In 2001, after spending a year studying in Beijing as part of our degree, two friends and I decided to travel to Mongolia and Russia on the Trans-Siberian Railway. We did everything as cheaply as possible, to the extent that I was terrified we were going to be flung off the train at the Mongolia-Russia border, because we’d got our visas from a tiny, dodgy-looking agency in a random tower block in Beijing.
Being worried was pretty much my default state at that time. I found talking to strangers difficult, and struggled to raise my hand in class. I was always terrified of making mistakes. Though it wasn’t a devastating shyness, I envied the way that friends and classmates always seemed at home in different groups and situations – a feeling that had always eluded me.
