Dreaming in Chinese
I Dreamed in Chinese (我用中文做了场梦) is a nonfiction work by young Italian writer Alex, who penned down his six-year experiences in China in Mandarin. Alex's connection with China began in 2014 at the Nanjing Youth Olympic Games, and in 2016, he traveled to China to study film and Chinese. Over these six years, he witnessed various social changes, the rise and fall of the film industry, and the shifting times. Without relying on translators, Alex communicated in Chinese, engaging deeply with different people and recording their touching stories.
In his calm yet humorous style, Alex documented his observations and daily life in China. He wrote about individual encounters and societal changes in recent years, capturing the universal emotions and challenges faced by young people worldwide. In a disordered and lonely era, he embraced life's uncertainties, sought freedom, crossed barriers, and connected with people.
The Beginning: Nanjing Youth Olympic Games
In August 2014, six years after the release of "Beijing Welcomes You," China was preparing to host the second Youth Olympic Games in Nanjing. I had a layover in Frankfurt, waiting for Lufthansa's flight LH720. It was my first trip to the East, and I had no idea what China would be like. I was going to find out.
After graduating high school, I didn't go directly to university. I worked as an environmental volunteer in the United States while writing a blog. A journalist in my hometown followed my travel stories and, upon my return, asked if I wanted to be his assistant for sports reporting. Though it wasn't familiar soccer, but shooting events, I accepted the job. The crucial reason was the frequent opportunities for international travel—shooting World Cups in Germany and Spain in the first year, and the Youth Olympic Games in Nanjing, China, in the second year. After two years, the moment I had been waiting for arrived. At twenty, holding a ticket that spanned half the world, I sat by the plane window, sipping a cold beer, imagining what Nanjing would be like.
On the afternoon of August 15, I scanned the crowd at Lukou Airport. The humid indoor air of Nanjing's summer made me feel like I was in a swimming pool. A girl in a green polo shirt waved at me from afar. Confirming my identity, she said "Follow me," and led me out of the airport.
Discovering Nanjing
As the Youth Olympic Games kicked off, the schedule became busy. After finishing my reports efficiently, I'd wrap up early. One day, after handling my tasks, my boss suggested I leave early while he stayed to finish up. "Did you exchange RMB at the front desk?" he asked, handing me an envelope with a few hundred-yuan notes, "Have fun."
On the subway, the atmosphere was quiet. No one acknowledged my presence. I felt like I had intruded into someone else's room, observing the occupants putting on makeup, checking emails, and fixing their hair. It was a public space, yet everyone was in a private state. For them, it was an ordinary subway ride; for me, it was the first time since landing that I truly immersed myself in the local society, away from my work environment and identity. Finally, I was unnoticed, unassisted, and undemonstrated. I was a fly on the subway.
The Voices of the Youth
After completing my reports, I strolled through the Olympic Village, chatting with volunteers. This was my precious time to truly connect with the people here. I decided to introduce the people I met in Nanjing. They wrote their names in pinyin, and I recorded their stories in English.
Xue Ting, twenty-one at the time, volunteered at the "Green Space" with an environmental theme. After studying French and English for two years at Nanjing Normal University, she had the chance to practice with athletes from around the world. "You can make many friends," she said. "Communicating with them is meaningful. We study languages, and languages need practice. After graduation, I might go to France."
Liu Jia, the same age as Xue Ting, came from Nantong, Jiangsu, and had studied English for two years in Nanjing. She enjoyed sharing her culture with foreign athletes. "It's a great opportunity," Liu Jia said, "for people worldwide to understand us better." Chinese knots were her favorite cultural element to share. "We can show how to make them and explain why we like them. They create an atmosphere of joy. Then, we can ask foreigners what symbols of happiness are in their countries and exchange ideas."
Sixteen-year-old Dai Li joined a nine-person team in the "World Cultural Zone" in the Olympic Village, introducing São Tomé and Príncipe, the second smallest country in Africa. Sometimes, Dai Li encountered athletes who didn't speak English, but she felt it wasn't a problem. "If there's no common language," she said, "we can play games. Chinese people can connect with others. It's easy, like solving a puzzle."
In 2024, Alex gave a speech, sharing his belief that began ten years ago at the Youth Olympics: "Crossing barriers and connecting with people."
To me, these volunteers embodied a belief: people worldwide seek happiness in different ways. Despite cultural differences, we can understand each other, share personal experiences, and grow together. What made me most optimistic was a number: over 103,000 people applied to volunteer and build bridges with the world. Interacting with the volunteers made me feel that China is a society eager to connect with the world, a part of the global village. In the volunteers' eyes, I saw the future: we are moving closer together. I wondered if Xue Ting eventually went to France, or if Dai Li was still playing puzzles.
