Xinxiu Tian

Dr. Lauren Holt

ENG221
March 3, 2015
The Outsider In Beijing
I still remember my first night arriving at Jinglun Hotel, one of the most well known
hotels located in the Central Business District of Beijing. I sat by my mother in the hotel
lobby, and I saw my father shake his friends hands, thanking him and saying goodbye.
That man drove away into a cluster of tall buildings. I watched him disappearing into the
dark, dark night.
It was the first time that I noticed what Beijing looked like. Those skyscrapers,
shopping malls, hotels, and clubs stood in the cold and emotionless atmosphere. The
street was filled with high-speed cars, rushing nowhere. People who could not afford
private cars walked on the streets, fighting against the strong wind and the freezing
temperature. They pulled their coats tightly, moving slowly toward the subway station.
To me, they seemed lonely. They looked just like me, a girl who came from a small city,
which was just an insignificant place in most peoples views. I felt like an outsider, who
was meaningless for this city and the people in it.
When I say The Outsider, I refer to a person who does not belong to a certain
space, place, or social group. I could never understand the actual connotations of local
people and foreigners when I was just a little girl. And unfortunately, I did not realize the
situation I was in, and how I was excluded from that place. My story began as a foreigner
in Beijing, the capital of China, where the streets were always crowded and the people

were always busy. This fast pace kept pushing my parents and I, even though we did not
really want to move forward.
In China, there is a stereotype existing in major cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, and
Guangzhou. People believe that there are more opportunities in these cities, so they rush
there, even though coming to major cities meant separating from their family. Likewise, I
came to Beijing at the age of four due to my fathers business. I remember the night that
my mother and I sat in the airport in Dalian. It was so late that I fell asleep in my
mothers arms. She was calm and patted my back quietly. Not far away, I saw my
fathers back; he stood in the departure hall, talking to his assistant. There were people
waiting in the departure hall beside my father, but they looked happy; the smiles on their
face, and the excitements shining in their eyes somewhat indicated that they originally
came from Beijing, could not waiting to come home. Compared to them, my father was
like an outsider, who seemed worried, trying so hard to imagine what it felt like to live in
a foreign city.
I never worried too much because I was too young and too curious, wanting to
experience different places, even though these experiences might hurt me. The first day I
came to my new kindergarten was a beautiful dream, which was broken in the very near
future. In the early morning, my mother drove me to my new school. I was somewhat
nervous, but still, I stayed calm and walked straight into that strange building. Years later,
my mother said that it was brave of me to walk into my new school alone at that young
age. In her memory, I was a brave girl, feeling free to join any new group and start a new
life. But that was not true.

The truth was that in the year I lived in Beijing, I had no friends to play with at school.
But it was also true that I did not need a friend to survive in a new school. However, that
was not the case because my teacher also totally ignored me at the same time. She let me
sit at the back of the classroom, and gave me a locker located at the end of the hallway. In
the afternoon, she sang songs and played the piano, giving kids candy bars and chocolates
if they were willing to dance with the music. It was not surprising that I never received a
candy because my teacher never gave me a chance to participate in the class. I soon
realized that my teacher would never pay much attention to me because I was not a local
student, and she assumed that foreigners had lower social status than those who originally
from Beijing. I knew I was an outsider as time went on, but I said I never cared.
My life went on as usual. That year passed so quickly that when I realized the winter
was coming, it was already Christmas. My parents took me out for dinner with a French
friend and his family. The atmosphere was full of happiness and joy, mixing peoples
laughter and Christmas songs.
My father held my mothers hands, talking to his friend: This is our first Christmas
here. In Dalian, people do not take western festivals seriously, and barely anyone
celebrates Christmas. My mother laughed, leaning to my fathers shoulder.
My fathers friend smiled, and then sighed: We came here ten years ago for a great
job opportunity, a very attractive position in Ericsson. We have no family in Beijing, just
us. Sometimes we are really worried about our parents since they are getting old, but we
cannot stay near them.

I looked at him and his beautiful wife, who then said: One day we will go back to
France. I mean: look at us! We do not belong here, do we? I know this place so well now,
but it never feels like home to me.
Beijing never felt like home to me either. My home was that hotel room. Every day,
the room service cleaner cleaned the room, arranging everything the way she did
yesterday. Therefore, no matter how I messed up with my room, it always looked as the
first day when I came in. It seemed like however long had my family lived in this place,
this room held no memories or intimate experiences. In other words, it did not feel like
home.
One year later, when I was six, my parents and I came back to Dalian. My fathers
business grew quite quickly during that year in Beijing, but he was so worried about his
parents and my mothers parents that he decided to come home. Even though my mother
never said she missed home, my father could definitely feel her homesickness and
worries.
My parents did not believe that I could remember things that happened when I was
five. It is true that I am not good at recollecting memories, but I was not lying when I said
that I remember certain things. I remember those things not based on my memories but
based on my feelings whether they are sweet, bittersweet, or sad.
These feelings shape who I am today. One year in Beijing made me a person who has
an extreme sense of nostalgia every time I leave my hometown. Now I am a student in
the United States. It is harder to live in a foreign country than to live in a different city in
my own country. I talk to my American friends, laughing, but actually we just talk
irrelevant things such as what courses I take and which restaurant is my favorite. I cannot

share my sentimental feelings of studying abroad on my own because they are not in my
position; as a result, I feel like an outsider who does not belong to the main, domestic,
student social group. And they will never understand my loneliness and homesickness.
My family came to Beijing for better living conditions and a more successful business.
Now I am at Emory for further education. Although I know where to have fun and where
to eat in these big, fancy cities, I dont belong to any of them. Unlike other people, after
being in so many places, I have realized that the most important thing for me is not
material wealth or opportunities, but a sense of belonging, which can only be found in my
hometown. Experiences of living as a foreigner made me a person who is always seeking
to belong, and I know I will eventually be myself in my hometown, the best city in this
world in my point view. In Dalian, I am not an outsider anymore; I am just an ordinary
girl, who actively participates in this society, hoping to live a happy life.