In my first year in Beijing, I signed up for Chinese language classes at a community center in Maizidian.

Every other day, I'd get onto a packed bus to travel for 30 minutes beyond Solana Mall and find a seat in the usually crowded classroom on the second floor of the building. I would be with other expat residents and university students reading from a Living Chinese workbook, repeating the teacher's words, taking down notes, putting words together, practicing pronunciations. It's exhilarating to learn a new language. It's like stepping into another persona and assuming a different identity.

Then I would take the bus home, and when I got to our apartment, I would make a big show of what I had learned in class.

Caidan, fuwuyuan ("The menu, please, waiter").

Mighty proud of myself!

And then the pandemic happened. In lockdown, and with no one to speak to, the few words I picked up evaporated from my consciousness and were totally forgotten.

But there are three words I've kept to memory and held in my heart because I knew I was going to need them to survive Beijing: Ting bu dong, meaning "I do not understand".Three words I have used so many times with conviction and sometimes with not a lot of care. Three words that carry a vast ocean of meanings.

I use it mostly with Didi drivers who ask me questions I truly do not understand. Ting bu dong, uncle. The driver would usually let out a chuckle, repeat the phrase with the correct Chinese accent, and proceed to drive quietly to my destination.

Every time I say ting bu dong, I get any of the following reactions: a smile of understanding, complete silence, a chortle, or the other person picks up his phone to translate.

I have used ting bu dong on almost everyone and it's been used on me, too, by some who think I speak too fast, or that I sound incomprehensible. There was a Chinese boy in the neighborhood. I said, "Hello, how are you?" I heard him say, ting bu dong. Hah! Shoe's on the other foot, I thought, a laugh bubble forming in my head.

Sometimes I didn't mean to come across as standoffish. What I really wanted to say is: Ting bu dong, but please speak slowly so I can understand you; Ting bu dong, I hope you can patiently explain what you mean; Ting bu dong, I want to understand you and I want to have a conversation with you. Maybe we can be friends?

I kept telling myself: Ting bu dong does not have to be this disposable phrase that you use because you don't understand what's being said. It could be the opening to a conversation that can later develop into a personal connection.

But in trying to find the words, I find myself struggling with two languages and settling for the easiest that comes to mind. Learning a second language is said to be good exercise for the brain. Mandarin has certainly given mine a high-intensity workout.

Truth be told, I don't like saying ting bu dong because I enjoy chatting to taxi drivers. In New York City, the Yellow cabbies are such engaging storytellers, and some are hilariously opinionated. They have their views on everything from crime or politics to pizza.

I remember a South Asian cabdriver who was so proud of how he came to the United States. He settled in Queens, petitioned his family from Bangladesh after he was legalized, and now has a daughter studying to be a lawyer at Fordham. Just one of so many feel-good stories I've heard as a passenger.

I'm sure some Chinese drivers also have inspiring stories they would love to share with strangers, except that language is a barrier that takes time to break down.

Contact the writer at pastor@chinadaily.com.cn