Light pooled through the classroom windows, settling in geometric shapes along the rows of desks. The students were waiting, their books open, pencils poised, the hush of expectation settling like dust.
Nico, you have done your immigrant students proud. I could hear the crackled accents, feel the tension as we search for barely remembered words in a foreign language, hear the summer cicadas, and when I read about Harbin, I turned on my aircon. It's winter here. Not Haerbin cold, but the buildings are built for deep freeze in Dongbei. I could sense the hope in the air for these young rural people, and dispaired momentarily for them, because i remember the cold hardness of the "indifferent embrace" of Guangzhou. I recalled my sister-in-law, unbelievably happy when she ran into a stranger from her home province. 东北人， 老乡, she'd say, dongbei ren, lao xiang. Ah, you're from Dongbei, my old hometown person. She'd be as happy as a pig in mud to meet someone from the northeast in the southern tropics of polluted Guangzhou.
Thank you, Debbie - your words really touched me. That moment you describe was something I saw over and over. Guangzhou in 2004 was this strange paradox: both the centre of everything, and yet nowhere familiar for so many of its newcomers. I soon came to realise the classroom itself became a kind of map - a microcosm of China, stitched together by longing, ambition, and relentless movement.
Yes, Guangzhou was like that back then, exactly. It was one of the places that "opened up" first, and with that came terrible pollution etc. Shenzhen, instead, starting almost from scratch, has become a thriving 'cosmopolitan' hub - cosmopolitan in the sense of internal China cosmopolitan - people from all over everywhere, speaking Mandarin as a common language. Under-resourced and chaotic at first, growing into a confident city.
Remember QQ? I had all my students on that seminal Chinese social media platform back then and kept in touch with many of them through it, as well as by email. Because the college was a vocational one focused on the civil aviation industry, most of them went on to work across China and the wider Sinosphere, for both domestic and international airlines. I know quite a few ended up in Macau, Hong Kong, Shenzhen, and Singapore.
By the time QQ fizzled out, I had just a handful of them on Facebook, where they remain to this day. Martin, who became one of my closest friends, was in touch only a few weeks ago. I won’t give too much away, as I want to tell his story properly in future chapters - but let’s just say he’s doing very well for himself. Our young families met up here in the UK just a few years ago.
Nico, you caught the spirit of the time, it's quite something. That was a school, but the buildings could have just as easily been a factory. There was one kind of building but used for many purposes. A whole region of migrants, millions and millions coming in and out, usually around CNY. Turnover would be 20-30%, whole departments would just up and leave, to another factory, or disperse back home. The new year holiday used to disrupt business for six weeks or more.
Appreciate this, Paul - that blend of permanence and flux really defined those years. I came to teach in Guangzhou, but it was China that came to me - through the stories, accents, and dreams of the young people in that room.
Izmir must have held its own stories. I imagine your students carried the same quiet weight mine did - young, far from home, swept up in something bigger than themselves. There’s something about the classroom that strips away politics and borders. You see people as they are: hopeful, tired, striving. It stays with you, doesn’t it?
Nico, you have done your immigrant students proud. I could hear the crackled accents, feel the tension as we search for barely remembered words in a foreign language, hear the summer cicadas, and when I read about Harbin, I turned on my aircon. It's winter here. Not Haerbin cold, but the buildings are built for deep freeze in Dongbei. I could sense the hope in the air for these young rural people, and dispaired momentarily for them, because i remember the cold hardness of the "indifferent embrace" of Guangzhou. I recalled my sister-in-law, unbelievably happy when she ran into a stranger from her home province. 东北人， 老乡, she'd say, dongbei ren, lao xiang. Ah, you're from Dongbei, my old hometown person. She'd be as happy as a pig in mud to meet someone from the northeast in the southern tropics of polluted Guangzhou.
Thank you, Debbie - your words really touched me. That moment you describe was something I saw over and over. Guangzhou in 2004 was this strange paradox: both the centre of everything, and yet nowhere familiar for so many of its newcomers. I soon came to realise the classroom itself became a kind of map - a microcosm of China, stitched together by longing, ambition, and relentless movement.
Yes, Guangzhou was like that back then, exactly. It was one of the places that "opened up" first, and with that came terrible pollution etc. Shenzhen, instead, starting almost from scratch, has become a thriving 'cosmopolitan' hub - cosmopolitan in the sense of internal China cosmopolitan - people from all over everywhere, speaking Mandarin as a common language. Under-resourced and chaotic at first, growing into a confident city.
did you ever keep in contact with any of the students from back then?
Remember QQ? I had all my students on that seminal Chinese social media platform back then and kept in touch with many of them through it, as well as by email. Because the college was a vocational one focused on the civil aviation industry, most of them went on to work across China and the wider Sinosphere, for both domestic and international airlines. I know quite a few ended up in Macau, Hong Kong, Shenzhen, and Singapore.
By the time QQ fizzled out, I had just a handful of them on Facebook, where they remain to this day. Martin, who became one of my closest friends, was in touch only a few weeks ago. I won’t give too much away, as I want to tell his story properly in future chapters - but let’s just say he’s doing very well for himself. Our young families met up here in the UK just a few years ago.
Nico, you caught the spirit of the time, it's quite something. That was a school, but the buildings could have just as easily been a factory. There was one kind of building but used for many purposes. A whole region of migrants, millions and millions coming in and out, usually around CNY. Turnover would be 20-30%, whole departments would just up and leave, to another factory, or disperse back home. The new year holiday used to disrupt business for six weeks or more.
Appreciate this, Paul - that blend of permanence and flux really defined those years. I came to teach in Guangzhou, but it was China that came to me - through the stories, accents, and dreams of the young people in that room.
A real opportunity to learn through those students, and thanks now for sharing some of it.
Lovely essay.
Thank you ☺️
Thank you, Nico, for this beautiful, touching, vignette. It makes me sad I never visited China during that time.
Thank you for reading!
I taught Turkish military students years ago. Your comments brought me back to Izmir and the wistfulness of my students who missed home.
Izmir must have held its own stories. I imagine your students carried the same quiet weight mine did - young, far from home, swept up in something bigger than themselves. There’s something about the classroom that strips away politics and borders. You see people as they are: hopeful, tired, striving. It stays with you, doesn’t it?
It really does. Your post made me want to back to teaching again.