In recent years, Malaysia has become an increasingly popular destination for Chinese students pursuing higher education abroad. By 2021, the number of registered students in the country surpassed 2.7 million, and among them, Chinese international students made up a notable 7%. For many of these young people who have journeyed far from home, studying abroad is not just an academic pursuit—it is also a search for belonging. And surprisingly, some of them found that sense of home in a steaming bowl of porridge from a humble street stall.

Wang Zhihao is a Chinese international student currently in his third year at Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (UKM). Reflecting on his early days in Malaysia, he admits that he didn’t expect much—he simply hoped to adapt to the new environment and complete his studies. But unexpectedly, he met someone who would change the course of his student life—at a porridge stall just outside campus.

“I met him right after I arrived. I often went there for porridge. As we got to know each other better, he started inviting me to his home for meals,” Wang says. The “him” he refers to is Brother Liao, the owner of a small food stall called Feng Yi Zhou Shi (Abundant Food, Simple Life). A Chinese Malaysian whose family migrated from Meizhou, Guangdong several generations ago, Brother Liao is now nearly 60, unmarried, and runs the porridge stall on his own. Over the years, he has become very accustomed to interacting with students.

What’s surprising is that he’s not just a street vendor. To many Chinese international students, he has become like family.

“That feeling… it’s like having a home in Malaysia,” Wang says with a rare but serious look in his eyes.

This relationship is far from one-sided. Since his first year, Wang and a few fellow Chinese students have been visiting Brother Liao’s home almost every weekend. There are no formal invitations, no need for pleasantries. They eat simple homemade meals—sometimes a pot of stewed chicken, sometimes stir-fried pickled vegetables and pork—but most often, the highlight is the laughter and warmth around the table.

Last Chinese New Year, since the university’s holiday schedule didn’t align with the Spring Festival, many students couldn’t return home. Instead, they celebrated at Brother Liao’s house—with fireworks, festive TV shows, and above all, the taste and feeling of home.

Wang’s story is not unique. Before him, other Chinese students at UKM had already formed close bonds with Brother Liao through frequent visits to his porridge stall. Over time, casual meals turned into regular weekend dinners and holiday gatherings. This unspoken tradition seems to continue from one generation of students to the next. Students may graduate and move on, but the stall remains, and so does Brother Liao.

Can a bowl of porridge really build a bond that feels like family, beyond blood and borders?

We often speak of cultural exchange, global understanding, and intercultural integration, yet we overlook the simplest and most genuine forms of connection—shared meals, kind words, and the comfort of presence.

This relationship was never part of any plan or official “cultural program.” It just happened—naturally. In a quiet corner of a Malaysian town, a kind uncle offers his table every weekend to a few young foreigners. They eat, talk, and slowly become a little closer.

Suggestions and Reflections

As universities pursue internationalization, they might also consider valuing these grassroots cultural connections. No extra budget or grand-scale programs are needed—just some encouragement and space for organic relationships to grow. For example, local food vendors could be invited to participate in campus events, or a “Serendipitous Friendships” story wall could be created to let students share warm moments they’ve experienced abroad.

Just like how this small porridge stall unwittingly became a bridge between cultures, these seemingly ordinary forms of companionship may turn out to be more moving—and more meaningful—than any institutional measure of internationalization.

In this age of digital networking and fleeting interactions, perhaps what we need most are these ancient, sincere forms of connection: a table that’s always waiting for you, and someone who, though unrelated by blood, feels just like family.