This article was written alongside a second article to be released together: The Immigrant Aftermath.
Emigration
noun
the act of leaving one’s own country to settle permanently in another; moving abroad.
– Oxford Languages
In 2023, I moved to Kunshan, China to begin my undergraduate studies. Most individuals would describe this move as immigrating to the university, but in my case I prefer to describe it as emigration: moving out of the United States.
Emigration
I was sour. In my initial college decisions, Duke Kunshan University wasn’t an explosive opportunity or the college of my dreams, but just another checkbox option on yet another college application. Hubbed between the outskirts of Shanghai and Suzhou, the school venture had only begun accepting undergraduates a few years prior to my arrival. It presented itself as a rather optimal school in a suboptimal location: in exchange for a Duke-driven education, small class sizes, an appealing scholarship, and international entanglement, I would have to permanently move to China.
Of course, most of this information wasn’t on my mind when I first applied; as previously mentioned, the application for Duke Kunshan University could be submitted alongside the Duke application by just checking a box and filling out two additional essays. Admittedly, and ignorantly, I believed that any writing opportunity would just be more space to share my personality with Duke. Who knew that talking about internationality would appeal to an international school. Of course, everything I had written was true, and an opportunity to study in a country long thought to be hostile (in oversimplified political terms, anyway) couldn’t be ignored.
The final drop in the bucket that decided my college decision, however, wasn’t a pull factor from Duke Kunshan, but a repellant arising back in my home of Colorado: the Boettcher Foundation Scholarship. As a finalist, I faced a 50% chance at a full-ride to any university in the entire state, locked behind an interview. I botched it. The experience left me bitter to Colorado and, immaturely, my primary goal for college eventually became leaving the state. From there, Duke Kunshan seemed a surprisingly beneficial choice considering its price-to-quality ratio, its internationality, and its distance from Colorado.
I became an emigrant.
The Emigrant
The crucial difference between immigrants and emigrants is how they fit into their newfound societies. For most, immigration spells a time of opportunity and as such, they attempt to fit into their surroundings like a piece of a puzzle, learning the intricate differences in language and cultural norms to be accepted and to more successfully accomplish their goal (earning money, embracing a new country, increasing quality of life, etc). Emigrants, in being forced to leave their home country, have a historical record of retaining the foundations and values of their original cultures. Notably, in the United States refugees tend to be less obliged to fit neatly to their new environments, preferring instead to maintain their own culture; after all, they didn’t necessarily choose to go to the United States, but decidedly prioritized safety over location. Often, the push factors are unrelated to culture, and so emigrants acculturate rather than assimilate. 1848’s waves of German refugees, for example, became advocates against slavery because Germany, their former associate, had already banned it; it was more natural for the refugees to reshape America into their old home than it would be to accustom to new surroundings.
I don’t mean to compare myself to the stories of real emigrants or refugees, but rather intend to draw a parallel in how culture self-retains when an individual wills it so. Certainly, my United States-ian identity stuck with me far more than I expected it to when arriving in China.
Rather than encourage a reconnection with my Chinese roots, Duke Kunshan University inadvertently strengthened my patriotism towards America. While classmates found themselves traversing Shanghai’s Bund or practicing Mandarin, I instead spent early mornings (sometimes 4:00 AM) calling into Eastern Time meetings and researching the intricacies of the House of Representatives (when Speaker McCarthy was being removed). I often attempted to reroot myself to former US traditions, attempting to start a Model United Nations club, engaging with sustainability initiatives, and cutting the turkey during the DKU equivalent of Thanksgiving dinner. Eventually, despite being in China, I even began working in US politics. I quickly (and ironically) became the most “American” student at Duke Kunshan, desperately maintaining a relationship with a culture 7000 miles away.
The Emigrant Aftermath
I have no doubt that given some more time, I would have acculturated into the Kunshan environment. Instead, I left when presented the opportunity to do so.
The Emigrant Aftermath: in attempting to maintain my home culture, it prevented me from immersing with China as an immigrant would have. I, admittedly, didn’t explore Shanghai nearly as much as I would’ve liked, and never found the time to venture beyond Suzhou into its local water towns. Even now, I feel as if I missed an opportunity to visit mom-and-pop shops in Zhouzhuong or to head out further towards Beijing.
Simultaneously, I’ve benefited from my resolution to maintain connection to the United States; my networking while in China provided the means to which I was reasonably able to return to Colorado. Now on a gap year, I feel as though my experiences in China were more balanced than I remember.
The gripping reality for most emigrants/refugees is that they’re forced to leave their home. When the option becomes available, they often choose to go back home, whether that’s physically returning or by bringing their “home” with them to their new environment. In many ways, I feel like a fortunate emigrant, encouraged to leave their residence for a life abroad. Returning back to the United States, I’ve been imbued with a newfound gratitude to the country I live in and an expanded catalogue of international experience.
In the future, perhaps I’ll return to China as an immigrant. For now, Duke Kunshan serves as a reminder for why I left the United States and also why I’ve returned.


Leave a comment