I thought I understood British culture. No amount of book reading or television watching could have prepared me for a seismic shift
Growing up, being Chinese was always optional.
I went to an international school, where my classmates and I would come up with endearing labels for one another: “stuck-up debater who wouldn’t shut up”, “athletic, but not very clever”, “class clown”. No points for guessing which one I was. But mentions of ethnicity and faith were occasional at best. At most, there was a divide between “expats” and “locals” – with the former blending gradually into the latter.
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