There’s a Conflict.
As a foreigner in China, I naturally face challenges with the language. But I’m trying. Not trying my hardest, maybe, but I’m putting in the effort.
What baffles me, however, is a behavior I encounter sometimes—why is it that when I express that I don’t understand something in Chinese, the response is often to repeat the same phrase, in the same way, and in the same language?
For example, in an interaction, I always default to Chinese—it’s the logical thing to do while living here. But when I don’t understand someone’s request, command, or instructions after one or two attempts, I’ll say, “不好意思，我听不懂” or “Sorry, I don’t understand,” making it abundantly clear with tone, gestures, and expression that I’m struggling.
Typically, when someone realizes they’re not being understood, the next step is to adapt. Use gestures, simpler phrasing, or translation tools. In my experience, gestures alone often get the job done.
What I struggle to grasp is why some people think the solution is to repeat the same words—but louder or faster. And when this inevitably fails, frustration sets in. But let’s be real: frustration isn’t warranted if you’re trying the same approach repeatedly and expecting different results. Isn’t that the very definition of insanity?
Let me be clear: I’m not saying this is cultural—it isn’t. This isn’t something “taught” in China, and most people don’t mean harm. Perhaps it’s a lack of awareness or patience. Regardless, I find the behavior unacceptable.
We ought to recognize that immigrants or foreigners navigating a new language may need extra attention or alternative approaches to complete the same tasks. It’s part of assimilation, and it takes time. And yes, I take full responsibility for choosing to live here—it’s on me to learn the language and adapt.
But communication is a two-way street. I’m working hard to improve my Chinese, but collaboration is key. Let’s solve problems together, not make people feel excluded or inadequate for not yet mastering—arguably—the world’s most complex language.
One Last Note—
This may not be directly related, but I feel it’s worth mentioning.
Over my years speaking English, Urdu, Punjabi, Hindi, German, and now Chinese, I’ve noticed something troubling: languages, more often than I’d like to admit, are used as tools of exclusion rather than inclusion. When did something designed to connect us become a means to divide?
That kind of behavior is not just hurtful—it’s cowardly. Instead of building bridges, it creates barriers.
I recall taking my dad out for a meal, just to enjoy some time together. As we sat there, I overheard people talking about us—specifically about him. Some of it was positive, but the negative comments cut through.
I got up and calmly, with a smile, asked them to stop, explaining that I understood what they were saying. They looked shocked, apologizing profusely, as though it hadn’t occurred to them that I might understand. But why would that surprise you? I had spoken to you in Chinese moments before.
Not only was it ignorant to assume I wouldn’t understand, but it was also incredibly disrespectful to speak poorly about us in the very language you knew (?) I could comprehend.
All we wanted was to enjoy your food and the time we had together. Instead, your words turned what could’ve been a positive experience into an exercise in restraint.
And that’s the burden you’ve handed me—to rise above, to resist generalizing, and to salvage the good in what should’ve been a simple, joyful moment. All you had to do was be nice. Is it that hard?
My dad still had a great time, though, because he just cared about the food. I hope I can do that too in the future—just eat, ignore the nonsense, and leave burping the 问题s out yk. After all, the food was really good… maybe that’s the secret to surviving here: just focus on the food and everything else becomes a blur.
