Why China?

Honestly, I applied to a random program 48 hours before the deadline, and I wish that I had a more thoughtful answer about the process. One grueling interview and an acceptance later, I found myself badgered by the wrath of Chinese aunties who wanted to hear about Yenching Academy at Peking University, where I had applied. When I told the aunties that I wasn’t planning to go to Peking, they charged at me as the Huns did with Mulan. So here I am, en route to Beijing, where I will have to figure out what this “random program” is all about.

What’s Yenching?

Depends on who you ask. It could be the ticket to being a poster child for Chinese parents or the bane of your existence as you navigate their very-slow website. Or in my case, it’s a free one-year vacation to China and a way to stop the aunties from bothering me with more WeChat messages.

Overview: Yenching is a fully-funded graduate program with six tracks, varying from literature to economics to the arts. On paper, the program is two years, though many people leave after one, in part because the second year doesn’t require you to take classes so long as you can write a thesis. During your first year, you take classes and eat from great canteens. You mingle with local Chinese students and interact with the rest of the 125-person cohort, most of whom are international, with some from Chinese universities. The program’s in English and you don’t need to know Chinese, though you can take language classes and access the university's local courses.

Aside from meeting cool people, the biggest perk of Yenching is that it’s free. Yenching pays for your flight to China, gives you housing, and provides a small stipend for a year. You’re not making money from working a full-time job, but you’re not losing anything either.

Approximately 125 scholars worldwide are selected, and the admissions committee chooses people based on geographic quotas they have to hit for diversity. Don’t bother looking at the acceptance rate; it was decently misleading when I was applying. Internally, you’ll never know how many people they need to take from X country or Y territory, and you can never trust these online statistics accurately.

I’m doing the economics and management route because I applied 48 hours before the deadline and clicked the first thing that appeared interesting. And no, I can’t draw supply and demand graphics, so if you can do that and speak good Chinese, let’s be WeChat friends. I’ve been told, however, that Peking economics isn’t bad. Yay?

How the admissions process works: You submit two essays (maybe more? I can’t remember) and two letters of recommendation. Then you go through an interview with six to seven people from the admissions committee grilling you. For the essays, you write about why Yenching/China and submit a research proposal for the track that you want to do. If I can write a research proposal in 48 hours about my love for economics, despite getting a 26% on my microeconomics final in college, you can write a better proposal. Also, for the letter of recommendation, just ask someone. I sent an email to two professors the week of the deadline and asked them to submit letters over Thanksgiving weekend. Not exactly good practice, but the letters were sent, and they were my first cheerleaders when I told them about the result.

If you get an interview: You’ll be notified via email by an archaic mailing system, but you get one shot at an interview. Six to seven panelists from the admissions committee grill you about why Yenching, why China, and why the research track that you proposed. They rapid-fire questions for 25 minutes, and you may want to talk faster to get through more questions. The questions aren’t exactly challenging, but sometimes they’re unexpected. For instance, I was asked why I wasn’t studying sociology since my resume didn’t line up with economics. I wanted to yell at the interviewer but instead, smiled and told them that I was interested in economics because [insert something I can’t remember]. As I learned afterward, they’re not looking for the “right” answer. They’re looking for people who can stand their ground. Admission notifications are sent via email, and you can hear back within a week or months later. Then you have two weeks to decide whether or not to take the spot.

Here’s a lesson to anyone casting applications: Sometimes, just sometimes, you should think about what you’re applying to. When you’re Chinese, it’s impossible to explain to your aunts why you’re not going to Peking, and you’ll find that 3,000 years of filial piety can guilt trip you enough to go to Mulan’s hometown. That, or you’ll get a ton of unsolicited WeChat messages convincing you that Peking is worth it.

What’s a Substack?

It’s basically a blog but prettier. You get posts delivered to your email inbox, and you shouldn’t need a Substack account to read the posts. Just add your email address.

I’m aiming for monthly posts, and if time allows, weekly to bi-weekly writeups. I can’t access social media sites as easily from China, and hopefully, this Substack will be evidence that I’m alive :)

Why Writing?

Growing up, my Chinese teacher forced us to write daily journals in Mandarin. Fewer things got me more annoyed than writing about the biggest happenings in life, which for a third grader, consisted of yesterday’s dinner and today’s breakfast. I don’t remember much from third grade, but my journals remind me that 1) back then, I was terrible at Chinese, in part because my teacher circled my misspelled characters, 2) over time my Chinese did get better but my handwriting became sloppier, and 3) winning Monopoly was one of the greatest priorities I had in elementary school.

Life can actually be funny if you read about it a decade later. A year from now, I hope you’ll have read many funny stories and laughed hahaha.

China has also been locked down for the past three years. There are only so many news reports you read before wondering if it’s more left or right leaning, or if spies are being sent to America and war might happen. This newsletter, with nearly no references to politics, aims to give you more perspective on what it’s like turning from 23 to 24 years old, in the year 2023-2024, in a land thousands of miles away from the United States. And if you don’t like to read, I’ll include pictures of great food.

To China, let’s get down to business!

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