Yan's Nonfiction Blog

     I often say, “English is my second language, so I have a valid excuse” whenever I misspell or misspeak a word. Even though I say this as a joke, the fact is indeed true, and since I came to the US at age 8 in 2014, I’ve had an interesting history with the language, the biggest of which was me deciding on whether or not I should curse.       Even before I arrived here, I knew a tiny bit of Engish. My mom often tells the story of when I was a baby. My grandmother asked me where the moon was in Chinese, and I did not react. However, when my mom asked where it was in English, I looked at the moon and pointed to it. My mom’s interest in English paired with me going to an “international” school, not that there were any international students; we just learned a tiny bit of English from a Chinese teacher, led to me having a small basic knowledge of English. Thus, I already knew of the infamous f-word even before landing on American soil. I remember saying...

Whenever people say, “Money can’t solve all your problems,” I’ve always disagreed. Bored? Buy a new game to entertain yourself. Sick? Pay for the best medical care in the world. Need to go somewhere? Buy a private airplane and get there real quick. However, as I pondered whether happiness could be purchased, I concluded that money couldn’t buy happiness but could replace it.      First of all, how would I define happiness? Is it being entertained? Perhaps loved? I’m not a philosopher, so I will just say that whenever I smile and feel joy, I am experiencing happiness. Have you ever played a game with an infinite money hack? I imagine that would be how it feels to buy happiness with money. The first few moments would be bliss; you could do whatever you wanted, purchasing everything you couldn’t and conquering levels without effort. But pretty soon, the game you once loved quickly becomes dull, as you no longer have an objective to work towards, and eventually, you delete ...

     Lying is such an interesting concept. On one hand, we are taught lying is bad from a very young age by our parents and fairy tales like Pinocchio and The Boy That Cried Wolf. On the other hand, as we grow up, we realize facts and feelings don’t really go well with each other, so sometimes we have to lie to make others happy. But me…I would never lie, no matter what, and if you think I’m lying…you’d be right.       I’m not a pathological liar. In fact, I believe I probably lie less than the average person, but I guess that depends on what you would consider as lying.       For me, pranking someone by hiding their phone during lunch when they were distracted, then saying it wasn’t you when they begin questioning you as you’ve done the same thing before, doesn’t count as lying…wow this sounds really mean when I typed it out…but he does it to me too so it's ok. Anyways, I don’t think the previously mentioned scenario should be cons...

It was the summer of 2014, my last year of living in China. In fact, in just two months, I would go through a 13-hour-long journey and come to the so-called land of the free, but that’s a story for another time. During this summer, my dad introduced me to something I would consider is now one of my biggest passions, something I can connect with him no matter how many miles away: football, or the name I found out after I got here: soccer.       I don’t remember how or why I started watching soccer; my best guess would be one night, my dad was watching the 2014 World Cup, and I began watching with him. What I do remember, though, is quite a few of the matches that I watched and, more importantly, the time I spent with my dad. Due to time zone differences, the matches of the World Cup, which was being hosted in Brazil that year, usually kicked off around midnight in China, and because I was still a little eight-year-old boy who needed sleep, I couldn’t just stay awake ...

    It has been nine years since I moved to Champaign from China and six years since I last visited. Over this period, I’ve discovered so much about my family and my hometown of Chengdu that I couldn’t appreciate when I was younger. So now, amid college applications and senior year stress, I would love nothing more in the world than to return to when I was seven and still going to elementary school in China. I feel like I’ve always taken my hometown for granted. Because I didn’t live directly downtown of the city, I’ve always thought of Chengdu, Sichuan, as a mildly large city that isn’t anything special. Only recently, probably less than a year ago, did I find out that, first, Chengdu is massive; it is the fifth most populated city in China, with a population of about 15 million people. Chengdu also has incredible historical significance, as it was once the capital of the Shu Kingdom (one of the famous “Three Kingdoms”). Thus, the city has incredible historical sites and ...

     When I was asked to name an object that told the story of my life, I really wasn’t sure of what to choose. There are many objects that I enjoy, but even at just seventeen, I felt like I had lived for too long to let a singular object identify me. That is, until I went home that day and made dinner: some steak, broccoli…and rice. I realized that through all the changes in my life, the only two things that have stayed constant are my family…and rice.       If you didn’t know, I was born in China and lived there until eight years old. Then, in the summer of 2014, I came to Champaign, Illinois. Having my life divided almost perfectly in half was a weird feeling growing up. I didn’t really experience the childhood of an American, so often when my friends speak nostalgically about the shows they used to watch, like Phineas and Ferb or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles , I just can’t relate because I grew up watching 喜羊羊与灰太狼 and 熊出没 (which apparently transla...