I grew up as a very “乖” kid in China, a Chinese word that has no exact English equivalent but loosely means being well-behaved and obedient, and meeting the expectations that parents and teachers set for good kids and students. I followed rules carefully, behaved the way teachers expected, and internalized the idea that being a good student meant doing things the “right” way. Questioning authority rarely crossed my mind. Rules felt absolute, and obeying them felt like safety and virtue.

Coming to the United States for college slowly changed how I saw things. I did not become rebellious, nor did I stop valuing rules. What changed was my belief that rules were always reasonable. I began to realize that many rules existed more because of convenience, habit, or history than because they were optimal for learning or growth. Following them without reflection started to feel less like discipline but more like inertia.

In my junior year, I discovered that some required courses in my major’s curriculum could actually be replaced by graduate-level alternatives. This option was overheard from more senior students but not documented in the undergraduate curriculum. After conversations with the academic advisor (who has always been a great person!) and course instructors, I enrolled in the graduate version of several courses. That was the first time I chose not to follow the “suggested curriculum”, something I had strictly adhered to throughout my education in China (partly because I had no other choices). This experience made me realize that many rules in schools look strict on paper, but in practice, they can be negotiated, sometimes simply because someone is asking.

Graduate school further reinforced this shift in mindset. During my first year, I realized that substantial portions of two core courses had already been covered during college. Simply following the curriculum and retaking the courses seemed meaningless. At the same time, I noticed that another supposedly rigid three-course sequence was not as fixed as it appeared. Although the curriculum stated strict prerequisites, I accidentally discovered that the online enrollment system let me register for the final course while taking the first course simultaneously. After several rounds of negotiation with the department, I successfully waived the two core courses, and completed the first and final courses at the same time. I was told that I was the first master’s student in the department to do so. Experiences like these convinced me that many “rules” in school are less like walls but more like doors - the rules open simply because someone is willing to push a little.

Recently I learned a story about Zhenyu Luo (罗振宇), a well-known media entrepreneur in China. Back in 1994, Luo missed the cutoff score for admission to a graduate program at the Beijing Broadcasting Institute by just two points on the politics exam, a result that would normally have ended the process. Instead of accepting this outcome as a “failure”, Luo chose to act aggressively. After hearing rumors about where the admission committee might be visiting, Luo made his way to Changsha, searching through multiple places before finally meeting a committee member in person. Although Luo was not admitted on the spot, his sincerity and determination left a strong impression. When an additional student slot later became available, the committee member recalled Luo and admitted him into the program.

Now I bear a mindset that rules are made by humans; humans make mistakes; rules can be mistakes. If we want something beyond what the rules allow, simply ask, negotiate, and push, thoughtfully and respectfully. The best outcome is success, and the worst is rejection. Regret only comes from never having tried.