Midnight Strokes; A Special Dream
An up-close look at one girl’s unrelenting journey to fluency in Chinese
Last night, I sat at my desk, buried in the huge textbook I had worked so hard to get. It was way past midnight, and the desk and floor were littered with sheets of paper covered in handwritten Chinese characters. I wrote and rewrote, my fingers tracing the strokes with a mix of determination and fatigue, as I strained my eyes against the yellowish glow of the lamp above.
The hum of recorded native-speaker audio filled the air, a constant companion in my journey. Over and over, I listened, mimicking the sounds, the tones, the rhythm of the language. Night after night, I am here.
A Chinese drama played on my screen, not just for entertainment but for an immersion of sorts, as I let the sounds of the language sink into my subconscious. As usual, I paused, rewound, and analyzed each sentence, writing and absorbing the individual and contextual meaning of every word.
The actors became my teachers, their expressions my guide.
Reaching clumsily for the bowl of chow mein that is my nightly ritual, my chopsticks clattered as they left the bowl and hit the table, splattering bits of sauce around me. The special cutlery I waited 4 weeks for and spent another 4 weeks mastering. I looked at them as I wiped the table and felt something warm and nice in my belly.
I got them, not just to eat but to feel a little closer to the culture I adored. Each clumsy attempt was a step toward understanding, a tactile connection to a world I longed to immerse myself in.
I turned towards my bookshelf on the right side of my study table, and at that moment, I noticed, not for the first time, with some pride, that I could understand the language playing on the screen without even looking at the white English words that were supposed to guide me. It’s been a month since I actively realised that the listening and comprehension skills I’d been working on had finally started to kick in.
As I pondered this, I registered the sight of my favourite books about Chinese culture filling the shelves in front of me, each one a gateway to a world I had cherished since childhood. I looked from Peach Blossom Spring to Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth, before my eyes settled on my all-time favourite.
I remember the day I first read Faithful Plum under the cover of my desk in math class in high school. The unlucky but determined Chinese ballerina who fought against the odds to pursue her dreams hit home. Her struggles mirrored mine, and through her, I felt a strong connection to her culture. Her journey lit a fire in me, one that has only grown stronger over the years.
As I leaned back into my chair, I closed my eyes and imagined living my dream; travelling to China, walking through its beautiful cities and art-like countryside, speaking the language I had worked so hard to learn. I saw myself talking fluently and confidently to the warm Chinese people I know are waiting for me, to express my love for their culture in their own words.
I longed to immerse myself fully, to experience everything firsthand.
This passion isn’t newfound; it has been blossoming for years. It started with a book and grew through countless nights of study, endless hours of practice, and a heart that just wouldn’t give up.
I wrote this so you can feel my passion and understand why I love everything about Chinese culture.
This isn’t just a hobby. It is who I am.
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