An Ode to Learning Abroad

This is not a blog post about China. It is a post about life and learning. It is about my philosophy on learning a language abroad, about the discoveries I have made during this program about making the most out learning abroad. This is my ode to learning abroad.

On Learning

Life should never get in the way of learning, just as learning should never get in the way of living; they should thrive together in the same ecosystem, feed. Learning a language abroad is the perfect environment for blending life and learning. It gives countless opportunities for making mistakes, for stepping completely out one’s comfort zone, for applying information learned in class. That’s why I love it so much.

I have only recently come to realize where my true passion lies. It is not math; it is not music; it is not writing. These are only components of my true passion, outlets for what drives me. My passion is far simpler than any of these fields. My passion is learning.

Learning a language is the perfect way to pursue my passion. When studying Chinese, I get to learn about everything and anything I want. It is a useful and practical way to pursue topics in every field imaginable. I can learn about history, mythology, math, science, philosophy, and it will never feel like a waste of time. I get the chance to learn a new way to express everything I have learned in my life up to this point, and I get opportunities to learn about things that weren’t even on my radar two years ago. This is the beauty of studying abroad.

This semester, I devoted much of my time to rekindling my love for music. I took one-on-one voice lessons, learned famous Chinese folk songs and got a better grasp on the standard Mandarin accent. Singing has its own way of pronouncing words, and my teacher would often correct the way I was pronouncing. I took a class on modern Chinese music history, which turned out to be one of my favorite classes. The teacher would discuss famous pieces of music as well as their historical background. She would analyze lyrics in class, pointing out how the musician’s word choice reflected the generation it was written in. I had never considered this as a way to approach learning history.

Learning a language isn’t only a gateway to a new culture; it’s a gateway to lifelong learning. There will always be Chinese words I do not know, characters I don’t recognize, and grammar structures I have yet to master. This is what excites me and keeps me interested in learning Chinese. Frankly, I will never get bored.

This is where I struggle, as well. I often struggle with where to start. There are too many things I want to learn, and I’m to the point where I don’t know what to prioritize. I have all sorts of mini-projects I want to pursue, whether it be learning names of famous Chinese books or learning math words. I usually start one, work on it for a few days, and then move on to the next one before even finishing the current project. This is something I need to overcome.

Life and learning. That’s why I’m here in China. That’s why I’m here. That’s my passion.

On Words

Words resonate with me. They get stuck in my head like song lyrics, flowing from my brain to my fingertips and onto the blank Microsoft Word document in front of me. They build up in my chest, prisoners trapped behind my rib cage, crawling up my vocal chords until they leap for freedom from my oral cavity.

Every word has its own memory, its own association deeply engrained in my head. The word shūfú isn’t just a direct translation of the word comfortable. I learned it, way back in Taiwan, in the back of my host parent’s newly purchased car. My host mom was sitting in the back, testing out the seats with me, and she commented on how the car was shūfú. At the time, I had yet to learn the word, so I asked to what it meant. From that day on, I not only knew the word, but I had a deep connection to it, a connection I could never get from just reading a textbook.

Máokēng, latrine (outhouse: i.e. raised concrete platform over shit pile, the English word doesn’t do it justice) isn’t an abstract word on the dictionary on my phone. During my last trip, I had to almost exclusively use máokēng because where I was didn’t have modern plumbing. Máokēng has a smell to me: the scent middle school bathrooms, piss on the floor, unflushed cigar-shaped shit floating like a log in a porcelain pond. It has characters: the man next to me, pants down, phone out, smoking away at a cig. The toothless woman motioning at me to me to come over and pay for using the máokēng. It is a tangible beast.

These memories flash in front of my eyes when I hear and speak Chinese. I see the people I with, the scenery we were looking at, and smell the smells (oh, the smells!). Shuǐkù (reservoir) takes me to a trip to a tea festival in central Taiwan. Biānchéng (to program) takes me to a classroom in Croft. Yīngtáo takes me to the streets of Xi’an. The memories and associations go on and on. The Chinese language is a living, breathing diary of the past two years of my life. It contains some of my most cherished memories from my time abroad, and I hope to continue using it to document my life for years to come.

On Traveling

With the theme of life and learning, I want to share my thoughts on how to effectively simultaneously travel and learn a language. When going on trips, it’s easy to forget language goals. They should be vacations, and I’m not in any way promoting going to new cities just to go to their libraries and study. However, there is some groundwork that can be laid just before a trip that can make the trip itself an even more enriching experience.

Before all of my vacations in China, I always research the place heavily in Chinese. I read articles and other travel blogs. During this process, I identify key words that constantly come up. For example, before going to Dunhuang, I learned a set of words key to the history of the Silk Road and the Mogao Grottos. When I was in Dunhuang, this base knowledge allowed me to go on the Chinese tours and get a lot out of them. Sometimes life is just like class; it takes a bit of previewing to make sense.

When on my trips, I also try to pick up new words. When I notice a key word when talking to someone, I look it up and save it on my phone. By the end of the trip, I have an even better list of words that can be used to talk about where I went. As I mentioned above, I remember words I learned in situations best. They aren’t abstract words etched into a tired textbook; they are living, breathing entities. Learning words traveling makes them mine. They become part of my ever-growing collection.

The most important part of this method, however, happens after the trip. When reviewing these words, I ask myself a few questions:

Who said this word?

In what context was it said?

Where was it said?

This is not the boring, passive reviewing that most people employ. It is not traditional rote memorization. It is an active process rooted in imagination. When I review words I learned like this, it’s like watching a movie. I get to remember my trip and learn along the way.

Contextual learning as opposed to bland memorization wins every time. I remember these words, and what I need to use them they come out as freely. This learning method doesn’t just apply to traveling. I employ it in my daily life. I have flashcards organized by category, whether it’s something I learned in daily life or something I read in a book, it has its place. This makes reviewing a smooth and steady process.

Another crucial aspect of traveling is picking good reading material. When I go on a trip, I pick a book that takes place where I’m going. I read sections of a book by Eileen Chang that takes place in Hong Kong while there. In the morning I read her descriptions of Hong Kong’s fog and that night when I went to visit Victoria’s Peak, I saw exactly what she meant. The skyline, which had been clear in the day, was obscured by a layer of fog. There is a power in reading something written where you are. The work becomes tangible. The authors and the characters in the book walked the same streets before you, smelled the same air, at the same food. Suddenly, a deeper connection is formed with the book. It too becomes a part of the memory map from the vacation.

This can be done with poems and music as well. When going to see the HuKou waterfall in northern Shaanxi province, I listened to a Chinese folk song while under the spray of the waterfall. It was a powerful combination. If a poem has been written about somewhere you are going, you should take five minutes to read the poem on site. This short exercise will leave a lasting impression.

We live in a modern world where information is constantly at our fingertips. Instead of drowning in the flood of information, build a boat to hold the information important to you. Use this information to enhance your experience and to enhance your life.

Current Project

In a similar theme as the section above, I have picked a Chinese book，《老西安》,to accompany me to the end of the program. It contains stories and description of what Xi’an used to be. When the author mentions a place, I mark it, and if it sounds interested enough, I visit it. It makes reading so much more enjoyable when it can be accompanied with day trip to important places in the book. Although I only have about seven weeks left here in China, I plan on making the most out of it. I still have a lot to learn from this city and its residents, and I believe this project is the best way to maximize my remaining time here.

Best,

Brendan Farrell Ryan