of math and technology to find an equilibrium.

Photo: 
This article appeared on p38-39 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.

Every day is the same, yet every minute is different.

The routine is constant, yet somehow becomes harder and harder to maintain. Day after day I struggle. Growing up, my parents would tell us about the city of dreams, where the buildings stretched past the clouds and luminous lights radiated with life. The city of dreams is where you will find your future, they said.

For the first 30 years of my life, I worked with my parents and brothers in the fields of Shanxi. I worked all day, every day to ensure I could afford a one-way ticket to my utopia. Now, I work for 10 hours a day just to keep myself off the streets. It’s funny how life never changes for us; I have learned that dreams in this world are only attainable by those who can afford them.

You see, when I was a child, I didn’t go to school. My village didn’t have one. Now, as a rickshaw driver, I still can’t tell left from right.

My name is Li.

I was 36 when I scraped together enough money to buy myself a rickshaw. Up until now, it is still my golden chariot. Every gloomy day in this brightly lit city, I drag this rusty piece out of the courtyard I share with 23 other people. The dilapidated, damp box I call my home has no heating, air conditioning, or bathroom. A moldy, moist mattress is my bed, and the scraps of processed food I can barely afford are stored in a fridge that hasn’t been running for seven years. I ride down to the subway stop of Dongzhimen, creating an unpleasant rusty shriek as I go. This city is not how they described it. The lights do shine, but only for the rich. The buildings do surpass the clouds, but only to find themselves enveloped in smog and pollution.

It was bearable for the first few years. I was young, strong, and filled with high spirits. But I was foolish to think that this world had anything kind in store for me. People change, technology advances, and I fade into the smog of this utopia along with the rest of its culture. Rickshaw drivers were once a major contribution to the charm and elegance of Beijing’s marvelous culture. We would attract tourists; light up the city with our happy buzzing chatter and bright colors. Little did we know that these flashy paint jobs would only add to the embarrassment of this bygone era. How foolish we were to decorate our vehicles with the colors of hopes and wonder. The colors that would later mock us as our wheeled palaces became artifacts of this nation. Now, with better and safer transport options that can be hailed through smartphones, we are forgotten.

Lost.

My brothers and I would always sit in the fields after a long day of excruciating work, and talk about owning our very own golden chariots which others liked to call cars, depicting every detail of the excitement and thrill of hearing the majestic engine of the magnificent machine purr under our commands, and enjoying the refreshing air of success blow through our hair. But those were but dreams; none of us will ever be able to feel the smooth leather rim of a steering wheel on our grimy hands. My kind will only ever be the ones who make the leather, while its smoothness will only ever belong to the wealthy.

They have been cracking down on us. Asking us for IDs and driver’s licenses. We rickshaw drivers have been disappearing as fast as the rich drive in their glamorous wagons. They are untouched of course, as clean as their cars, yet as filthy as this city. We are sitting ducks to the authorities; any resistance will end in…well, let’s just say I’m lucky.

It’s Saturday evening. I might as well be a roasted duck after sitting in the scorching summer sun for the entire day. “50, 100, uh… 250?” Yes, that should be RMB 250 after today, RMB 100 of which I will send back to my family in Shanxi. I take off the raggedy jacket I have been wearing almost daily for the past three years and toss it onto my mattress, sending clouds of dust into the dry, glum air.

That is when I hear them knock.

Some might mistake them for rats, standing side by side like a pair of ragged puppets. Their eyes filled with misery and self-importance. They tell me that my rickshaw has been taken; that I will not have the right to drive on the streets of this city of dreams until I get a legal driver’s license.

They leave without another word. Emotionless.

I can’t help but just stand in the splintered doorframe, paralyzed. My legs start to shake as I crouch onto the ground, forced to relieve my stomach of whatever rubbish it held onto the grey pavement under me. I collapse onto the concrete and sit there whimpering. Sobbing. Wondering why the heavens tricked me into believing in this world of corruption. “Why?” I whisper as I put my head between the two twigs I call legs. “Why me?”

Society will always have a chain wrapped around my waist, pulling me back into the dirt whenever I’m out of my place.

So here I am, sitting in a decayed piece of rust, which will be the only wagon ever willing to accept my status: a train wagon dragging me back to the fields of Shanxi. Cramped and squashed together with hundreds of those like myself who have been rejected of their hopes and dreams. We observe as the sun sets behind the distant hills, watching the light of our beliefs and prospects fade out of sight.

My name is Li, and it is time for me to leave the city of dreams…and wake up.

Photo: Kipp Whittaker
This article appeared on p35-37 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.

In every educational establishment of this city, from traditional Chinese institutions to Beijing’s international schools, the desire of our parents for us students to succeed is evident. The race for the best tutors, the reach for the best grades, and ultimately the sprint for the best universities—present in every family, these are competitions which may at times be more nuanced, yet are always there.

Despite all of this, it is an unfortunate reality that the system we have grown accustomed to sometimes fails to provide kids with topics which truly absorb them. For every aspiring mathematician fascinated by the list of double angle formulae, there is a budding entrepreneur whose itch to build and innovate is sadly unmet by any subject presented to them in a standardized curriculum. And this, right here, is the problem. Kids are told that they can do anything, be anyone… to dream big, as it were. Yet, few of us dare to realize the honestly quite harsh (and scary!) truth: that we might just lack the proper tools to do so.

Whether we like to admit it or not, there are simply too many restrictions in a physical schooling system. There can only be so many buildings and classrooms and desks and teachers. This isn’t an accusation of our city’s educational infrastructure—it’s a hard reality. Whether it is the IB, AP, GSCE, or a traditional Chinese curriculum, there just cannot be enough options and varieties of topics for us (the students) to be able to truly experiment and freely pursue our interests.

Online courses, on the other hand, are tremendously scalable, hence the term MOOC: Massive Open Online Course. This hints at one of the most valuable aspects of e-learning, that its digital nature eliminates many of the barriers holding us back in the physical world – the “frictions”, as Professor David Bell of the Wharton School at U-Penn calls them in his MOOC which I’ve actually just finished, titled E-Commerce and Entrepreneurship in the Digital Economy.

While a traditional classroom setting can only be capable of hosting a specific number of people at a specific location at a specific time, e-learning allows for content to be shared and accessed by a potentially unlimited number of people from all around the world, at any time they so desire.

Most online courses follow an “on-screen, on-demand” format. Materials are primarily pre-recorded video class sessions and are available to students 24/7 for playback as needed. This format allows for an interactive style of learning where a student can feel engaged, as a real professor uses conversational language to provide content despite not being physically present. It also enables students to tailor the pace of the teaching to suit their own preferred learning styles.

Let’s take a look at some of the front runners of in the game of e-learning.

EDX

EDX (pronounced “Ed-Ex”) is a non-profit MOOC-hosting platform founded by Harvard and MIT in 2012 and is cited by some sources such as the New York Times as being the most popular application currently out there. This coveted reputation comes from the 14 million students actively using their service each year. EdX offers more than 1800 unique courses through their Open-Source Platform, coming from over 100 reputable institutions worldwide—ranging from US or Chinese universities to professional corporations. The caveat is that the best EdX courses are on the premium platform, but most paid options do come with recognized certificates, though EdX services do not offer functional degrees.

Coursera

Coursera is another large MOOC service founded in 2012 by Stanford professors and has since expanded to partner with 149 institutions across 29 countries. Coursera courses traditionally last for between four and ten weeks, with one to two hours of video material provided each week. Unlike most EdX courses—which generally release all materials at the commencement of each course—Coursera courses release their materials in stages. Some courses also operate in a way which restricts access to past material after a certain point. This tends to mean that Coursera courses can be more rigorous and demanding of their students. Coursera scores over EdX, though, by offering fully accredited bachelors and masters degrees since 2017.

Udacity

Udacity, unlike the previous two, is a for-profit MOOC platform, offering courses at both the university level as well as professional qualifications. It was founded in 2012 through a Stanford outreach program, and it just so happens that the early renditions of Udacity and Coursera stemmed from a single collaborative effort by a Stanford team. This service hosts 1.6 million users, again through both free and paid courses yielding the likes of university credits, masters, and bachelors degrees, and “nanodegrees”—a degree system recognizing technical ability, unique to Udacity and launched through its partnership with AT&T. Nanodegrees have gone on to become closely associated with careers at the AT&T Corporation, beginning with entry-level positions.

Udemy

Udemy is unique in that unlike MOOC programs which are driven by traditional collegiate coursework and a university styled structure, this platform uses content created by specialist instructors. Udemy provides tools which enable users to create a course, promote it, and earn money from student tuition charges. This format allows for an increased amount of flexibility in terms of what type of courses are offered. Here, there are courses in everything from digital design and 3D modeling to computer programming and even Reiki healing. Though degrees aren’t available through this platform, this is definitely reflected in the lower prices at which their 80,000 online video courses are offered.

CreativeLive

CreativeLive is primarily for right-brained individuals looking to boost their skillsets in a variety of creative fields. Courses in everything from photography and video, art and design, music and audio, crafts, and finally money and life are a click away to set you on the right path towards mastering one of these many skills. The classes offered are a bit pricier than Udemy but it shows in the production quality of these video courses. This is also available in an IOS app so that you can watch and learn on the go. This is a great resource if you feel like you aren’t exactly gaining the knowledge you crave from your school’s more traditional art classes.

e-Learning

As we’ve seen, every service associated with e-learning has its own pros and cons. But there do remain some important things to consider before deciding to make this style of self-led education a regular part of your routine.
One major deterrent is the high price point that comes with some of the options available. While there is also a plethora of free courses, many outstanding opportunities can cost you upwards of hundreds of dollars (USD)—a price which may not be within everyone’s budget.

To decide whether the benefits of a course might outweigh the cost (or indeed might not — keep in mind, this style of learning may not be for everybody), make up your mind as to what your ultimate goal is. Specifically, consider whether your primary objective is simply to learn something new, or whether it is to obtain some form of credit for participation.

Courses from highly reputable institutions (think Harvard Law School, the Wharton School, and so on) tend to package completion of their courses alongside functional certificates or degrees, which are generally recognized by universities or even hiring organizations. However, more often than not, these so-called “verified” courses are the ones which come at the cost of more than a couple of bucks out of your pocket. For many, this style, of course, is not worth the cash. But if your goal is to use the accreditation from a reputable course to your advantage in college or even job applications, it may be something to consider.

Additionally, it is important to remember that a valuable part of the collaborative innovation that takes place in classrooms often comes thanks to just that—collaboration. When students are able to consult with their peers and share ideas with not only one another but also their teacher or professor, amazing things can happen.
This is something that may, unfortunately, be sidelined in most online learning opportunities. Set against the golden advantage of scalability, the limitation of e-learning lies in that fact that students (and, of course, the actual teacher) of the same course will be scattered all around the world, in different countries and conflicting time zones. As such, each participant can only really rely on his or her own pacing and comprehension of the materials.

So what is the real takeaway here?

The bottom line is this: whatever the costs, it cannot be ignored that the world of e-learning offers a significant step up in variety, in ways that the traditional education systems of our community are simply unable to do. As cliché as it might sound, this variety may very well be the key to opening up unprecedented opportunities, and in turn, a wider set of possible futures for students. While it remains true that mastery of the traditional realms of learning, such as mathematics and science, is essential to educational development, branching out from these areas and exploring alternative topics is something which is becoming more and more important in an ever-changing world.

Photo: Adobe Creative Cloud
This article appeared on p35-37 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.

Whether or not we are always conscious of it, we live in a community where competition is intense and endemic. Students are taught from a young age the importance of “hustle” in day-to-day life. Extracurricular activities, tutoring, and homework (alongside what can feel like a billion other commitments) fill up our days, and as time goes on, it becomes difficult to prioritize anything other than what is being constantly handed to us.

For a lot of teenagers, fitness and nutrition are not taken seriously enough in everyday life. This is not to fault anybody in particular—sometimes, it is simply too much of a “time consuming” prospect to try and fit an hour at the local gym into our already overwhelming schedules, or to prepare balanced and wholesome meals for ourselves to fuel our bodies and brains. Granted, not every one of us has to go to the extent that I personally have—tracking my specific caloric needs and having two separate workout sessions most days of the week—but there are certainly easier-than-you-think fixes to some of the temptations in our lives to remain sedentary in our activity or idle in our food choices.

Believe it or not, fitness doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing commitment. Our levels of overall health and physical athleticism aren’t, thanks to giving up our time and social lives for the sake of hour-long workouts lifting 500 pounds or meal-prepping chicken breast and brown rice all our lives. You see, some have the mistaken belief that such a tradeoff exists. But it doesn’t.

Rather, our fitness is accumulated over a lifestyle, of small choices and changes that all add up to something incredible. Tiny tweaks here and there (which might seem insignificant on their lonesome) aggregate to amazing results. And some of those tweaks are not only very much compatible with our everyday lives but can also be shockingly easy to implement. It’s all about building habits.

Take, for instance, your morning commute to school. Now, this will, of course, vary based on where you live in relation to where you attend, but if you’re in the general vicinity, skip that car ride and hop on the bike. Yes, Beijing is polluted as all hell more often than we’d all like, but on clear days, a nice breath of ahem fresh ahem air and a rush of breeze can not only be a simple way to get your heart rate up and burn a few extra calories, but also act as a perfect wake-up call to a long (let’s face it, probably tedious) seven-hour day of sitting in the classroom. Plus, you can feel good about helping the environment.

If you’re farther from your school (say, downtown to Shunyi), a bike ride is obviously unfeasible. But there are some small strategies for you, too. When you get off the bus and into the building, why not take the stairwell farther away from your first-period classroom? That’s basically pointless, you might say. Sure, you won’t be doing much with that alone, but over the course of a day, a week, a month… Altogether, it adds up. Remember, it’s about building habits. Just don’t do it if you’re going to be late for class!

The same goes for the rest of your day. Every place you can walk just a bit longer to get there, do it! Skip the shortcuts and opt for some extra steps. If you and your friends like to just sit around during your mid-day breaks, get them off their butts and take a walk with you before your next class. Sure, just walking is boring, but get your pals with you and you can all talk about sports, nightlife, movies… I don’t know. Whatever floats your boat.

When it comes to food, giving generalizable tips can be a bit trickier. It’s just so subjective. Of course, I know exactly how my meals and nutrition are structured. I know my own preferences, and I know what kinds of food fuel me up just right. I don’t know about everyone else. I’m terrified that I’ll suggest some low calorie or “healthified” recipe for a dish that someone feels very strongly about. Yes, it’s happened. I made a low-calorie pizza one time, put it on my Instagram, and my Italian best friend nearly disowned me.

So let’s skip all that potential melodrama. I’ll do my best here. Regardless of what foods you’re used to eating, there’s generally a healthier alternative that’ll satisfy your taste buds just fine. Alright, let’s say you’re just not that keen on giving up chips and candy bars. Fine. If you find a version of your favorite snack food that is even just 10 calories less per serving, that’s still something. Remember, it’s not about perfection in one fell swoop. It’s about incremental improvements.

Specific recommendations? Let’s say you want some chips. I’d personally just skip the chips and snack on cherry tomatoes. (What?! you ask. I like vegetables, relax.) But I get that everyone else’s food preferences are not as devastatingly bland and boring as mine have come to be. If you usually enjoy snacking on Doritos, reach instead for Pop Corners. You can find it in any supermarket in Beijing and it’s 360 calories for a full 3-ounce bag, whereas the same volume of Doritos will cost you 550.

Let’s get more digital for a second. Since we students are honestly already on our phones and computers for way more of our lives than we should be, why don’t we just make better use of some of that time? Aimlessly scrolling through the Instagram homepage looking at memes is fun, but have you tried MyFitnessPal?

My point is that there are so many apps out there that can actually make incorporating “casual” fitness into our lives that much easier. The previously mentioned MyFitnessPal (MFP), by the way, is my personal lifeline. The app is a calorie/macronutrient tracker, with a database of food items and their nutritional profiles three times larger than the next-biggest app with the same function. As I’ve hinted, I understand that tracking calories is certainly not for everyone. But MFP has a variety of other functions which can be useful to you in your fitness lifestyle—including daily featured articles, workout guides, and recipe ideas. It also has a step counter, but if I’m honest, not a very good one.

For that, I turn to Argus, an app that has a range of functions, but its layout and simplicity make it very convenient for exclusive use as a step counter. The app’s homepage is composed of tiny little hexagons (which I find weirdly satisfying) each with various data, but the focus is on the one with a constantly updating number. That’s right, the step counter is literally constantly updating itself, up-ticking along with each and every step that you take.

But if you’re the seriously competitive type, and just knowing your own step count isn’t enough, try WeRun. If you’re on WeChat (and let’s face it, you are), you’ve probably heard of it. It’s a function that not only tracks your daily steps but pits you in a day-to-day battle to the death (at least that’s what some people I know make it out to be) with all your WeChat friends, everyone clamoring to be at the top of the leaderboard. The competition, though sometimes taken a little too seriously, is, in my opinion, a terrific motivator perfectly tailored to students and adults alike in our community.

Of course, there is a plethora of other fitness/lifestyle/nutrition management apps out there, other than those I’ve summarized here, but they all have one uniting quality to them. They make us aware. It’s not hard to slack off when we have nothing holding us to account. That’s what makes our schooling system functional, after all. Due dates prompt us to finish assignments on time, and grades prompt us to do those assignments well.

The same concept applies to fitness and nutrition in our lives as students. When there’s no benchmark to go by, why would we feel compelled to hit up the gym in the middle of exam week, or go for a run the weekend before that big project is due? Why would we feel any motivation to take a few extra steps, when we have no idea how many we’ve already taken?

That’s the beauty of these apps, the way they bring accountability into our lives. If we know we want to hit 10,000 steps a day, we’ll have more purpose to walk the long way to do so. If we decide that there’s a certain physique goal we want to reach, we’ll start to reach more for the lighter, healthier options.

It would be impossible for me to give everyone tips on how to make fitness a well-rounded part of your life specifically; everyone is just too different and unique. But just remember this: it’s not about perfection in one fell swoop. It’s about building habits, incremental improvements accumulated over a lifestyle of small choices and changes, that can all add up and become something incredible.

Photos: Adobe Creative Cloud
This article appeared on p20-21 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.

What is a hero? A hero might be someone who is willing to sacrifice his own life for others or someone who just wants to go out on an adventure.

Whether it be the classic gods of Greece, the Celts’ Cu Chulainn (aka the Irish hound), or Horus and Isis from Egypt, mankind has often created these supernatural beings to explain life and this continues today as we for mostly entertainment purposes continue to create heroes that fill us with joy and wonder.

China has had its own share of unique heroes and villains, throughout history, from the classic journeys of Sun Wukong to the recent emergence of Captain China. Before superheroes, there were many myths about legendary figures that had supernatural powers. The Chinese believed that Shangdi was the sole god and that in order to communicate with him, a person will have to go to Beijing’s temple of heaven.

One of the earliest examples of a Chinese superhero came in the 1500s when Wu Cheng’en published a book called Journey to the West, and it is well-known for being one of the four great classical novels of Chinese literature. The main protagonist is a monkey named Sun Wukong (aka the Monkey King). Wukong was the protagonist of these stories and was born from a stone nourished by the five elements. Wukong was blessed with many supernatural abilities, his most iconic being the 72 polymorphic transformations in which he could create 72 false decoys of himself. In this epic story, Sun Wukong aids Tang Sanzang on his journey to the western world along with Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing. Zhu Bajie’s dramatic windy entrance is now a famous Chinese saying to convey that the wind is strong.

Journey to the West has since been made into many operas, movies, and TV shows. It is the most iconic Chinese tale there is, and it even inspired Japanese author Akira Toriyama’s Dragon Ball Z. Wukong was a very influential hero, and his weapon; the Ruyi Jingu Bang (Sun Wukong’s magical staff) is a very popular toy for many Chinese kids.

Journey to the West is now almost 600 years old, and it is still the most famous story in China. However, Sun Wukong is not the only hero that China will ever make though.

During the 1900s, a new trend started in the western world, particularly in the United States. “Superhero” was the word that described these new masked avengers fighting crime and inequality around the globe. These new heroes not only attracted a wider audience but completely changed the face of literature as we know it, with the colorful comic books and entertaining storylines. These heroes often had to keep their personal life a secret while fighting for the greater good. DC’s masterpiece: Superman is now the symbol of the comic book industry and heroes like him and many others would completely change the way that the Chinese write comics, since the traditional way of reading was from left to right.

Black Cat Detective was one of the first Chinese superhero cartoons created by the Shanghai Animation Film Studios in 1984 and was directly influenced by cartoons from the US and Europe. It was considered by many to be a more violent version of Tom and Jerry but still appropriate for young audiences. The story is essentially about the Black Cat’s wanderings on his motorcycle stopping villains through the use of excessive force.

China’s next famous cartoon was called the Calabash Brothers. Calabash Brothers was produced in 1980 and it was praised domestically almost as much as Journey to the West. The story is about seven brothers, each with their own unique superpowers set out to rid Calabash Mountain of demons and reunite with their Grandpa. The show only had 13 episodes, but its impact can be felt even today as it is readily available for viewing across many streaming platforms.

Currently, two companies are competing for the superhero throne here in China, and they are Marvel and DC. With this, Marvel decided to make Captain China, a Chinese super soldier. Marvel did this to thank all those Chinese fans for their support. Journey to the West has undeniably influenced so many stories. Being the Dragon Ball Z fan that I am, I believe that if it weren’t for this masterpiece, Akira Toriyama wouldn’t have gotten his inspiration. Beyond this, China is the true mastermind behind many stories, and people just don’t know it. It’s time to shine some light on China’s heroes!

Photo: Adobe Creative Cloud, Benjwong (1, 2) via Wikimedia Commons
This article appeared on p34 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.

A phrase that often weasels its way into conversations with strangers for me is, ‘Wow, your Chinese is so good!’ Although the deliverer of the phrase is presenting it as a compliment, it is always difficult for me to suppress the instinctual clenching of teeth and a flood of irritation that follows.

I often find myself having to explain to the astonished looks on peoples’ faces that I am, in fact, mixed and can express myself in both English and Chinese to an adequate degree of fluency. As an Australian passport holder having spent my whole life in Beijing, you could say that I’ve grown up with some level of confusion over what my true nationality is.

It is extremely rare that anyone can ever accurately guess where I am from. Here in China, people seem certain that I am European, while on my travels outside of Asia (namely to Australia) I have discovered more confusion about my nationality – my slightly Asian features seem to stand out to non-Chinese people, setting me apart from them. With people in my own country not considering me one of their own, how am I supposed to figure out where I belong?

On my numerous trips back to Australia during the year, while indeed having enjoyable experiences, it is also not uncommon for me to feel slightly out of place in a setting where everything seems so foreign and different. I feel somewhat unconnected to my country, and it’s disheartening that I should think that, considering it’s supposed to be my home. My mind tells me that I should be comfortable and at ease with everything around me, as is expected when you’re returning home, but I can never repress the feeling that I am in actuality a lost tourist traveling to a new destination that I’ve never been to before.

When I spend time with my family in Australia, I’m often at a loss as to what to say to them. All my other cousins band together, hanging out and chatting animatedly over topics of which I know nothing. Whenever they try to engage me in conversation with their strange, thick Australian accents rolling off their tongues, I am always momentarily bereft of speech as my brain desperately searches for a suitable response in return. It’s saddening that I’m so detached from my own culture that I even struggle with finding something to say to my family.

I often wish I could be less ill at ease and more like my dad, who seems to revert back to his Australian mode and act like one of the locals minutes after stepping off the plane. I wish I understood the frenzy that all Australians get into whenever they see their favorite teams playing Rugby League or Australian Rules Football. But most of all, I wish I could look down at my navy blue Australian passport and have that genuine connection to my country that so many other people seem to possess.

Don’t get me wrong, I think Australia is a great country, but I lack the familiarity with it that I find here in China. Even with going back there every single year, I always feel at a distance from the place. Then again, I would never be able to consider myself a real Chinese person. Aside from the fact I am now quite reluctant to speak the language in front of strangers due to their inevitable reaction of shock and the barrage of questions that are sure to follow, I also don’t even have a proper Chinese name (aside from an immensely embarrassing nickname as a child).

Strangely, when I am in Australia, I feel a strong pull towards my Chinese heritage, as it provides me comfort knowing that despite my inability to fit into the country, there is always another place that I can belong to. However, frustratingly, as soon as I return to China, I am made to feel like an outsider once again due to my different looks and my preference to speak in English. As a child, I was so afraid to not be accepted as Chinese that I actually refused to speak a word of English until the age of four, hoping that by speaking the native tongue I would be recognized as a member of the Chinese society.

At school, I again face the vexatious reminder of my inability to fit in due to my cultural differences. I would say my school is a generally welcoming community, but there are some rather obvious divisions between the Chinese and non-Chinese students. Similarly to the situation in Australia, I again find myself having difficulty finding common topics to discuss with the Chinese kids, once more struggling to keep up with their talk of trending topics on Chinese social media that I am ignorant of.

My experience isn’t unique, and I personally know lots of other kids who face the same predicament – growing up mixed-blooded and not really knowing which culture they belong to. A close friend of mine told me that despite considering China as her true home, she still felt ‘rejected by the girls at school due to cultural differences.’

Lacking a sense of belonging to your country is an unpleasant and perplexing situation, and I envy other people with their patriotism and unwavering allegiance to their homeland. Sometimes I wonder if I am doomed to be an outsider forever, if I will never discover that sense of acceptance and attachment to one’s own country that so many people take for granted.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful – I am indeed conscious of how fortunate I am to be raised in a household where I get to experience two vastly different cultures every day. It has provided me with a different outlook on society and shaped me into a more broad-minded person. Being influenced by both Eastern and Western culture has allowed me to become more accepting and open to all different kinds of people, so despite the loneliness and sense of disjointedness where my roots aren’t fluently connected to each other that sometimes bring about, I still appreciate the lessons it has taught me.

Photos: Adobe Creative Cloud
This article appeared on p6-7 of the beijingkids September 2018 Teen Takeover issue.