Being Single |
Issue 8
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I’m 33 years old, living alone in a bustling metropolis, far from my family. This year, my life took an unexpected turn into what felt like a void of purpose.
I attended college in Guangzhou, one of China’s first-tier cities. Following graduation, I worked in Hangzhou, Shenzhen, and Shanghai, eventually settling back in Guangzhou. Four years ago, I bought my own flat, and three years ago, I earned a promotion to department manager. I believed that achieving financial independence would secure my place in the city, offering me autonomy and freedom. As I hit 25, my friends began getting married one after another. During holidays when I longed for travel, finding a companion became a challenge. Those in relationships sought quality time with their partners, while married friends with children needed to prioritize family commitments. Even when we did manage to get together, conversations often revolved around their children, and as a single woman, I often felt like an outsider, unable to fully engage in their discussions. I couldn’t help but notice a growing distance from my friends, and at times, I’d wrestle with loneliness. Then, on November 30 last year, the Guangzhou Municipal Government announced the end of its three-year-long Zero-COVID policy. In mid-December, I contracted the virus myself. I endured a high fever for three agonizing days and a relentless headache that felt like a drilling sensation deep within my brain. Lying helpless in bed, I struggled even to fetch a glass of water. I felt adrift and uncertain about my path, grappling with a sense of emptiness and yearning for someone to be there for me. It was during this time that my mother reached out to me, voicing her concerns. She said, “Have you thought about how you’ll navigate life when you’re old or unwell? A woman’s peak reproductive years are between 24 and 30, and after 30, fertility starts to decline.” Since I graduated from university, my mother consistently inquired about my marriage plans during our conversations. I had tried to explain my choices to her, hoping she would understand, but lately, I’d fallen into a contemplative silence. She sighed and added, “Don’t end up like your Aunt Lan. Despite her successful career and substantial savings, she leads a solitary life with no one to lean on or share it with.” |
Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. She’s also an Associate Editor at Bewildering Stories. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, Tint Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize twice and Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her husband and daughter.
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Aunt Lan, my mother’s younger sister, was the owner of a fashion store. She was a stunning woman and had many suitors, but she didn’t find the right one until she turned 27. She believed that her marriage was the continuation of her happy life. However, three years after marriage, she hadn’t been able to conceive. A gynecological examination revealed that she had chromosomal abnormalities, rendering her infertile. When her husband discovered this, he decided to divorce her. My grandmother was devastated by this situation. She fell seriously ill and passed away within two years, followed shortly by my grandfather.
Aunt Lan’s only remaining family was my mother. When I was young, I would often overhear my female relatives gossiping about Aunt Lan. They would shake their heads and say, “No matter how successful she is, a woman who can’t have children is as worthless as a hen that doesn’t lay eggs.”
I asked my mother, “Why do women have to have children?” My mother responded, “Because a woman’s life will be incomplete without children, no matter how successful she is.” I was too young to challenge my mother or express that these narratives and values objectified women, reducing them to mere reproductive tools.
My mother persuaded Aunt Lan to marry a divorced man with children, as he might be more understanding about her inability to bear children. This way, she would have a partner for companionship, and if she treated the man’s children as her own, they would take care of her in her old age.
At the age of 35, Aunt Lan married a man who was 12 years older than her and had two sons from his previous marriage. We all thought that Aunt Lan’s new family would appreciate her for her selfless dedication.
However, when Aunt Lan turned 42, she filed for divorce. Later, I found out that during their 7 years of marriage, her husband had abused her many times.
The first of these transgressions occurred not long after their wedding. One night, her husband picked her up from work and caught her in a cheerful conversation with a man. As soon as they arrived home, without allowing her to explain, he seized her arm and flung her onto the couch. “Who is that man?” She elucidated that the man was a regular customer seeking a birthday gift for his wife, and she had assisted in selecting a dress. However, her husband remained unconvinced, and their argument soon escalated into a physical clash. He left her with bruises on her shoulders and yanked out a handful of her hair. Witnessing his violent outburst that night, Aunt Lan began contemplating the idea of separation. Yet, the following day, he embarked on an earnest spree of apologies. My mother, too, advised her to endure it, as she had at long last established a family. She chose to endure the hardships.
What eventually compelled her to seek a divorce was the discovery of her husband’s long-term affair in the WeChat messages on his phone. Since her income exceeded her husband’s, she had invested heavily in their new home and even covered her stepsons’ college tuition and living expenses. To her astonishment, she realized that her husband wasn’t financially strained; he was lavishing his money on his mistress. He frequented high-end restaurants every month and regularly indulged in weekend getaways at five-star hotels.
What further chilled her heart was that when she confronted her husband about his affair, her two stepsons both sided with their father, offering no understanding or consolation for her pain. As it turned out, all these years, she had been giving selflessly, but they never embraced her as one of their own.
This divorce shattered her faith in the institution of marriage.
Aunt Lan’s only remaining family was my mother. When I was young, I would often overhear my female relatives gossiping about Aunt Lan. They would shake their heads and say, “No matter how successful she is, a woman who can’t have children is as worthless as a hen that doesn’t lay eggs.”
I asked my mother, “Why do women have to have children?” My mother responded, “Because a woman’s life will be incomplete without children, no matter how successful she is.” I was too young to challenge my mother or express that these narratives and values objectified women, reducing them to mere reproductive tools.
My mother persuaded Aunt Lan to marry a divorced man with children, as he might be more understanding about her inability to bear children. This way, she would have a partner for companionship, and if she treated the man’s children as her own, they would take care of her in her old age.
At the age of 35, Aunt Lan married a man who was 12 years older than her and had two sons from his previous marriage. We all thought that Aunt Lan’s new family would appreciate her for her selfless dedication.
However, when Aunt Lan turned 42, she filed for divorce. Later, I found out that during their 7 years of marriage, her husband had abused her many times.
The first of these transgressions occurred not long after their wedding. One night, her husband picked her up from work and caught her in a cheerful conversation with a man. As soon as they arrived home, without allowing her to explain, he seized her arm and flung her onto the couch. “Who is that man?” She elucidated that the man was a regular customer seeking a birthday gift for his wife, and she had assisted in selecting a dress. However, her husband remained unconvinced, and their argument soon escalated into a physical clash. He left her with bruises on her shoulders and yanked out a handful of her hair. Witnessing his violent outburst that night, Aunt Lan began contemplating the idea of separation. Yet, the following day, he embarked on an earnest spree of apologies. My mother, too, advised her to endure it, as she had at long last established a family. She chose to endure the hardships.
What eventually compelled her to seek a divorce was the discovery of her husband’s long-term affair in the WeChat messages on his phone. Since her income exceeded her husband’s, she had invested heavily in their new home and even covered her stepsons’ college tuition and living expenses. To her astonishment, she realized that her husband wasn’t financially strained; he was lavishing his money on his mistress. He frequented high-end restaurants every month and regularly indulged in weekend getaways at five-star hotels.
What further chilled her heart was that when she confronted her husband about his affair, her two stepsons both sided with their father, offering no understanding or consolation for her pain. As it turned out, all these years, she had been giving selflessly, but they never embraced her as one of their own.
This divorce shattered her faith in the institution of marriage.
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I often pondered why I couldn’t embrace a relationship, why I shied away from the prospect of marriage. Was it because I witnessed Aunt Lan’s tragic story? Or was it because I observed the vulnerability of women in marriage, as seen through my mother and close friends?
My mother regrets not giving birth to a son to carry on our family’s lineage. This guilt has led her to obey my father unwaveringly. In my 8th-grade biology class, I learned that it’s the sperm that determines a baby’s biological sex. I shared this knowledge with my mother, but she still shook her head and said, “Even so, it’s the woman’s fault if she can’t bear a son.”
Then there’s my dearest friend, Ying, who went through eight rounds of IVF and endured over a thousand injections over three years before finally getting pregnant. After the failure of the seventh IVF attempt, she was so fragile that even a gentle breeze would hurt her hands and feet. Yet, her husband insisted on giving it another try, so she embarked on the eighth attempt. Recalling those experiences, her voice would tremble, and her eyes would fill with tears.
For those three years, she had to endure daily injections, leaving her stomach riddled with tiny needle marks. But the most agonizing part was the egg retrieval procedure. She showed me a picture of the needle used for the procedure, and to my shock, it was longer than a forearm. Even with anesthesia, when the doctor reached for her right ovary, the presence of chocolate cysts obstructing the follicles made retrieval challenging. She described feeling the needle piercing into her ovary, sending sharp, numbing pain through her body, causing her hands and feet to twitch. This torment lasted for 50 excruciating minutes.
Ying endured extreme physical suffering and immense psychological pressure in her quest to conceive. She knew that if she couldn’t bear children, she’d face social stigmatization, discrimination, and alienation that could shatter her life even further.
After reading The Second Sex, I came to understand that this was the oppression of women in a patriarchal society, and the inexplicable anger I’d always felt was a result of living in a world dominated by men. I resolved to break free from the constraints of marriage and not let my worth be defined by fertility.
Whenever my mother attempted to persuade me to marry, she would bring up Aunt Lan. I once responded to her, “If the husband is infertile, the wife is likely to continue living with him. If the wife is infertile, the couple often divorces. This is a reflection of society’s domestication of women and the double standard prevalent in a patriarchal society.”
My mother retorted, “Nonsense. You’ve read too much and become dogmatic. If you read less, your life would be on the right track, and I wouldn't have to worry about you anymore.”
In my mother’s life, she’s consistently torn between worrying about Aunt Lan and me.
My mother regrets not giving birth to a son to carry on our family’s lineage. This guilt has led her to obey my father unwaveringly. In my 8th-grade biology class, I learned that it’s the sperm that determines a baby’s biological sex. I shared this knowledge with my mother, but she still shook her head and said, “Even so, it’s the woman’s fault if she can’t bear a son.”
Then there’s my dearest friend, Ying, who went through eight rounds of IVF and endured over a thousand injections over three years before finally getting pregnant. After the failure of the seventh IVF attempt, she was so fragile that even a gentle breeze would hurt her hands and feet. Yet, her husband insisted on giving it another try, so she embarked on the eighth attempt. Recalling those experiences, her voice would tremble, and her eyes would fill with tears.
For those three years, she had to endure daily injections, leaving her stomach riddled with tiny needle marks. But the most agonizing part was the egg retrieval procedure. She showed me a picture of the needle used for the procedure, and to my shock, it was longer than a forearm. Even with anesthesia, when the doctor reached for her right ovary, the presence of chocolate cysts obstructing the follicles made retrieval challenging. She described feeling the needle piercing into her ovary, sending sharp, numbing pain through her body, causing her hands and feet to twitch. This torment lasted for 50 excruciating minutes.
Ying endured extreme physical suffering and immense psychological pressure in her quest to conceive. She knew that if she couldn’t bear children, she’d face social stigmatization, discrimination, and alienation that could shatter her life even further.
After reading The Second Sex, I came to understand that this was the oppression of women in a patriarchal society, and the inexplicable anger I’d always felt was a result of living in a world dominated by men. I resolved to break free from the constraints of marriage and not let my worth be defined by fertility.
Whenever my mother attempted to persuade me to marry, she would bring up Aunt Lan. I once responded to her, “If the husband is infertile, the wife is likely to continue living with him. If the wife is infertile, the couple often divorces. This is a reflection of society’s domestication of women and the double standard prevalent in a patriarchal society.”
My mother retorted, “Nonsense. You’ve read too much and become dogmatic. If you read less, your life would be on the right track, and I wouldn't have to worry about you anymore.”
In my mother’s life, she’s consistently torn between worrying about Aunt Lan and me.
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Despite her past marriage woes, Aunt Lan’s career soared, and her fashion store flourished. She expanded her business by opening another store and investing in three apartments. The rental income from just two of these apartments was sufficient for her retirement.
My mother, however, harbored concerns that Aunt Lan would be lonely and miserable in her later years. She proposed that Aunt Lan treat their cousin’s son, Ming, as her own child. Unlike step-sons, Ming shared a blood relation with her, and it was believed that he would be more filial to her as she aged.
Aunt Lan heeded my mother’s advice and raised Ming as her own son. She shouldered the financial responsibility for nearly all of Ming’s upbringing, including various extracurricular activities, tutoring, and covering all expenses for his four years of college. Annually, Aunt Lan extended invitations to Ming and his parents for overseas trips, covering all the expenses. They grew close and celebrated Chinese New Year together.
Four years ago, Aunt Lan was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Fortunately, it was caught in its early stages and treatable. Throughout her hospitalization, Ming never visited her or even gave her a call. Only my mother was there to take care of her, and she began to withhold her unconditional giving to Ming.
Two years ago, as Ming was preparing for his wedding, his father requested Aunt Lan to provide the down payment for their new house. Aunt Lan declined the request. Ming’s father accused Aunt Lan of not treating Ming as her true son, suggesting that she should purchase a house for Ming if she truly cared for him. Ming even conveyed to Aunt Lan that if she expected him to support her in the future, she should buy him a house.
The relationship became strained, and Aunt Lan was disheartened. She came to realize that her family had been eyeing her property, which prompted her to sever ties with them.
My mother turned to me and asked, “Do you want to live a life similar to Aunt Lan’s? Hurry up, get married, and have children.”
For my mother, the ultimate tragedy for a woman is to find herself alone and childless.
My mother, however, harbored concerns that Aunt Lan would be lonely and miserable in her later years. She proposed that Aunt Lan treat their cousin’s son, Ming, as her own child. Unlike step-sons, Ming shared a blood relation with her, and it was believed that he would be more filial to her as she aged.
Aunt Lan heeded my mother’s advice and raised Ming as her own son. She shouldered the financial responsibility for nearly all of Ming’s upbringing, including various extracurricular activities, tutoring, and covering all expenses for his four years of college. Annually, Aunt Lan extended invitations to Ming and his parents for overseas trips, covering all the expenses. They grew close and celebrated Chinese New Year together.
Four years ago, Aunt Lan was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Fortunately, it was caught in its early stages and treatable. Throughout her hospitalization, Ming never visited her or even gave her a call. Only my mother was there to take care of her, and she began to withhold her unconditional giving to Ming.
Two years ago, as Ming was preparing for his wedding, his father requested Aunt Lan to provide the down payment for their new house. Aunt Lan declined the request. Ming’s father accused Aunt Lan of not treating Ming as her true son, suggesting that she should purchase a house for Ming if she truly cared for him. Ming even conveyed to Aunt Lan that if she expected him to support her in the future, she should buy him a house.
The relationship became strained, and Aunt Lan was disheartened. She came to realize that her family had been eyeing her property, which prompted her to sever ties with them.
My mother turned to me and asked, “Do you want to live a life similar to Aunt Lan’s? Hurry up, get married, and have children.”
For my mother, the ultimate tragedy for a woman is to find herself alone and childless.
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Throughout this year, I’ve found myself frequently contemplating what my later years might look like. Whenever I encountered an elderly woman with a hunched back while out buying groceries, my mind would drift to my own aging. These thoughts weighed heavily on my steps, making them sluggish. I couldn’t help but follow the news about the elderly who passed away alone at home. I envisioned my own final hours, imagining life slipping away as I lay there helpless, having fallen and fractured my bones, unable to call for assistance. The stark reality only dawning upon the discovery of my deteriorating body, with blood seeping out, rotting fluids staining the floor, and flies hovering about.
If I happen to meet a man I truly love, and our union promises mutual fulfillment, I might choose to marry and establish a partnership based on shared happiness. However, I refuse to marry someone solely out of fear of facing old age alone.
Surprisingly, my dear friend Ying confided in me, saying, “I wish I could be as liberated as you. I’m ensnared in the daily grind of parenthood, juggling roles as a caregiver, teacher, chauffeur, chef, housekeeper, and emotional supporter. Each day leaves me utterly drained, and I bear the brunt of the blame if I fall short. After all, I'm a stay-at-home mother. In contrast, my husband only needs to put in hours at work, and he’s seen as the perfect father and husband.”
I understood her words as a venting of frustration, as I knew she cherished her child and would never contemplate leaving her husband.
She continued, saying, “The medications, injections, and hormones used to sustain my pregnancy have taken a toll on my liver and kidneys. Over the years, I’ve toiled relentlessly, caring for my son and trying to mend my body. The thought of leisurely travel, beauty treatments, hairstyling, social gatherings, shopping, or pursuing a career have all faded into oblivion.”
I tried to offer comfort and said, “But your son adores you. As he grows older, the demands of looking after him will become less strenuous.”
She gazed at me and replied, “Don’t rush into marriage or tamper with your body for the sake of bearing children. It won’t bring you any closer to fulfillment.”
The realization struck me that I was currently free from the disappointment of an unhelpful partner, from the societal expectations placed on me as a mother and wife.
I began to immerse myself in the writings of Chizuko Ueno, a renowned Japanese sociologist and one of Japan’s most prominent feminists, who remained single throughout her life. Her books had a calming effect on me, and I even recommended Ueno's works, The Last Journey of a Person and Farewell to the World in Your Familiar Home, to Aunt Lan.
Aunt Lan disclosed that she had enrolled in dance classes at a local studio and danced every evening at the neighborhood square. She had learned to pamper herself, scheduling a weekly spa day and getting her eyebrows waxed every month. She frequently traveled with friends and booked herself into the finest hotels during their trips. Now, she had a circle of friends who would come to her aid when she fell ill. When the time came that she couldn't care for herself anymore, she planned to move to a nursing home.
Being single and childless, I realized, could also be exciting and fulfilling. Life is inherently uncertain, and everyone must navigate their own path, embracing risks and experiences along the way. I came to understand that even though moments of loneliness might still find me, I would learn to be a content and joyful single woman, completely at ease in my own company.
If I happen to meet a man I truly love, and our union promises mutual fulfillment, I might choose to marry and establish a partnership based on shared happiness. However, I refuse to marry someone solely out of fear of facing old age alone.
Surprisingly, my dear friend Ying confided in me, saying, “I wish I could be as liberated as you. I’m ensnared in the daily grind of parenthood, juggling roles as a caregiver, teacher, chauffeur, chef, housekeeper, and emotional supporter. Each day leaves me utterly drained, and I bear the brunt of the blame if I fall short. After all, I'm a stay-at-home mother. In contrast, my husband only needs to put in hours at work, and he’s seen as the perfect father and husband.”
I understood her words as a venting of frustration, as I knew she cherished her child and would never contemplate leaving her husband.
She continued, saying, “The medications, injections, and hormones used to sustain my pregnancy have taken a toll on my liver and kidneys. Over the years, I’ve toiled relentlessly, caring for my son and trying to mend my body. The thought of leisurely travel, beauty treatments, hairstyling, social gatherings, shopping, or pursuing a career have all faded into oblivion.”
I tried to offer comfort and said, “But your son adores you. As he grows older, the demands of looking after him will become less strenuous.”
She gazed at me and replied, “Don’t rush into marriage or tamper with your body for the sake of bearing children. It won’t bring you any closer to fulfillment.”
The realization struck me that I was currently free from the disappointment of an unhelpful partner, from the societal expectations placed on me as a mother and wife.
I began to immerse myself in the writings of Chizuko Ueno, a renowned Japanese sociologist and one of Japan’s most prominent feminists, who remained single throughout her life. Her books had a calming effect on me, and I even recommended Ueno's works, The Last Journey of a Person and Farewell to the World in Your Familiar Home, to Aunt Lan.
Aunt Lan disclosed that she had enrolled in dance classes at a local studio and danced every evening at the neighborhood square. She had learned to pamper herself, scheduling a weekly spa day and getting her eyebrows waxed every month. She frequently traveled with friends and booked herself into the finest hotels during their trips. Now, she had a circle of friends who would come to her aid when she fell ill. When the time came that she couldn't care for herself anymore, she planned to move to a nursing home.
Being single and childless, I realized, could also be exciting and fulfilling. Life is inherently uncertain, and everyone must navigate their own path, embracing risks and experiences along the way. I came to understand that even though moments of loneliness might still find me, I would learn to be a content and joyful single woman, completely at ease in my own company.