Many years ago, I came to the US as a graduate student at Stanford University. My English was so poor then that I could barely converse with my classmates. Three months into my academic life, packed with endless readings and worries, I dreamt one night of my popo (grandma). She had helped my parents raise me and my brothers on a state-run farm in southern China. After I woke up, it struck me that popo had spoken English to me in my dream. She asked how I was doing and said she missed me. This dream made me feel happy and sad at the same time: happy because English had finally entered my subconscious world after all of my hard work in learning the language; sad because popo had not talked to me in her kejia dialect.

I cried after I woke up from the dream. I was homesick. I was uncertain about my future in a country where I was all alone. 

Fast forward to now, I am a writer who writes in both my mother tongue and my adopted language, and I often translate between the two. Sometimes they fight, and some other times they compliment each other. To me, Language is not merely a tool, but a way of thinking, a mindset laden with history and cultural values.  

多年前，我离开中国的家人到斯坦福大学来读研究生。那时我的英语口语差到无法和同学进行深入交流。三个月过去了，我的很多日日夜夜都是在焦虑和无止境的勤奋阅读中度过的。有一天晚上我梦见了曾帮助我父母养育我和我的哥哥们的婆婆。梦醒后，我突然想起婆婆在梦里用英语和我对话。她问我过得怎么样，说她很想我。这个梦让我既高兴又难过：高兴是因为我的努力终于有了收获，英语进入了我的潜意识；伤心则是因为婆婆居然没有说我从小听惯了的客家方言。

我从梦中醒来后哭了。这是我来美国后第一次想家，第一次意识到在这个陌生的国度，我孤身一人，不知道未来何去何从。

时光推进到现在，我是一名同时使用母语和我的第二语言写作的作家，并经常在这两种语言之间进行翻译。有时它们发生冲突，有时他们互补。对我而言，语言不仅仅是一种工具，而是一种思维方式，一种承载着历史和文化价值观的心态。