THERE are decisions our parents make for us when we are young that only reveal their true value much later in life.
One of the greatest gifts mine gave me was the opportunity to study in a Chinese school.
At the time, it felt like nothing more than a routine part of childhood – early mornings, homework, memorising characters, and navigating the complexities of a language that demanded precision in every stroke and tone.
What I didn’t realise then was that my parents were giving me a lifelong advantage, one that would shape the course of both my personal and professional life.
As I write this during a work trip in China, the importance of that foundation has become more vivid than ever.
Over the past several days, I have found myself conversing in Mandarin almost constantly.
Speaking in Mandarin has not only eased interactions but also broken down unspoken barriers.
There is something deeply unifying about speaking to someone in their own language – a softness in their response, a shift in body language, and a sense of respect that flows naturally both ways.
But the journey here was far from effortless.
While many assume that attending a Chinese school automatically guarantees fluency, maintaining the language requires consistency, courage, and a willingness to confront embarrassment.
After leaving school, I realised how quickly language skills fade when unused.
Throughout my teenage years and early adulthood, I often felt my Mandarin slipping further away from me.
Speaking the language felt manageable, but maintaining the other aspects required effort I didn’t always have the discipline for.
To keep from losing it completely, I would deliberately force myself to speak Mandarin with Chinese friends even when it felt awkward or slow.
Every conversation became a small test of choosing the right words, correcting myself mid-sentence, and laughing off the mistakes.
The same happened in my interactions with media colleagues.
During assignments, press events, or casual meet-ups, I would consciously switch to Mandarin.
Those were moments of deliberate effort, but they were also moments that slowly built fluency, comfort, and resilience.
Today, those years of persistence have paid off.
Speaking Mandarin during this assignment has not only helped me carry out my work more efficiently but has also opened doors to genuine human connection.
There is a warmth that emerges when speaking to someone in their mother tongue.
It is in these moments that I am reminded why learning a second language is more than just acquiring a skill.
It is learning to listen, to understand, and to see the world through another lens.
Still, there is one part of the language that slipped through my fingers: reading and writing.
While I can converse comfortably, I can no longer read or write in Mandarin the way I used to.
Here in China, that loss feels especially pronounced.
The streets are filled with characters on billboards, storefronts, signboards, and menus, each one a reminder of what I used to know.
Sometimes I recognise a character or two; sometimes I don’t recognise any at all.
It is a strange sadness – like forgetting the melody of a childhood song you once sang every day.
But this sadness is gentle, because it is accompanied by hope.
In fact, this trip has reignited an old desire to relearn the language properly.
With my son growing each day and the thought of kindergarten and school on the horizon, I have begun imagining a new journey – one where I learn alongside him.
There is something heart-warming about the idea of sitting with him as he traces his first characters, perhaps guiding his strokes while relearning my own.
Maybe, as he absorbs the language with the ease only children possess, I too will rediscover the parts of Mandarin that have grown distant.
There is something incredibly meaningful about the idea of learning Mandarin again – not out of obligation, but out of choice, and doing it alongside my child.
The importance of a second language extends far beyond vocabulary or fluency.
It deepens empathy, expands the way the mind sees the world, and unlocks perspectives that would otherwise remain hidden behind linguistic walls.
In my line of work, it has allowed me to connect with communities, interviewees, and colleagues in ways that English alone could not achieve.
There is a certain trust that forms when someone realises they don’t need a translator to speak to you – that you are willing and able to meet them where they are.
Personally, knowing Mandarin has grounded me.
It has given me ties to culture, heritage, and identity, even if those ties have occasionally loosened along the way.
Professionally, it has become one of my greatest assets, especially on assignments like this one in China, where it becomes not just a tool but a bridge.
As this trip goes on and I continue navigating China with a language that once felt like a burden but now feels like a gift, I am reminded again of my parents’ foresight.
What they gave me was not just an education – it was confidence, adaptability, and a lifelong tool that continues to shape my journey.
And as I look towards guiding my own son through the world, I hope to pass on that same gift, knowing now just how valuable it truly is.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at sarahhafizahchandra@gmail.com.
