When I was 12 years old, I had a lot of friends. 

On many nights, my friends would gather in my room, and it would turn into a lecture hall. The lecturer, Professor Ai, wore a pair of red glasses and taught a myriad of subjects from history, mathematics, English, geography and chemistry. There were many students: the girl wearing a brown jacket who wanted to ask questions but was often too shy; the wild Snoopy dog who did not pay enough attention and the professor had to chide him to focus; the white rabbit who was quiet and pretty and concentrated very hard. We held classes every day, usually after dinner time. The classroom had two wooden chalkboards, a black dais, and a handmade wood bed which served as a bench. Everything seemed fantastic; however, my friends complained sometimes about lack of light and space.

Professor Ai stood in front of the chalkboard, wrote down some odd letters, and said: “Today we will discuss a very exciting subject, which is an English song. Whether you believe it or not, when I sing this song, I feel I live in a new world markedly different from our familiar Chinese language. Here is how the song goes, A, B, C, D, E, F, G……” Meanwhile, the little girl in the brown jacket laughed and spoke loudly: “What is English? Is there a formula for it?” The white rabbit kept silent as usual, but there was palpable excitement in her eyes to learn something new from Professor Ai. “Well, sorry, it is also my first time to hear this so-called English song from my teacher this morning, just give me two more seconds, I think I could remember how to sing the entire song, hmm, the last sentence I know is X, Y, Z, now you see I can say my A, B, C.”

Every once in a while, my parents would come home, the door to my room would open, and the classes would abruptly end. The lecture hall became my room again. In fact, it was not an even a real room, just a dark corner between two rooms. When my parents entered, the chalkboard went back to being two doors and the desk just a broken sewing platform with two pedals. All my friends disappeared, the bunny rabbit and Snoopy dog were dull toys strewn on the ground. Only the chalks stubs were real, which I had picked up from the floor at my school.

But normally, I had a lot of time for my imaginary lectures, because mom and dad were never around and I was often alone as the only child in my family. I was not quite sure what my parents did but they were always busy and gone for work. I disliked the loneliness but I never complained because I dreamt that their hard work might bring me a real desk and a real bedroom with windows very soon.

I was too shy to speak to my classmates when my family moved from the countryside to the city. Sometimes I wanted to introduce myself to the cute boy sitting behind me, but I never tried because I thought he might judge my strong countryside accent. I was reluctant to walk with other girls, because of the way my shabby handmade clothes compared to their fancy threads. Most importantly, I knew most of my classmates had their own real bedrooms, full of nice things, real desks and chairs, even a shoetree.

I preferred to stay in my personal bedroom and repeat what I learned in school with all my imaginary friends. It was the only time I could pretend to be a lecturer standing up in front of an audience and share all the inspirations I learned from books and classes rather than linger in the shame of materialistic comparisons amongst my peers. I loved public speaking and sharing new ideas. Literally, I could feel the single light bulb in the room becoming brighter as I lectured to my brown jacket rag baby and bunny toy.

From the very first time I learned new Chinese characters or English words, I sensed the power of language. I felt I could escape my lonely existence through the world of reading and speaking. 

Yet while I liked to learn languages, they eventually became my biggest enemy. At 17, I entered college with the dream of becoming a professional public speaker. But my heavy southern Chinese accent was criticized by my professors and laughed at by my schoolmates.

I thought the only remedy was to try to change myself or the way I spoke. I started to work on my pronunciation and enunciation and I enjoyed talking to shy peers and reading books for blind friends. I discovered that to be a public speaker required not only polished language, but also the confidence gained from having a thorough understanding of life. While I studied, I also sought out new experiences. I worked selling newspapers on the streets, as a hostess in restaurants and galleries, and volunteered as a teacher at a primary school for immigrant students.

Looking back, I realized that I owe my success in overcoming difficulties with public speaking due to my determination to be heard and respected by serving my audience. The only way to achieve my dream was through keeping a strong will, maintaining discipline and doing hard work. Among all my audience, my parents do not speak Mandarin, only a local dialect from Southern China. Yet, they always encouraged me to achieve my aspirations. On the rare days when my parents did come home and had free time, it was very special. I would set up my lecture room, arranged the toy audience, and presented a lecture in my best Mandarin. And even though my parents did not fully understand what I was saying, they always listened politely, smiled, and gave the verdict when my speech concluded: “easy to understand and sincere.”

To sustain the strength to overcome obstacles amid hard circumstances and to believe in your dreams - it is the greatest gift I learned from my life experiences.

Now, as a grown woman, I am on the verge of completing my studies at the Harvard Kennedy School. I am looking forward to starting my dream job as a TV commentator and host. Each day, from a live studio in New York City, I will look into a camera and discuss business news in the U.S. to millions of invisible Chinese audience on the other side of the globe. I think back to my lectures to the bunny and brown jacketed doll in my little room so many years ago. I have traded one imaginary audience for another. And I know my parents will still be there for me.

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