The greatest contradiction in my life right now, I suppose, comes down to two things: one is that my family places both hope and responsibility on my shoulders; the other is that I myself just want to be a free spirit — carefree, doing as I please, not even taking tomorrow too seriously.
It’s almost laughable. I live on just a few hundred yuan a month, yet people keep sending me money. Among my relatives, some regularly send me red packets. It would be one thing if they were well off — but they aren’t. Some ran failed businesses, drowning in debt, battling their credit scores day after day, switching between Alipay and WeChat accounts. Others lost money in the stock market, trapped with no way out. None of them are flush, yet they still carve out a little from their own hardship to give to me.
The one I’m in frequent contact with is really only one person.
A relative supported me financially in the past, but this one — she’s both closer to me and worse off, yet she’s given the most. My feelings toward her are rather particular. I’ve seen a lot of her since I was small; our ties run deep. She married a man in middle age who turned out to be unreliable. They had a daughter, but eventually split up. Apparently the man was in bad shape, and she wasn’t much better. So the child stayed with her, and the divorce went through.
That girl is in middle school now. I think she’s been through more trauma than I have in my entire life. And the truth is, I don’t hold out much hope for her future. The reason my relative supported me — and before that, my brother — wasn’t pure, selfless charity. At the end of the day, she’s hoping I’ll be able to look after her child someday. To put it bluntly: she wants me to take care of things when the time comes.
During the last Spring Festival, another relative came to tell me I should shoulder my responsibilities. “Your dad’s unemployed, your mom does odd jobs — things aren’t great. You should go out and work part-time, earn some pocket money.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept nodding.
For the future, I’d rather live freely — never mind how well.
If I could have a small rented room, size doesn’t matter: a bed, a computer, a phone, headphones, a little desk, and a small bathroom. Ideally with a window, so that in the small hours of the morning I can sit with headphones on, bathed in the faint glow of a desk lamp, gazing out at the view beyond the window. When I was in high school and had time off, I loved sitting in my little room in the dead of night, reading an e-book by lamplight while rain fell outside. That’s why I’m so drawn to that feeling of comfort.
Perhaps it’s a way of escaping reality, but I’m nineteen now — an adult — and it’s only right that I dream about my future life. I’d like to reduce contact with my family, maintain limited liability. After all, my presence was never very strong, and there’s no shortage of people in my family more capable than me. Could I really compare myself to someone who went to Shanghai Jiao Tong University and then furthered their studies in Hong Kong?
The pursuit of freedom began in high school. I worked so hard back then partly because of the expectations placed on me by teachers and family, but also because I held a hopeful vision of a better future inside. So when filling in my college application, I chose a place that takes hours to reach by plane — not Hunan, Sichuan, or Guangdong — because I wanted to go somewhere further from the cage that had confined me. Even though it meant truly living on my own, I believed the cost of adjustment was worth it. I just needed to be a bit more self-reliant.
Lately another thing has been bothering me: they keep hinting that I should start dating, and that I should dress better.
It’s not that I’ve never had feelings or never been in a relationship. Someone even pursued me once. The awkward part was that I didn’t know how to respond, and I ended up disappointing her. That was back in middle school. In those days people were mostly judged by their grades, and I was among the best — mild-tempered, no bad habits — so it was natural that someone liked me. I knew who liked me and I knew who I liked, but in the end I was too timid, and nothing came of it.
Still, it left me with a few good memories.
As for now, I think I still prefer being alone, enjoying my own company. I don’t feel much attachment to my hometown either. Others feel homesick; I’m usually indifferent. For me, what matters is not where I return to, but whether I can live freely, whether I can be a little happier, whether I can feel my own existence, hear my own heart, and find a little comfort in an undisturbed life.
That’s all there is to it.