I crept towards my front door – clad in high heels and cheap foundation – well aware that my mum would be on the other side with a look of sheer disgust.

It’s a weekday, yet I defied my Chinese mum’s wishes and blagged my way into clubs where I was a nineteen year old fashion student instead of the sixth former with home-made ID. Upon turning the key, I prepare myself for the inevitable and what I believed to be an unwarranted tirade of abuse.

I was a rebellious teen in the eyes of my mother. But for me, I was just like any other, if not a better behaved version, of every other kid at my school. I had moved to the UK at age 6; with only my mum as a reminder of my life back in China.

I was encouraged at all times to make friends, and having always lived in predominantly white British areas, I became to think and act as such. Admittedly, the suburbs of Salford may have spun a conjured representation of what teen life should have been like. Smoking and drinking on street corners were a given and the later you stayed out, the cooler you must be. But even with the late nights, I wasn’t a bad kid. I had to be home by nine whilst other kids could stay until midnight or later. I didn’t understand why I had to live by different rules.

With the recent controversy caused by Yale Professor Amy Chua’s ‘Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother’ – a book documenting the superior parenting methods of Chinese mums – I can say that I was a victim of this supposed ‘superiority’.

Not only was I to achieve the highest results, I had to take a particular interest in science and math. Unfortunately, my better results were skewed toward the arts. Despite the warning signs, science was apparently my calling and all the necessary steps were taken to ensure that I did not fail in this.

Needless to say, growing up, my relationship with my mum was strained. I couldn’t understand why she moved me to the UK – it seemed as if I had to have all the qualities associated with being Chinese yet live in an English society.

I despised my heritage, desperately wanting to be ‘normal’. For a long time, I told my mum little about my life and couldn’t wait to move to London – despite being forced to undertake a science degree – for university. My friends chose what interested them and I was jealous of the freedom they were given.

After graduating, I moved to Beijing. Apart from the odd holiday here and there, I hadn’t lived there since I was six. All in all, it was a great experience; I managed to get an amazing internship and met some great people.

However, the biggest and most useful lesson I will take away with me is that of my mum. I haven’t seen her since September, she’s on the other side of the world and yet I have never felt closer to her.

I saw my dad after so many years apart and heard stories that painted a different picture of my mum. What I took as over protectiveness turned into her trying to give me the opportunities she never had whilst preventing as many obstacles as possible.

The underuse of the word ‘proud’ changed from loveless to character building. For once, I embraced being Chinese. I realised that this feat didn’t require me to lose any of the British in me and that I could be both quite happily. I secretly thanked my mother’s strength for bringing up a young child in a foreign country.

For money, I taught English to young children. At just 3 years old, their timetables were jam-packed with extra tutoring, sports sessions and even yoga lessons. I felt shame as I remembered how I’d treated my mum as she tried to help me with my math homework.

At the time, I’d have happily swapped her for a ‘normal’ mum who let their kids watch TV for hours on end and turn up to school bleary-eyed handing in blank sheets for homework.

For her, if she was idle with her schoolwork, it could mean whether her family ended up below or above the poverty line. Education was not a choice but a ticket to a better life. My mum just wanted to make sure that I had the knowledge and support to reach my potential and looking back, she did everything she could to ensure that I did.

At 22, I realised quite late on just how much of my life I owed to my mum. She’s the strongest person I know; giving up so much of her life so that I could live a better one.

In hindsight, my freedom was restricted and yes, there are some aspects of my life that I wish had taken a different course but I know that every decision my mum made was with me in mind. Living in China has taught me a lifetime of lessons and I will go back home not only a better person, but a better daughter.