The First Time a Toast Felt Like a Task
One of my earliest memories of adult gatherings in China involved a small glass, clear liquid, and a chorus of enthusiastic “Ganbei.” At first, it looked celebratory — smiling faces, raised arms, a sense of unity. But as I grew older, I realized the toast wasn’t always optional. Refusing sometimes felt like declining participation in the group itself.
Baijiu, strong and sharp like vodka but with its own unmistakable character, often appeared not just at festivals but at business dinners, family reunions, and even casual reunions between friends. Drinking wasn’t merely about taste; it was about signaling sincerity, respect, and willingness to connect. The glass carried social meaning far heavier than its size suggested.
The Social Language of the Bottle
In many of the environments I experienced growing up, alcohol functioned almost like a conversational shortcut. Sharing drinks could accelerate familiarity. A senior colleague might pour for a junior as a gesture of acceptance; a host might insist on refilling glasses as proof of hospitality.
What stood out was not only the presence of alcohol but the quantity and expectation surrounding it. Business networking often extended into late-night dinners where toasting became rhythmic. Family gatherings, too, could revolve around rounds of drinking, blurring the line between celebration and endurance. Refusal required careful wording, sometimes even an excuse, because participation symbolized belonging as much as enjoyment.
A Different Rhythm in Canada
When I later experienced social gatherings in Canada, the atmosphere around drinking felt noticeably lighter. Alcohol was present, but it didn’t always dominate the interaction. People might sip a beer or a glass of wine slowly, and declining a drink rarely needed explanation.
The difference wasn’t just about the type of beverage; it was about the emotional weight attached to it. A drink here often felt like an accessory to conversation rather than the engine of it. Networking events and after-work gatherings still existed, but participation didn’t hinge on how much someone consumed. The glass felt optional, not symbolic.
Rapport Versus Ritual
Reflecting on both environments, I began to see drinking as a social tool whose meaning changes with context. In many Chinese settings I experienced, alcohol served as ritual — a structured pathway to rapport, respect, and group cohesion. The act of toasting together could dissolve formality quickly, but it also carried an implicit expectation to match the group’s pace.
In Canadian settings, rapport seemed to grow more from conversation itself. Drinks accompanied dialogue but rarely defined it. The focus leaned toward shared topics rather than shared tolerance. This subtle shift reduced pressure and allowed personal preference to remain visible without awkwardness.
Personal Preference and Cultural Understanding
Over time, I realized my own comfort leaned toward the simpler style I encountered in Canada. Not because one culture was superior, but because the lighter expectation aligned more closely with how I preferred to connect — through conversation rather than endurance.
At the same time, I came to appreciate what the more ceremonial style represented. In Chinese contexts, the collective toast carries warmth and intention. It signals inclusion and mutual acknowledgment. The challenge arises when ritual overshadows choice, turning celebration into obligation.
What Stays With Me
Drinking culture, like many social customs, reflects deeper values about belonging and communication. One approach emphasizes collective ritual and visible participation; the other emphasizes individual comfort and casual presence. Neither is inherently right or wrong — they simply reveal different ways of expressing connection.
Living between these environments taught me that the meaning of a drink isn’t fixed. It can be a bridge, a signal, or simply a refreshment. The most meaningful gatherings, I’ve found, are the ones where the glass becomes secondary and the conversation remains primary — where connection is measured not by how much is poured, but by how naturally people feel they can be themselves.
