I land in the Beijing airport and I see the Chinese flag; red with five stars splayed across the left side. I turn to my friend and joke about China. As I start the punchline, my teacher shushes me and reminds me those kind of statements are not tolerated here, unlike in my homeland.

In the hotel room, I text my parents to let them know how my flight was and that I safely arrived. They remind me, as they have everyday the past two weeks, to be careful about what I say. “It’s not like America,” I hear them gripe. “You don’t have the same freedom of speech. You need to be careful.”

Before arriving at Tiananmen Square, our teacher and tour guide warn us to not criticize the government in any way, shape, or form. They said there were plain clothes police crawling the square and its surrounding area, waiting to find their next tourist victim. I cover my true words like a murderer suffocating their victim with a pillow.

We fly home from Shanghai to Chicago after over a week and a half of being in China. At the O’Hare International Airport, I turn to my friend, waiting in the custom’s line, complaining about how long this process is taking. I could not have said this in China.

At the baggage claim, I complain about how long it took to find everyone’s bag. I could not have said this in China.

Waiting for our ride home, I complained that there aren’t enough public busses and how the government needs to set more funds aside for public transportation. I could not have said this in China.