When I began seventh grade the fall of 2013, I was happily oblivious to the outside world. I technically knew that there were many other people who had lives around me in my city, but I was quite content to stay in my international school bubble and have fun wreaking havoc in the middle school hallway. In February of 2014, however, my parents pulled me out to enroll me in the Chinese school system for a year. This experience drastically changed me, and, by the end of seventh grade, my understanding of the world was turned upside down.

Every day I put on my purple and white tracksuit-style school uniform, rode my bike to school, and leapt up the stairs as the bell rang to start class. The teacher walked in as I breathlessly took my place in the back of the classroom (students are seated according to grades). We all bowed, droning, “Laoshininhao! Greetings, Teacher!”  Each class—taught to fifty kids at once in a small, stifling classroom—was monotonous at best. Students just sat and took notes. If anyone fell asleep the teacher would wake him/her up with anything from yelling to a smack on the head. One thing that outraged me was the lack of exercise. During PE we practiced marching formations but never seemed to exert much energy. I already spoke fairly fluent Mandarin, but since the homework was in writing I didn’t manage to complete it every night. I’d end up doing about an hour’s worth afterschool and turning in whatever I had.

School was even more demanding for Chinese citizens. They arrived an hour early and left school over an hour late for study halls, extra classes, and homework announcements. For two weeks before any test (including their monthly and quarterly ones), our days were filled with nothing but math, language arts, and English—absolutely no fine arts or PE. The monthly tests were beastly six-hour sessions with a single lunch break and no other water breaks (after which everyone’s grades were posted on the classroom door). I look back now and feel like that bland, harsh education didn’t teach anyone how to learn. It taught us how to be competitive and memorize information, but we didn’t learn to be inquisitive or grow independently in our surroundings. I empathize strongly with kids who struggle in these learning environments.

Going to school with other Chinese kids and experiencing their day-to-day lives heightened my awareness of lifestyles. I used to vaguely read and hear about other cultures having very different lifestyles, but it never clicked. As all my friends were American and America dominated popular culture, I assumed Americans were normal. Now I truly see that Americans are the global minority.

We should all take whatever opportunities we can afford to learn about other cultures. It’d help the world establish peace if more people understood and respected each other for their differences. For instance, I have a new admiration for youth who strive to succeed despite their cultural circumstances. Many people come of age without being shaken out of their narrow worldviews, so I am thankful for my time at Chinese school.