An open letter to the Chinese tourists on the road below my bedroom window:

From my window, I can see your tour group standing on Senate House Passage. In your eyes, I see the same expression my parents had when they first visited Cambridge two summers ago. It is the ferocious, silent taking in of everything around you, as Cambridge finally steps off its cultural pedestal and begins to crystallise into reality.

One glance, and you can tell that I’m Chinese. The evidence is everywhere: the subliminally racist porter constantly asking me to show my CamCard when I enter my own college, or, even better, all the punting guides who offer me tours every other day. A further look would inform you that I am far too poorly dressed and tired to be a tourist, while the stack of books in my arms would give evidence of my student status. But I am not often afforded more than the initial cursory gaze, and the assumption is always that I, too, am a tourist.

Despite the huge numbers of Chinese students at Cambridge, my presence at this university still reads as ‘foreign’. While the Cambridge trifecta of matriculation, perpetual essay confusion, and moderate to heavy alcohol consumption marks me out as a student through and through, I am under no illusions as to how the general public perceives me: ethnic minority, tourist majority.

I grew up in Hong Kong, a city that worshipped at the shrine of higher education. Buses and trams were emblazoned with advertisements for tutorial centers and college counselling services, all promising to get your child (Yes! Your child!) into the elite university of their dreams. The summer before my final exam results came out, my parents prayed at temples, knelt before gods they did not particularly believe in, and burned incense they did not actually like the smell of, all in the desperate hope of an acceptance letter from Cambridge.

“The evidence is everywhere: the subliminally racist porter constantly asking me to show my CamCard when I enter my own college, or, even better, all the punting guides who offer me tours every other day”

In Asian culture, the educational achievements of children are perceived as the fruits of successful parenting. My parents could not have dreamed of this kind of educational opportunity for themselves. Yet they raised not one, not two, but three children who proceeded to attend Oxbridge or Ivy League universities. My ‘success’ in getting into Cambridge was theirs to claim.

Chinese tourists below my window, I see the look you give me as I walk into college. It is a look of recognition. I will not do your children the grave disservice of suggesting they look like me, but like me, they are members of the younger Chinese generation, raised on the great Oxbridge myth and hoping that one day, they too will be walking into a college they will briefly call home. And like me, you’ve come from halfway around the world to experience a university that has always been hard sold. Our culture idolises academic excellence, professional stability, and filial piety – and we are told from a young age that all three boxes can be ticked with a degree from Cambridge.

Yet, despite a culturally ingrained worship of Cambridge, I constantly grapple with what it means to be a student here. A Cambridge identity is the secret pride of knowing you were clever enough to get into one of the top-ranking universities in the world. It is the equally secretive shame of feeling inadequate, of suffering from a chronic Cambridge Imposter Syndrome, the fear that you do not and will never truly belong among such a high achieving cohort of students. It is wearing educational privilege as an accessory to your college gown. It is the usual muddle of early adulthood. It is the unusual stress of a medieval academic pressure cooker.

BME campaigns in Cambridge: Far from misplaced activism

Despite my closed window, your eagerness is palpable through the ten feet of vertical space between us. It is embarrassing because I know how much this kind of education means to you culturally and personally, and I never feel like I am living up to that expectation. I am fully aware that you would kill for your children to receive their higher education here, and as a young Chinese woman no different from your own daughter back home, I feel a sense of shameful responsibility.

But your awe at Cambridge is also comforting. The shock of the intensity of this institution, especially in comparison to the Cambridge image our culture perpetuates and sells, frequently casts doubt into my mind of whether or not I should be here at all. So thank you for reminding me that for better or worse, Cambridge truly is a special place.

To the Chinese tourists below my window – if and when your children come to Cambridge, they will carry with them, much like I do, the most inexplicable combination of assumed responsibility, humility, shame, and joy for the cultural and academic facets of their identity. I suggest they carry it all with pride. And next time you’re on the street below my window, look up. I’m usually waving.