International Student STORIES: Global Flows of Education, Labour & Dreams

STORY 6 (What I Left to Become Who I Am: A Chinese International Student’s Academic Journey in Canada by Zhu)

Moving from home countries to host countries, settling down from coast to coast; here, we offer Stories from International Students in Canada.  These are students’ voices and may echo your own experience.  Even though they may not be known personally (names are protected for privacy), we invite you to hear: why they chose Canada to study, how they have worked to build new lives here, the ways in which they contribute and make a difference both at home and here, and significantly, how their lives cross paths with Jesus Christ.

Zhu was born in Shanghai, China and moved to Toronto as an international undergraduate student when she was 18. Now a PhD student in Higher Education, Zhu recounts how she came to Canada with anticipation and reality checks: high tuition fees, the need of constantly translating herself, language, emotions and identity. Finding support from her communities and professors after all these years, Zhu envisions the life she wants to build here and sees the beauty of human connections.

STORY 6 – What I Left to Become Who I Am: A Chinese International Student’s Academic Journey in Canada, by Zhu

Why studying in Canada was the best option for myself and my family

I was born in Shanghai, China and came to Canada in 2013 at the age of 18 through a program called Green Path pathway that connected my high school with the University of Toronto. To my family, it was important to invest my education at a Western educational institution where I could access a wider range of opportunities. To us, Canada seemed to be the safest and most welcoming place that had a high-quality education system. I can’t emphasize enough how much the pathway program was important in leading up to our decision, as it made studying in Canada practically feasible and achievable.

At that time, many of my peers focused on preparing for the Gaokao (The National College Entrance Exam in China). I respected that path, but I was also curious about trying a different educational experience. And the University of Toronto offered a space for the kind of broader exploration that I wanted to pursue, one that included but was not strictly limited to peer rivals. Since then, my academic journey has reflected that broader curiosity. I first completed my undergraduate degree in City Studies and Economics, then worked for a short time, before returning to school for completing a Master of Education. I am now a PhD student in Higher Education. Looking back, my move to Canada didn’t just change where I studied, it has also opened new options for my academic life and shaped the trajectory of my life now in its entirety. I probably could not or would not have taken such a path towards a PhD in Education in China.

Away from home: Independence, Financial burden, and Language Barrier

Moving to Canada at first, was very exciting. I was a teenager and independent for the first time, living far beyond the gaze of my parents. I went way out of my way to spend time exploring Toronto during my first semester with the friends I made. This excitement didn’t fade quickly, but it was soon layered under the pressure and the recognition of the responsibility I carried for my family. This hit me mainly financially. My undergraduate tuition was paid entirely by my family, and international student fees were very high. Each course cost around $3,500 Canadian dollars in my first year, and the price kept rising every year. As an 18-year-old with limited work experience and a full course load, I couldn’t earn enough to contribute to these expenses. This realization started to carry a lot of emotional weight, it started growing in the back of my mind. Every final exam put thousands of dollars at risk, and my parents were making personal sacrifices so I could be here. My concern shifted from a view solely focused on grades to a sense of responsibility—to respect the price paid by my parents. The need to honour their hopes and investment ended the honeymoon phase of my first semester.

Academic English was a constant challenge at first. I had studied English for years in secondary school and in my adolescence, I felt very prepared. But understanding academic jargon and participating in discussions on specific subject matter required more energy than I had expected. I was learning course materials while also learning how to learn in a Canadian university, which was draining. I still feel very fortunate that there were so many other international students in my cohort that I could make friends with, and they became my anchor. We helped each other navigate everything from course selection to housing, and of course homesick cures, often in the form of braised pork belly and steamed buns. Some of these friendships became lifelines.

Finding communities and professors who understand me

Many of these close friends were Chinese or Chinese Canadian, and over time I realized that this was not simply about speaking the same language. Sharing a Chinese family background meant we carried similar cultural reference points — subtle expectations about politeness, obligation, and emotional restraint that did not need to be explained out loud. In those relationships, mutual respect came more naturally, and the emotional labour of constantly translating myself was reduced. In that sense, the comfort I found in these friendships was as cultural as it was as linguistic or culinary means.

I did not fully understand why I needed this kind of cultural refuge until I realized what I had lost by leaving home. When I first arrived, my eyes only focused on the future and for adventure. Only later did I see how profoundly this move would reshape my relationship with my family and with myself. My parents had never lived in Canada, and visited only once during my undergraduate studies because they were busy with work. They couldn’t help me understand how universities here work, how immigration rules can change, or the unspoken norms I was expected to practice. It felt a bit like re-learning how to walk again. There was no one to call who could reassure me that, “I’ve been through this before”. As expected, I stumbled and made a lot of mistakes, but with time embarrassment became fond memories. These experiences transformed the meaning of friendship for me. Friends were no longer just people in my area to spend time with. They have become a chosen family. Among other international students, I have found people who understand what it means by having to translate yourself, your language, emotions, and identity every single day. This community wasn’t given to me formally, it was something we built spontaneously, together, and with intention. Without this community, I’m not sure if I would have been able to persevere through the daily accumulation of challenges.

There was also a professor in my City Studies major who supported me in a quieter but equally lasting way. She once shared with our class with her stories after she graduated. Upon graduation, she worked as a supermarket cashier and in various forms of manual labour simply to survive, before realizing that reading and learning still made her feel alive. She eventually returned to graduate school, completed a post-doc, and became a professor. Her story stayed with me. Growing up in China where I spent my first eighteen years preparing for the Gaokao, life felt intensely meritocratic: success was narrowly defined, and many choices were shaped by parents whose lives were marked by political turbulence and material insecurity since the Cultural Revolution in the late 1960s through the uneven early decades of market reform. These rapid changes led many parents to prioritize stability for their children above all else. Hearing my professor’s sharing openly about the nonlinear paths and delayed success planted a different possibility in my mind. For the first time, I began to ask not only how to survive in Canada, but what kind of life I might choose to build here for myself.

In fact, a few professors made a lasting difference through small, deeply human gestures. Hearing them talk about their own struggles or being invited for a meal were not the interactions I had ever had with instructors before. Previously, teachers had been distant authority figures. Just a handful of professors during my undergraduate years changed my perception of my own fit for academia; their openness helped me feel that I might belong in this professional space.

Uncertainty due to winter blues and immigration policies

Only after these relational anchors were in place did the harder reality of daily life set in. I was quite surprised at how harsh Canadian winters are. This sounds cliché but I had never seen resting snow before coming to Toronto. My long commutes in frigid weather made routine life in winter feeling like surprisingly hard work. This contributed to some mental health struggles that I worked through. Loneliness doesn’t always announce itself loudly, but shows up as fatigue or a subtle sense of being out of place. Asking for formal help didn’t come naturally to me, especially when I was worried about costs or misunderstandings. Health care in general was quite intimidating. Like many of my international student friends, I was intensely afraid of getting sick. The medical system was hard to navigate, so most of us brought medicines from home when we could.

In the midst of this uncertainty, my legal status became the one form of stability I could hold onto. After finishing my undergrad degree, I obtained permanent residency through the Express Entry system, which at the time was relatively straightforward. This was a huge step, because it meant building a future here. But today, that landscape looks very different. Immigration pathways have become more restrictive, and I feel at a visceral level how public views around international students have grown more negative. I didn’t realize then how much my ability to live in Canada was shaped by policy timing and good luck. And this brings gratitude but also discomfort. The current cohort of international students faces a very different landscape, I’m not sure I would have been able to move here or obtain permanent residency under today’s more restrictive circumstances. And I don’t know how I would have persevered without a generous community of international students who support me.

It is from this awareness that my present work grows. I hope to pay it forward of what I once received. Since my doctoral research focuses on international student mobility, I want to use my lived experiences and training to help institutions and students better formulate their own policies and pathways. I strongly believe international education delivers mutual benefits for students, for host and home countries alike. Especially in times of geopolitical tension, human connections matter.