My roommate is a bundle of unexpected puzzle pieces: Born in Hong Kong but raised in a family that still holds ties to the mainland; Her youth was spent in New Zealand, only to land on her feet in the wilds of the West Coast. She’s a surprising, wonderful mix of East and West—the epitome of a California college student, balanced by her worldly experiences. I was born and raised in New York City, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I spent hot Augusts in poor but beautiful Appalachian West Virginia, and preppy Julys in effortlessly-lovable Martha’s Vineyard. My father: Lebanese, the son of immigrants; my mother: French, an American citizen by the time I was a young girl, pursuing her bachelor’s after 30-odd years. I am the epitome of a “City girl,” as my midwestern friends call it. But sometimes I can surprise with a David Allen Coe song or a sharp jab in French. Different though we may be, here we are, my roommate and I, in our picturesque college apartment in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She’s making New York’s signature sandwich, and I’m composing a blog on her homeland. Can you taste the irony now? It’s funny, growing up a New Yorker –– You always think you know it all. Certainly when I started my college career, I arrived firm in my view of the world, confident in the superiority of my city and how it raised me. But then, as I’m sure many will tell you, I started to talk to people. I happened across new faces, new languages, new experiences. It’s the late night conversations, over wine, dinner, and yes, sometimes pastrami, that truly pulled the wool from my eyes. In the yellow, flickering glow of our kitchen in the evenings as the Michigan wind howled outside, my roommate and I inhabited a safe bubble –– Here, nothing could touch us. Not exhausting college liberals, or exhausting middle-aged republicans, nor Fox News, or the New York Times, not our families, not even our friends. In those late-night conversations, we could ask anything, say anything without embarrassment or repercussion. Through these conversations, I’ve discovered biases I didn’t even know I had, and some that I’m ashamed to admit. I’m often surprised by how American my roommate seems. One could chalk that up to her global upbringing, or even her time spent in the U.S., but more and more I wonder –– Maybe she’s just young. Perhaps the internet has fostered a more tangible global youth culture than I realized. You see it best in college, in schools: No matter where we’re from, the ties that bind us transcend mere political or cultural divides. We’re all worried about our final exam we’ve collectively ignored; We’re all wasting time on Tinder, Bumble, or Hinge, in hopes of finding that one decent date; We’re all stressed over rent, confused about taxes, and dying for summer to arrive. It’s interesting, too, to find through our conversations not only how similar we are, but how similar our respective countries are. I bring up the oppression of Muslim minority groups in China; my roommate (never with malice, only fact) counters with the internment camps of the Japanese in World War 2, the deeply embedded racial tensions of the Civil Rights movement, and now, the boogeyman’s guise as ICE in the current, poisonous streak of nationalism dominating the U.S. We discuss my paper on China’s Belt and Road Initiative, the power contest in the East China Sea, and the current issues with Hong Kong. In turn, our conversation turns to Puerto Rico, U.S. fumbled interventions in Latin America, and the tremendous U.S. military spending budget. My point with this is that through something as simple as conversation, held without reservations, judgement, or external influences gave way to enlightening discoveries, accomplished together, not on our own. Good conversation, of course, is difficult to find. My roommate and I benefit from the figurative marriage of shared rent and a shared bathroom. It took me 18 years to find a good conversation partner. My solution is thus not a solution. Rather, I illuminate an overlooked opportunity. But I recognize that with the anonymity of the internet and the craze of cancel-culture, honest conversations are difficult to come by all the more. So, I’ll end with this, before my blog becomes too long: First, that China and the U.S. are not so different –– Rather than take my words for gospel, however, do your own research. I guarantee you’ll find that, while by no means identical, we are not so very different, either. Second, that people inherently are similar. We share the same woes, the same victories, the same values. My roommate and I are but a single example. Conversation will show you this firsthand. Talk to people. Third, perhaps to heal the chasm that divides the U.S. and China as our foreign relations continue to rot, we must first turn our attention to our culture. Our society is brimming with resentment, jealousy, and hate. I do not know if there is a solution to this; Open conversation will forever be impossible so long as we continue to enable individuals to speak without repercussion. I don’t mean to imply restrictions on citizens rights –– but it is one thing to speak your mind from the safety of a screen, and another to state your beliefs publicly, so all can see your face, and all can know your name. Until then, you might be surprised to find that pastrami lovers can be found across the globe, and that good wine, good food, and mood lighting will go a long way to fostering new friendships, and new discoveries. Madeleine Virginia Gannon is an undergraduate student at the University of Michigan pursuing a bachelor’s in the History of Art and Political Science. In her free-time, she writes for The Michigan Daily as a staff writer, and acts as the Communications Chair for the Student Workers Coalition based in Ann Arbor.