“When did you start learning English?”
In the months since I set off for Australia and New Zealand, I’ve been asked this question almost as often as, “Where are you from?”
“I started taking English classes in junior high,” is my usual answer, though I never say it with much conviction.
I’m not sure whether I was learning English back then, or merely using it.
For most people of my generation, junior high English classes marked their first formal encounter with the language. But parents, determined to give their children a head start, would always jump the gun. So in elementary school, I spent some time learning my ABCs at an English after-school program, and I also attended an English class at church where we were supposed to have all-English conversations with foreign missionaries—though in reality, I usually skipped class to hang out with my friends at a nearby convenience store. “English is very important. You have to study it properly,” was one of the things I heard adults say most often.
But why? I never understood why I had to learn English. I spoke Chinese with my classmates and friends every day. TV shows and news anchors were in Chinese. I listened to Mandarin pop songs, and movies came with Chinese subtitles. Nothing I saw or said while walking down the street required English, and life went on perfectly well without it.
So to me, this foreign language was nothing more than a series of fill-in-the-blank sentence patterns in a textbook. I wasn’t interested in English and rarely got good grades in it, which only reinforced my attitude: “Just don’t be too terrible at it—good enough to get into the university I want will do.”
Back then, English was merely a tool for getting through school and earning a degree.
That changed when I took my first independent trip to Australia on a working holiday. After ten years of studying English through junior high, senior high, and university, I assumed mine couldn’t be that bad. Reality gave me a rude awakening. At hostels, I met travellers from all over the world, but our conversations never seemed to get beyond “Where are you from?”, “What are you doing in Australia?”, and “Where have you travelled?” Anything deeper felt like a stone lodged in my throat: I couldn’t get the words out, but I couldn’t bring myself to swallow them either. Fine, then—I would listen to other people talk about their countries and tell their stories. But with my limited vocabulary and narrow worldview, their English seemed to float in the air behind a veil. I could vaguely make sense of it through the fog, but never quite grasp it. I was curious about the worlds these people carried with them, yet those worlds felt so far beyond my reach.
As my travels took me farther afield, I needed English to understand Europe’s rich culture and history, to learn about the backgrounds of friends I met along the way, and to follow international events and the different perspectives surrounding them.
It turned out that language really was a tool.
When I wanted to engage with the world and understand different ways of thinking, it was my most important tool for communication. When I wanted to introduce my hometown to others, it was the key tool for getting my message across. Language brought me closer to people on the other side of the world.
At last, I understood why I wanted to learn English. So I began setting aside a little time each day to improve it, and I worked hard to practise it on the job.It was only when I became curious about the world and eager to communicate with the people in it that I truly began learning English.
“When did you start learning English?”
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