It’s no secret that women in China worry about getting married. Sometimes it’s because she’s approaching 30 – China’s unofficial expiration date for single women. Sometimes it has to do with parents and relatives raining that “why don’t you have a boyfriend?” question on her over and over again like neverending debris from Chinese New Year fireworks. And sometimes, in the case of my 22-year-old cousin Mei, the problem isn’t age or being a chronic singleton, but marriage itself.
“I don’t really want to get married. I’m afraid!”
Moments before Mei confessed her fear of an institution as integral to Chinese life as chopsticks and rice, I had told her she looked beautiful. Her navy-striped ruffle-trimmed blouse and khaki mini shorts accentuated her lovely Pippi Longstocking freckles, and she had long, creamy legs that could have stopped even high speed trains, perched atop patent leather high heels. If she had told me she had a boyfriend, I would have started teasing her about some imaginary hot date she didn’t have that evening. But she had no boyfriend, and no desire to find one either.
“Everyone around me is getting divorced,” she sighed.
“Who is getting divorced?” Continue reading “One Chinese Woman Fears Marriage”
John brought me to Tonglu, his hometown in the Chinese countryside, to climb Daqi Mountain. If only I knew I’d have to do more than just climb the mountain — I’d have to climb out of the mess I created this morning.
I really want to be on the new highway leading to Tonglu, John’s hometown in the Chinese countryside. The smooth concrete is perfect, unblemished by potholes or cracks. Each side of the highway has a new guardrail, with newly transplanted trees beside it, propped up by four wooden supports and rope tied around the trunk. And on the highway, a bus cannot stop to pick up new passengers — it must go nonstop to its destination, so the passengers know when it will arrive. It is China’s future, right next to me.