A campus in Beijing

The first thing that struck me about my college campus in Beijing was the mix of concrete and lush gardens, which somehow looked out-of-place in the urban atmosphere. The flatness, too, was unfamiliar -- no hikes up the hill to class. Students on motorbikes zoomed through the winding streets. Some wore masks -- but only when the air was particularly bad. Every morning, I passed the same elderly woman power-walking, swinging her arms in front of her as if fighting some invisible wind. There was a fitness center in the middle of campus where a group of girls would practice a dance, using the building’s mirrored façade to see their reflections. Inside, students played badminton, worked out on the machines or took classes ranging from kickboxing to yoga (in which the teacher forcefully pressed my heels to the ground as I tried to rest peacefully in downward dog. Gone was the soothing rhetoric about doing everything only to the best of your ability.)

At lunchtime, the streets were flooded with voices and backpacks as everyone gravitated toward the dining center. Inside, they jostled one another in front of the food stations. The ladies at the fast food stands called out as I passed by, advertising the oily chicken and slimy vegetables that have been sitting out all day. Most students, myself not included, handled the numbing spices of their stir-fry without choking or grimacing.

At night, cicadas replaced the voices of students, who were studying in their dorm rooms or the campus cafes, or out at KTV -- a popular karaoke joint in China -- singing their hearts out. Some were still on campus, playing basketball or dancing on the basketball court. There were local bars as well where students could get shots of vodka for under $3 and listen to every song that has played on the American radio for the past 10 years.

According to some recent graduates that I spoke to, university life in China is relatively relaxed in comparison to the frenzy leading up to the college entrance exam. It’s all relative, of course. That said, the students I met did not seem to have lives packed with extra-curriculars and internships, although I’m sure that their coursework was time-consuming enough on its own. The one campus event that I saw advertised during my two-month stay was a "qipao" (traditional women’s dress) contest and fashion show.

Also absent was the atmosphere of liberal arts. Students choose humanities or sciences at the beginning of high school and then choose a more specific major when they enter university. When I spoke to a friend studying finance, she expressed disappointment in her choice of sciences over humanities. She’d felt pressure from her parents and teachers to choose the sciences, especially as a woman, but she believed that she was better suited to a career in the humanities. Now it is too late.

What struck me most was the de-centered feeling of the campus, with a sense of broader silence beyond the interactions of friends. I longed for Tufts’ active student body. While the constant discourse certainly has its flaws, I now appreciate the fact that students take their heads out of their books long enough to engage with their peers, not only as friends but as fellow future leaders.