English
in my world.

I began learning English in the third year of primary school. At first, it was simply another school subject: memorising vocabulary, learning grammar and completing exercises. It was not until junior secondary school that my relationship with English became more emotionally significant, bringing both anxiety and a growing sense of achievement.

In my first year of junior secondary school, I struggled to remember words and understand grammar. My English teacher was strict and often called on students without warning. When we could not answer, the teacher described us as “weak”. I sometimes became so nervous that I forgot things I actually knew, and being criticised in front of my classmates left me feeling ashamed. My early motivation for studying English was therefore less about interest than about avoiding another embarrassing moment in class. At that stage, English felt like a measure of whether I was a capable student, and the possibility of making a mistake carried a very personal sense of failure.

Hoping to change this situation, I asked my parents to enrol me in extra English lessons. There, I met a retired teacher whose humour and clear explanations made difficult grammar easier to understand. He also encouraged his students. Gradually, I began doing well in our weekly vocabulary and phrase dictations, sometimes becoming one of the few students to get everything right. His praise helped me believe, for the first time, that I could be good at English.

I also bought a thick English–Chinese dictionary and added alphabet tabs so I could find words more quickly. Whenever I encountered an unfamiliar word, I looked up its meaning and recorded it in my notebook. Although this was slower than searching on a phone, it gave me a sense that I was finding and building knowledge for myself, one word at a time.

Looking up words was an early form of independent learning for me. Each word I found and understood felt like a small achievement. My teacher’s encouragement made me willing to keep trying, while these visible signs of progress gradually began to replace my fear of the classroom.

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Eventually, my English results placed me among the top five students in my class, and my schoolteacher began praising me too. I had become a more willing learner, although my confidence still depended heavily on marks and approval. Looking back, I can see that language learning involves more than ability: emotions and teaching environments matter too. The same subject could feel entirely different with a different teacher. Enjoying the subject and using it to express my own ideas were still different things. My progress had changed how I felt about learning, but my understanding of what English could be used for remained limited.

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In senior secondary school, K-pop and Western pop music encouraged me to explore English beyond textbooks. I enjoyed the melodies and choreography, but also paid attention to English lyrics. When I did not understand an expression, I searched for the lyrics and Chinese translations. Recognising a familiar word was exciting: the language I studied at school also belonged to a world I enjoyed.

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This interest changed my motivation. Nobody had to assign me a task before I wanted to understand a song. The mixture of Korean and English in K-pop also showed me that languages did not always have to remain separate. Even a short English phrase could contribute to a song’s style and emotional effect. What had previously been a compulsory school subject was becoming something I chose to explore in my own time, because it helped me understand music I cared about.

At school, I chose the humanities stream, which had relatively few students. The common belief that science was more practical made me question my choice. During our final year, my English teacher, Mrs. Xue, told us: “Science students help society progress, while humanities students safeguard its moral foundations.” Although this division was an oversimplification, her words reassured me at the time and helped me recognise the value of language, literature and history.

Gone with the Wind, recommended by my former English tutor, was an early introduction to foreign literature. Initially, I found its background and relationships difficult to follow, but Scarlett’s complex personality and resilience eventually drew me in. Later, I read bilingual editions of Wuthering Heights, The Little Prince and The Moon and Sixpence. I became interested in why characters made particular choices and how their lives differed from my own experience.

Literature and lyrics required a different kind of understanding from textbook exercises. Rather than asking only what individual words meant, I began considering why people spoke or acted as they did. When a story resonated with me, language became connected to my emotions and my judgements about people and their choices.

These works were not always easy to understand. Some values felt unfamiliar, but that distance reminded me that my experience was not the only way to make sense of the world. Music connected English with my interests, while literature directed my attention towards the people behind the language. Together with the satisfaction I gained from studying English, these experiences led me to choose English translation as my university major.

At university, courses in translation, intercultural communication and literature broadened my studies. They also showed me that strong examination results did not automatically make English easy to use. Even when I understood a Chinese text, explaining it to someone unfamiliar with Chinese culture still required judgement about what to include and how to present it. This was particularly noticeable with cultural references, whose significance could not always be conveyed by finding an English equivalent for each Chinese word.

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In my first year, some classmates and I joined a university innovation and entrepreneurship project. We created a social media account and produced short bilingual videos introducing Ningxia’s culture. We selected topics, filmed, edited and published the videos, using a professional camera and editing software. We also used AI to polish some English narration. This was my first experience of combining my English studies with digital media production, and the project also led to my first academic paper.

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The project changed my role as a learner. Previously, teachers had usually determined the task and assessment criteria. Now, we had to decide what to introduce, how to engage viewers and how to combine words with images. I began moving from completing an assigned exercise to taking responsibility for both the content and its communication. The question was no longer only whether the English was correct, but whether our choices helped someone unfamiliar with Ningxia understand what we wanted to show.

During production, I realised that introducing local culture required more than translating word for word. Place names, customs and history familiar to Chinese viewers might need additional explanation for international audiences. We had to consider what viewers already knew before organising the English content. Images, subtitles, music and narration all contributed to meaning. AI could improve an expression, but it could not replace our judgement about cultural accuracy or whether the explanation was sufficient.

In my final year, I interned at China Daily, taking part in interviews, video production and news writing. Previously, I had mainly associated an English degree with translation or teaching; journalism revealed another possibility. Unlike classroom exercises, interviews required questions to be adjusted as situations developed, while keeping information accurate and the audience interested.

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An activity at the Central Asia Friendship Camp was especially memorable. I suggested a light-hearted challenge about Ningxia to show how well participants understood local culture and how closely their answers matched. After China Daily’s headquarters selected the video, I went on to produce an English video and write an English article. The work was published through headquarters and later included by the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation.

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This recognition felt different from receiving a high examination mark. An idea I had proposed could reach a wider audience, and English became a means of participating in public communication. Instead of simply completing language exercises, I was beginning to decide which stories were worth telling and how to make them understandable. This gave me a different basis for confidence: the value of my English could also lie in what I helped create and communicate, beyond how an individual teacher assessed me.

Nevertheless, being able to write an examination essay did not mean I already possessed every skill needed in journalism. Interviewing required attention to whether people understood my questions; editing required decisions about useful material; writing required clear communication. English was one part of this work, alongside creativity and the ability to make judgements in the moment.

As a volunteer welcoming international guests at a wine exhibition, I encountered different accents and specialist wine terminology. I needed to understand people and respond within the situation. This encouraged me to value mutual understanding, rather than concentrating only on whether my own pronunciation matched a particular standard. The experience made the diversity of English use more tangible to me. People could have different accents and habits of expression while still working towards a shared understanding.

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During university holidays, I also participated in research projects in TESOL and semantics. These experiences introduced me to questions about how languages are learned, understood and used, planting the seeds of my later decision to pursue a master’s degree.

Reading literature at university also changed how I understood myself. Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club explores cultural differences, women’s independence and relationships between mothers and daughters. It reminded me of disagreements with my mother: I placed greater emphasis on personal choice, while she focused more on family responsibilities and practical realities. Previously, I often felt that she did not understand me. Reading the novel helped me consider how misunderstandings could arise from different experiences and ways of expressing affection, even between people who spoke the same language.

The mothers and daughters in the novel inhabit different cultural worlds, while my mother and I also grew up with different experiences. Recognising this connection did not immediately resolve our disagreements, but it stopped me from explaining every conflict simply as her failure to understand me. I began considering why family responsibilities mattered to her, while also examining my own understanding of independence and self-expression.

Valuing personal independence did not require me to reject my family background. Literature in English gave me another perspective from which to reconsider my experience, rather than simply replacing my existing values with a different set. I could appreciate ideas about independence and self-expression while continuing to reflect on the responsibilities and relationships that had shaped my life at home.

While preparing my undergraduate dissertation, I lost a close family member. I struggled to concentrate on choosing a topic and even became reluctant to communicate with my supervisor.

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Later, while revisiting The Joy Luck Club, I became interested in another of Amy Tan’s novels, The Bonesetter’s Daughter. With my supervisor’s encouragement, I chose it as my research subject and completed the dissertation despite the limited time. Literature became more than an academic requirement: it helped me work through my emotions and reconnect with learning.

Classroom discussions of feminism, alongside series such as Desperate Housewives, Why Women Kill and Harlots, also drew my attention to how women navigate marriage, family and social expectations. I am still learning about feminist theories, but I have begun using these perspectives to reflect on my own choices. English was becoming involved in my career exploration, understanding of family and identity as a woman. My Chinese language and cultural experiences remained the foundation of these reflections.

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During the gap year after my undergraduate degree, I initially thought my English learning might pause without courses or examinations. Instead, English began entering my interests and everyday activities more naturally.

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At weekends, I practised K-pop choreography with friends and recorded dance and lip-sync videos for social media. Years of studying English helped me learn the lyrics quickly and keep up with the music. When a video felt like a “slay”, I was a little proud. Previously, I had memorised sentences for examinations; now, I learned lyrics to create something I enjoyed.

English lyrics, movement, facial expressions and editing worked together to create meaning. Words such as “slay” also became part of conversations with my friends. I could use them to express admiration without first translating them into Chinese. English was both a linguistic resource and a connection to the popular culture in which I participated.

These practices reshaped my understanding of “using English”. In class, language ability was often demonstrated through complete sentences or correct answers. On social media, a lyric or single word combined with movement could communicate an attitude. What I enjoyed was not simply remembering English accurately, but using it in expressions that my friends and I could understand together.

I also enjoy playing Valorant. On overseas servers, I use English to communicate with players from different countries. Situations change quickly, leaving little time to construct complete sentences beforehand. Differences between Chinese and English character names, abilities and dialogue also sparked my interest in localisation. Translation has to consider players’ expectations, characterisation and context, rather than merely matching literal meanings. Gaming became another setting in which I could connect my experience with what I had studied in translation and semantics.

Later, during an internship at the Canton Fair, I discovered that the work involved more than interpreting. I had to introduce products, understand customers’ needs and confirm transaction details. This required preparation on the company, its products and international trade terminology. When customers expressed an intention to order, we also needed to prepare a pro forma invoice, or PI, and confirm payment arrangements and the port of shipment.

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Knowing the phrase “payment terms” did not necessarily mean understanding the business processes involved: language and professional knowledge had to develop together. Sometimes, explaining a product clearly and checking that both sides understood each other were more useful than complicated vocabulary. My idea of being “good at English” gradually shifted from giving correct answers to solving problems in a particular situation.

Technology continued to shape my learning habits. At university, I used the Bubei Danci vocabulary app to prepare for CET-4 and CET-6, and Youdao Dictionary to look up words. Compared with using my paper dictionary in junior secondary school, a phone made learning more convenient and allowed me to study in spare moments. However, recognising a word in an app did not mean I could use it naturally in conversation. Technology supported access and revision, while practical use still required context and practice.

These technologies also offered different possibilities. Dictionaries and vocabulary apps mainly helped me find and remember existing information, whereas short videos and social platforms gave me opportunities to create, share and respond. English was no longer confined to a desk: it became part of deciding what to film, how to explain culture and how to work with other people.

From bilingual videos and AI-assisted writing to communication in games, these experiences deepened my interest in language and digital technology. They eventually led me to apply for the MADES programme at Lingnan University. I still felt that there was much about English I had not explored. Continuing my studies offered a way to investigate questions that had emerged across my academic, professional and everyday experiences.

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▷ Play this memory

After coming to Hong Kong, I found more opportunities to move between Chinese and English. When discussing coursework or academic concepts, some English expressions now come directly to mind, rather than always beginning as Chinese thoughts that need translating. Sometimes, I develop a complex idea in Chinese and add an English concept; at other times, I draw on my Chinese cultural experience to explain a point. Both languages have become resources for thinking.

This movement has challenged my earlier assumptions about language boundaries. I no longer feel that I must exclude Chinese entirely to prove that I can use English. Chinese can help me develop an idea, while English offers familiar academic concepts. Together, they support communication and allow me to bring my own experience into a new learning environment.

Of course, I still worry about expressing myself accurately and feel pressure in complex discussions. However, I no longer interpret these difficulties as direct evidence that I am not good enough. I once believed that only someone who sounded like a native speaker and never made mistakes could call themselves an English speaker. Now, I use English to study, work, play and build connections. These experiences of participation also form part of my identity as an English user. Accepting that identity does not mean that I have finished learning. It means recognising what I can already do while remaining willing to try, adjust and improve.

Looking back, I have moved from fearing criticism and relying on marks to confirm my ability towards using English to introduce my home region, understand myself and communicate with others. Paper dictionaries, mobile apps, videos and games have expanded the settings in which I use language, but I do not need to become someone else in the process. My cultural background and personal experiences are precisely what I want to express through English.

I am still an English learner, but I am also an English user. I am proud of this change, and my story with English continues.