Studying in China: An Experience That Changes You
To be honest, the idea of going on a mobility program came to me even before I entered university. I had always wanted to try living in another country—not just visiting as a tourist for a couple of weeks, but actually living there, studying, and becoming part of everyday life. It felt like the kind of experience that could really broaden my perspective.
At that point, though, it was more of an abstract idea—I didn’t have a specific country in mind. During my studies, everything started to make more sense. I was studying political science with a focus on China, and gradually I began to better understand the region—its culture, political system, and specifics. At some point, China stopped feeling distant and unfamiliar and instead became interesting and even somewhat “close” to me.
Choosing a university was more difficult. With only basic knowledge of Chinese, your options are quite limited—you can’t properly navigate university websites or fully understand the information. So I focused on universities that provided clear and accessible information in English. XJTLU stood out because it presented itself very clearly and in detail, and it also has a strong international reputation.
Another important factor was that the university follows a British education system and teaches entirely in English. This mattered a lot to me because I didn’t just want to “get through” my studies—I wanted to fully benefit from the academic experience: choose interesting courses, participate in discussions, write papers, and not struggle with the language barrier all the time.
It was a very strong feeling of being in a completely different world. And not in an abstract way—literally everything felt different. You step off the plane, and immediately you notice it: the sounds, the language, the faces, even the pace at which people move.
One moment that really stuck with me was when I was walking to collect my luggage and saw a small Chinese garden with blooming trees. It was especially striking because I had just arrived from Yekaterinburg, where it was still winter—snow, cold, grey skies. And suddenly there was spring—greenery, flowers. The contrast was so strong that it almost didn’t feel real.
The first few days were emotionally unusual. On one hand, I was happy because I had finally arrived where I had been planning to go for so long. On the other hand, there was a bit of confusion—you don’t fully understand how things work yet, how to behave, what to do next. It’s not panic, more like a “observer” state. But it passes quite quickly. After a few days, you start getting used to basic things, navigating the environment, and curiosity replaces that confusion. You begin noticing details, trying new things, and slowly feel like you are becoming part of this space.
Yes, quite different, and sometimes unexpectedly so. The first thing was the grading system. After being used to a 10-point scale, switching to a 100-point scale felt unusual, especially since getting a high score there is much harder. When you’re told that 70 is already a good result, it takes time to adjust.
The second difference was the structure of learning. Back home, we usually have continuous assessment—assignments, tests, and mid-term grades—which helps you track your progress. There, most of the weight was placed on final assignments. So you work throughout the semester, but your final grade largely depends on one or a few major projects at the end.
This requires a completely different approach. You need to manage your time well and not postpone things, even if deadlines seem far away. Because by the end of the semester, the workload increases dramatically.
I also found it interesting how different classes could be. Some were almost entirely self-directed, where you worked independently and occasionally consulted the professor. Others were intensive three-hour seminars that combined theory, discussions, case studies, and even film analysis. It made the learning process more diverse but also required flexibility.
The most unexpected challenge was the climate. I really didn’t think it would matter that much. Usually, you worry about language, studies, or social adaptation. But the weather turned out to be just as important.
By April, temperatures started reaching 30°C, and in May it got even hotter. The high humidity made the heat feel much more intense. You constantly feel stuffy, get tired quickly, and it becomes harder to concentrate.
The first days were quite tough. But it really helped that there were people around who had already experienced it. They shared tips—what to wear, what drinks help, where to buy cooling products. I learned about cooling patches, sun-protective gloves, and certain types of tea.
Eventually, my body adapted in about two weeks. And that itself was an interesting experience—you realize that you can adjust to conditions that initially seemed almost unbearable.
Yes, a trip to Nanjing was one of the most memorable experiences. We went there without a clear plan—just based on a recommendation. There wasn’t much information available, which made it even more intriguing.
At first, it felt like a normal trip. But as we climbed the mountain, it became clear that the place had a deeper meaning. There were more and more people, and the atmosphere started to change.
At the top, it was obvious that this was a religious site. There was a Buddhist relic there, and hundreds of people had come specifically to pray. It was a very powerful moment. You stand there among these people and realize that for them, this is not just a beautiful location—it has deep spiritual significance. It really changes the way you perceive the place.
I think the biggest change was becoming more independent. When you’re in another country, you don’t have your usual support system. You can’t just ask someone how things work.
You have to figure out everyday and administrative issues on your own, search for information, double-check everything. Sometimes you make mistakes and learn from them. This builds confidence and a sense of responsibility.
You also start to see uncertainty differently. What used to feel intimidating becomes a normal part of the process.
Yes, quite a lot. First, it broadened my understanding of political science. I became especially interested in areas related to urban studies, which was something new and unexpectedly engaging for me.
Second, I realized that I definitely want to continue my studies in a master’s program. And not just continue, but make a more conscious choice of specialization—one that combines my interests with real career opportunities.
It was a mix of different approaches. On one hand, English helped, especially at the university. On the other hand, it wasn’t always enough in everyday life.
Interestingly, many Chinese people actively use technology to communicate. If they want to talk, they simply open a translator or use AI. This makes communication much easier.
At the same time, it motivates you to learn the language yourself. I started trying to speak Chinese in simple situations—at shops, markets, pharmacies. Even if it wasn’t perfect, the effort itself helped a lot.
I would say—don’t hesitate and don’t be afraid. Yes, it’s stepping out of your comfort zone. Yes, there will be difficult moments. But that’s exactly where the value lies.
This kind of experience gives you not only knowledge but also a deeper understanding of yourself—your abilities, your limits. And that’s something very hard to gain in any other way.
Probably the combination of personal growth and the people I met.
On one hand, you change internally—you start seeing the world, yourself, and your future differently. On the other hand, you meet people who become an important part of your life.
I made friends from different countries, and we still keep in touch, support each other, visit one another. That sense of an international circle is incredibly valuable.
And if I had to sum it up, the main thing is that after such an experience, you don’t come back the same person. And that’s probably its greatest value.
Interviewed by
Feona Kolesnikova
