Hopportunities in research: stories, sociology and self-learning

I didn’t mean to become a research assistant.

It was Monday, 8 a.m., and our Intro to Travel and Tourism class was wrapped in the usual sleepy silence. Dr. Ferreira stood at the front and asked if anyone had seen his announcement about a research project on craft beer. No hands. Then he asked, “Would anyone like to join as a research assistant?” I looked around — still nothing. So, I raised my hand.

Not because I had read the announcement. Not because I knew anything about craft beer. In fact, I’m allergic to alcohol — once, during summer, I made a fruit cocktail so delicious that I drank it like plain juice. Ten minutes later, I was red, spotty and terrifying my parents. Since then, I’ve mostly avoided alcohol altogether. But I’m curious by nature. I didn’t want to miss the chance to experience something new. I raised my hand just to see what would happen.

From drink menus to data sheets

Dr. Ferreira delegated the first task to me: translate all the research materials into Chinese. AI wasn’t cutting it. So, I spent an entire afternoon cross-checking unfamiliar terms like “tap takeover” or “flight of beer” until my brain nearly fermented itself.

Then came posters, social media posts and organizing logistics. Our fieldwork took place on several Saturday afternoons and evenings, across three local watering holes:

Sitting & Drinking, an iconic brewhouse offering a wide selection of locally brewed beers, all crafted in-house;

Roxy’s, a lively pizza bar pouring a rotating selection of mainland craft beers

on tap, along with the occasional house-made brew;

and The Paddy Shack, a brand-new surf-themed bar with three local brews on tap.

Each place became a small universe of conversation. They didn’t just give us a corner — they gave us access, warmth and, sometimes, free fries.

Collecting data was challenging not only because of logistics — setting up our station with all the research instruments and ASU swag, explaining the study’s goals and providing instructions to participants in both Chinese and English, and compiling responses into thematic tables for preliminary analysis — but also because the method itself was unexpectedly unconventional.

At first, both the participants and I were a little taken aback by the Q-methodology approach. It felt quite different from a regular interview — more interactive, even a bit playful. Some participants hesitated, unsure how to “categorize” their thoughts. But as intended, the process encouraged deeper reflection. By the end, many said they enjoyed the activity and felt it helped them express things they might not have been able to articulate in the context of a conventional interview.

I thought I was collecting data. I was actually collecting stories

Fragments of identity, memory and emotion, tucked inside casual conversations. That realization changed everything. I began to shift from ticking boxes to genuinely listening, not just as a student researcher but as someone trying to understand people for who they are, not just data points on a spreadsheet.

At first, I was nervous. Although I am formally trained in broadcasting and public speaking, going into bars, holding a clipboard in my hand and approaching random strangers did not come naturally to me. The first person I spoke to immediately brushed me off — he must have thought he knew everything about beer and didn’t need to entertain our questions. I felt discouraged.

Dr. Ferreira noticed it and casually said, “Don’t take it personally. Next time will be better.” So, I took a breath, smiled and approached someone else.

And that’s when the project truly began.

There was a solo drinker who turned out to be an open book. A group of friends from Singapore came to Haikou and made a detour to try local brews. Someone told me he drinks IPAs after working all day, calling it “a reward in a glass.” A middle-aged man shared that he brews his own beer. He told me about his unique understanding of craft brewing and how his relationship with it has evolved from his twenties to now. One young lady said her first craft beer after a heartbreak changed how she saw bitterness. Everyone I met had a story, and for the first time, I really wanted to listen.

From extras to narratives

Before this project, I think I viewed most strangers as blurry outlines in my peripheral vision — like extras in the backdrop of my own life. But during those interviews, something shifted. When I looked into people’s eyes and asked why they liked this flavor or hated that label, something clicked.

They weren’t numbers. They were windows — portals into social narratives, cultural rituals and emotional memory. Through their stories, I saw other versions of life. Beer wasn’t just beer anymore — it was memory, identity, aspiration, even ritual.

One participant told me he travels the world tasting different hops. Another said he only drinks from brewers who are still passionate about their craft. That one stuck with me — it wasn’t about alcohol, it was about love. Through these conversations, I realized that many craft beer enthusiasts weren’t drinking to escape or impress, but to enjoy. They sought quality, ritual and moments of calm. This challenged my old prejudice against alcohol; what I had once seen as indulgence, I now saw as a kind of intentional living.

One participant told me that in his younger years, drinking used to mean going out with friends and getting wasted just for the sake of it. But now, he prefers to sit with a few close companions, savor a well-brewed pint and have deeper, more honest conversations. Another woman said she no longer wants to drink pint after pint just to feel buzzed — instead, she chooses to spend more on less, valuing quality and how it makes her feel, both physically and emotionally.

This was never just about beer. It was about connection.

Even though I’m a decent public speaker, I used to think I wasn’t good at connecting with people. But this project proved otherwise. Every time I opened a conversation not to “fill out a survey,” but to actually listen to someone, the world felt closer. Warmer.

One unexpected perk of fieldwork? The food. Since our interviews often ran through dinner hours, Dr. Ferreira — ever the thoughtful professor — always made sure we didn’t go hungry. Thanks to him, I got to try some of the best handmade pizza and tender filet steak. 

Honestly, it helped. Fieldwork was long and sometimes exhausting, but those shared meals brought a sense of ease, warmth and something delicious to look forward to. And in that moment, I realized that the heart of this project wasn’t just about fieldwork or methodology — at least for me. It was about the small, human moments that stay with us long after the data is collected.

“Don’t say 'analyzes' when you mean 'analysis.'”

That’s what Dr. Ferreira told me one evening during a session, not unkindly, but firmly. “You’re smart, Jessivia. But if your English sounds careless, people will underestimate your intelligence. Especially as a woman in today’s world, you’ll often be expected to be perfect. That’s why you must work harder — because you deserve to rise beyond where the world tries to limit you.”

That stayed with me.

So did the project. So did every conversation in those dimly lit bars, where people talked more honestly over one glass than they might over 10. I came in allergic to beer, unsure about research and anxious about strangers. Now, I carry a heart full of stories, a more profound sense of myself and a much greater understanding of what it means to study human behavior — and the journey is still unfolding.

Maybe one day, in the right bar, with the right people, I’ll finally take a sip.

Written by Jessivia Wan

Edited by Dr. Bruno Ferreira, Assistant Professor, Hainan University-Arizona State University International College (HAIC)