Hi there:
I hope you and loved ones are healthy and enjoying a peace of mind.
You may have heard the observation that young men and women in China are under immense pressure to marry and bear offspring. Such pressure is felt most acutely during Lunar New Year, when singles come under the intense scrutiny of parents, relatives and family friends.
Editors at The Story Plan asked five singles how they fared over the recent holiday season. This is their report, first published in Chinese on Feb. 19.
Enjoy and see you soon.
—ML
If You Mention Marriage Again, I'm Not Coming Home Next Year
Chinese couples take part in a traditional Han-style mass wedding in the northern city of Xingtai on April 30, 2014. Credit: Jianbing Lee.
Xiao Lin, 27, works in operations at an Internet company
The day I returned to my hometown happened to be my 27th birthday.
In the five-plus years since I graduated from college, I've evolved gradually from someone who longed to go home to someone scared of going back. Every trip home required steeling my nerves. There are plenty of things in life that one doesn't want to deal with. Where does the pressure to marry rank in the larger context?
My dad said he wanted to celebrate my birthday properly this year. He ordered a cake and invited friends and relatives over for a meal. Hardly mincing words, my mom said that I should have a proper celebration while I'm still single, considering the fact that I rarely ventured home for Lunar New Year.
On the day of my birthday, as family friends and relatives gathered, talk inevitably shifted to the "issues" the younger generation must confront. They all said that most girls my age left to work in a major city after graduating junior high and were usually married by 20. I sensed where the conversation was headed. Indeed, Auntie Yin grabbed my hand and asked in an eager tone: "So, do you have a boyfriend yet?"
Auntie Yin's daughter was set up by a matchmaker at 18. Word has it she struggled to get pregnant, which prompted her husband to threaten divorce. Eventually she salvaged her marriage only by bearing a child after costly fertility treatment.
Yet the elders in the family preferred to gloss over incidents like that.
In an 18th-tier county seat like ours, the business of marrying off women resembles a discount sale. In my mom's words, times were different—even divorced women were easy to set up.
"As long as they don't come with 'baggage,' they're still in demand."
During the meal, my mom declared to all the aunties: "Only you are so lucky!" She proceeded to give me an awkward tap on the knee and say: "Lin Lin, if you come across a good fit, it's time you got yourself a husband too."
I said I was different. I was the first woman from our village to attend university.
My mom responded: "Had I known you'd turn out like this, I wouldn't have let you study so much." I've heard comments like that so many times before. My mom makes it sound like education jeopardized my future. The mood took a nosedive. I wanted to engage but our relatives tried to defuse the situation by proposing toasts and saying: "Come on now, dig in!"
Neither of us felt pacified. I knew full well that my mom would continue to give me an earful after everyone left.
Every time we argue it feels like we live on different planets.
Whenever my mom calls when I'm in Beijing, her foremost concern is my love life. She's always asking if there are any good prospects, demanding that I start a relationship. When I give her a Lunar New Year present, she says the best way of proving my devotion is landing a decent boyfriend. When I show concern about her health, she says my single status is her biggest headache.
After my birthday meal, we sat down in an attempt to have a rational discussion about marriage.
I said it's a different era now—marriage isn't the only source of happiness for a woman. Many marriages end in divorce. Many of my female colleagues and bosses are in their 30s and still single.
My mom responded in a righteous tone: "Do you think a mother would harm her daughter? I just want you to have your own family. I'm just looking out for you."
I said whether I get married is up to me.
My mom said she always feels inferior when her friends brag about how accomplished their sons-in-law are and how mature and cute their grandkids are. I hate it when my mom tries to guilt-trip. I retorted: "I didn't come back from Beijing to listen to this stuff."
My mom was a picture of disappointment, saying in a high-pitched voice: "Only someone who truly cares about you would say things like this."
I went silent. There was no point in continuing.
My mom kept making her case. "Not getting married means bring gossiped about behind your back. I want to stand out my whole life. I can't fall behind in any department. But you make me... you truly make me feel ashamed."
I tried changing subjects. "Mom, why don't you have a piece of cake?"
She said she was full, turned around and ducked into the bathroom. I knew she was crying. I couldn't take it anymore either and went for a walk. As I burst into tears, I wondered: "Will things really get better if I get married?"
Shanhe, 31, editorial work
"Only kids get to enjoy Lunar New Year. For adults, it's downright torture."
This used to be one of my uncle's favorite refrains. I didn't understand it until I became a grown-up myself. For unmarried young men on the older end like myself, spending Lunar New Year at home is the equivalent of entering an interrogation chamber. If I can skip it, I pass.
I'm not single. My girlfriend and I met in Beijing. I'm a native of Shandong Province and she's from Shanxi. After working in Beijing for a few years, we relocated to Taiyuan in October because of the COVID outbreak.
As many local authorities encouraged migrant workers to stay put for the Lunar New Year break toward the end of the previous lunar year, I was overjoyed for some time. The central government created the perfect excuse for me to not go home.
When I told my parents on the phone that I was going spend Lunar New Year in Taiyuan, silence ensued, followed by a sigh. Even though my parents weren't pleased, they agreed with my decision.
But clearly I underestimated my parents' ability to exert marital pressure.
As the new year approached, my parents stepped up the frequency of their calls to thrice a day. Their only agenda was our wedding date.
The fact is my parents started applying pressure a few years ago when they found out I was in a relationship. My girlfriend and I have been procrastinating on marriage because we don't think the timing is right. It's not that we don't want to get married—it's simply the fact that getting married is so expensive. Even though we've retreated to a less expensive second-tier city, buying our own home is still beyond our reach.
Both my parents come from an ordinary village. They've never made much money. Even if they contributed their lifetime savings, coupled with our own savings from the past few years, all we can afford is the down payment for a small two-bedroom apartment in Taiyuan.
If we do purchase a flat, considering our current incomes in Taiyuan, it would be quite difficult to make ends meet going forward.
On top of that, what are we going to do about renovation expenses and home appliances? Custom in my girlfriend's hometown dictates I provide a cash gift of several ten thousand yuan. It's an expense I shouldn't skimp on.
I did the math. Apart from the down payment for the apartment, we're talking about an additional 100,000-plus yuan. Every time I think about that number marriage turns into a fantasy.
My parents are getting old. They keep ramming down my throat positive sayings like our future is bright and that the current challenges are temporary. Yet the practical hurdles are very concrete—not to mention once we get married, my parents will start demanding grandchildren.
Not even being able to afford a home, we dare not entertain the idea of kids.
My girlfriend and I are on the same page. We plan on working hard on our careers for a few years first before considering marriage. Once we can afford an apartment, we'll get registered right away.
Mo Li, 25, PhD student
Ever since I started my PhD program, as the second oldest among my unmarried female cousins, I diverted half of the pressure away from the senior cousin.
Before I knew it, I was promptly delivered to the frontlines of matchmaking hell.
There were two reasons why my family was anxious. 1. Female PhDs are considered the most despised in the matchmaking food chain. 2. My mom has remained single since splitting with my dad.
It's not as if I didn't fight back, but the thing is the most concerned and enthusiastic among my relatives and elders is my maternal grandmother, who raised me. Thus even the slightest objection will earn rebukes of "unbecoming grandchild," "you don't even know what's good for you" and the like.
Granny's oft-repeated comment was: "No matter what, don't consider someone like your dad! But you can't go empty-handed either. When I was your age, your oldest uncle already knew how to use a slingshot!"
Ever since coming down with a cerebral embolism three years ago, Granny suffered two recurrences, which led to vascular dementia. After a bout of hospitalization, she lamented how hard life was, saying the only one you could count on when you got old was your partner—not your kids, not the caretakers hired by your kids. From then on Granny's top priority was to make sure her grandchildren found the right mates and started their own happy families when she was still mentally acute and could recognize them.
By any objective measure, my parents' marriage wasn't a happy one. When my mom was spending the month after giving birth at her in-laws' home, no one looked after her and she could barely manage a hot meal. Granny and Grandpa couldn't take it and took in my mom and me.
The stay ended up lasting through primary school. Thus my grandparents pinned their hopes for two generations of happy marriages squarely on my shoulders. Ever since I started university, they have raided their contact list, enlisting friends and relatives one after another in their quest to produce a good match for me in terms of age and personality.
But my parents' marriage turned me off from the idea of marriage itself. Initially, I talked back aggressively, once yelling to Granny and Grandpa: "Can you stay out of my personal affairs? I don't want a husband."
But after installing a surveillance camera in my grandparents' home, I realized how obsessed with the matter Granny was, even though she was already in the first phase of dementia and unable to remember how many pills to take for her blood pressure—despite having taken the same medication for some 20 years. Every time she pulled out her contact list and started brainstorming for ideas, she'd put on her reading glasses frantically, turn off the TV, which was showing her favorite drama, and sit properly next to Grandpa. Every time she got stuck, she'd pull her hair while pacing in the room.
Illness had ravaged Granny's health and mental faculties, but it couldn't purge her innate love and concern for posterity.
I could no longer utter the word "no" to Granny and went along with the matchmaking. Every time I go home for Lunar New Year, five meals for matchmaking are a minimum, the total number never capped. By the time the vacation is over, I'm more tired than I was while preparing for my college entrance exams.
I thought I could bypass the ordeal this year because I couldn't make it home for Lunar New Year, but lo and behold, my younger cousin actually manage to teach Grandpa how to videoconference on WeChat. That lit a fire in my grandparents.
Granny ended up setting up three online matchmaking meetings over the Lunar New Year break. I spent the entire vacation fretting over dissertation revisions—and the prospect of fielding impromptu matchmaking calls.
I guess that's the special kind of interconnectedness that only blood relations can create.
Yuan Santian, 30, illustrator
Thirty and still single, I easily defended my title as "focus of the family" at our Lunar New Year meal gathering this year.
To my left sat my youngest auntie, who cited a news story about abuse at an elderly home. Her conclusion: elderly homes aren't reliable. You need a life partner by your side after all. To my right sat my uncle, who seized the moment to show me the picture of a young man on his phone. Uncle said he's a decent fellow and that I should meet up with him.
It's understandable that my elders are concerned about my love life and marriage prospects. I've been a diehard manga fan since I was a kid. Setting aside comic book characters, I've never come across a boy who moved me. In university, at one point I suspected I was a lesbian, constantly hanging out in female dorms. Unfortunately, I didn't feel a thing.
After acknowledging my fate, I declared to my family that I was never going to marry. Even better if I were to age and die alone.
My uncle is a businessman. Most of the prospects he introduced me to over the past few years were generated from his connections. But unlike the sub-par physical specimens that were the rich kids he referred previously, this young man had a slight resemblance to the actor Wu Lei. I agreed to the date, thinking this might be the one time sparks fly.
I added the young man on WeChat. A mere few sentences into our conversation, he already decided on the location for our date: a cherry orchard in a village 30-plus kilometers from our house. I was still aching from a day of shopping the day before, so I suggested an alternative. He refused, although he offered to pick me up. Thinking that he was going to drive, I thought that works too. Yet the next day when I met him downstairs, he flashed a grin and said: "The bus station isn't far."
The two-hour bus ride was packed and stuffy. The constant friction from bumping down jackets created enough static electricity that sent my hair floating. When we got off, the cherry orchard was still an uphill climb away. Just as I was about to look up shuttle bus schedules, my date declared enthusiastically: "Why don't we walk?"
Before I could react, he had already set off.
By the time we reached the cherry orchard, my legs had all but given out. I had no energy left for cherry picking—all I wanted was to quickly end this ridiculous date. Oblivious to my obvious discomfort, my date went ahead and picked two big crates of cherries, handing over one of them with the quip: "All taken care of!"
Then I suggested we order a ride home, offering to pay for the journey. He responded it was nice to get some exercise. When he blurted that comment, whatever little that remained of my patience vanished instantly. I feigned a polite smile and said I wasn't feeling well and needed to use the restroom.
I blocked him on WeChat as soon as we boarded our ride.
When I got home, my grandma asked me what I thought of my date. I responded with a tirade. Grandma panicked. "Look at how picky you are! Consider us lucky that a young man who knows how to enjoy life has taken an interest in you!"
After going blank for five seconds, I sent the following message to our WeChat family group: "I was born a woman and I'm attracted to women. I will do my best to bring home a girlfriend this year. Consider the whole family informed."
Qiangzi, 30, contractor
My senior high entrance exam scores didn't make the cut. I never liked studying in the first place, so I joined dad in the interior renovation business, painting walls and plastering all day.
These days I bid for jobs with a few of my cousins. My income is OK, but when it comes to my love life, where do I start?
Mother has been trying to land me a wife since I turned 18.
It's a common phenomenon in rural villages—if you're not going to study, then you might as well get married and have kids. But I was young back then and found the idea of matchmaking very off-putting. First, I felt that only people who couldn't find a boyfriend or girlfriend on their own had to resort to matchmaking. I hadn't reached that stage yet. Second, the timing was just embarrassing. After all, my playmates were still in school.
My aunties backed me up on this one. "What's the hurry? He's still so young. Let him have some fun for another two years!" Mother didn't force the issue.
Next thing you know I turn 26. Several younger cousins get married and have children back-to-back, while my matchmaking attempts go nowhere. Father was losing face. Every time someone asked if I was married yet, he responded with a sarcastic laugh. "How is someone like him going to land a wife?"
I couldn't exactly make a strong case.for myself, so I would stay silent, pretending I didn't hear anything.
Mother was naturally extremely stressed. She frequently complained: "What to do? There aren't any suitable girls available right now." She got in touch with as many matchmakers as she could, spreading word that she would pay 20,000 yuan (US$3,060) for a successful match, followed by a 10,000 yuan bonus when the wedding took place and another 10,000 when the first child was born. Every Lunar New Year our home became inundated with matchmakers who would "check out girls" with me on a daily basis.
Soon I realized things weren't right. Most of the matchmakers had never met the women they referred. They were completely clueless about their backgrounds. Whether they were already in a relationship, what they were looking for in a guy, their education level—the matchmakers didn't bother. All they knew before setting up these women was a ballpark age and their marital status.
I'm not very well-educated. All I'm looking for is a down-to-earth girl with a similar education background with whom I can spend my life. Yet the matchmakers kept referring women with university or higher education degrees, the reason being most of the uneducated women had already been married off. I didn't see these women as practical possibilities and didn't want to waste my time.
Sensing my reluctance, my parents and relatives let me have it, saying I was worthless, questioning how I was going to land a wife if I was scared of dealing with women. I had no choice but to don a thick skin and take some of these meetings, yet some these educated women weren't even willing to add me on WeChat. In one extreme case, the young woman locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to lay eyes on me altogether.
On the way home from these meetings, the matchmakers still asked for their fee.
Even so, every time a referral came through, my family still forced me to follow up. "Go check her out! Maybe she will take an interest in you! If not, so be it. It's not like you're missing a body part."
This Lunar New Year my parents and relatives brainstormed together and came up with three proposals.
My aunt's husband suggested I quit interior renovation and take a job at an electronics factory. The amount of pay didn't matter—as long as I brought home a wife.
Another aunt wanted to introduce me to a divorcee whose divorce was only finalized before Lunar New Year. She is three years older than me and has a 6-year-old son.
A third aunt had an even better idea. A neighbor's daughter was the same age as me and finished her education at a vocational secondary school. A treasured child, she is the only girl of her generation in a family dominated by men and boys. During winters, her mom serves her meals in bed so she doesn't have to brave the cold. "Her uncles say they don't want a cash gift or a new apartment, but you'll have to live with their family."
Before my aunt could finish, grandpa was already all in. "What's wrong with being a live-in son-in-law? We're all Chinese after all."
"The only problem is the girl is too spoiled. She has no manners whatsoever. You can't even expect her to greet people. She's always scolding her mom," my aunt said, followed by a sigh. Everyone turned to look at me and ask for my thoughts.
I could only laugh along awkwardly while thinking to myself: "What am I supposed to think? Had I known it'd be this hard to land a wife, I would've chosen to be born a girl!"