Some woman just moved in to the hostel, after much of the other women here left a week ago to return home for the new year. What was her name… Spring Grass? She must be crazy, coming here at this time and with a child. Then again, I suppose I cannot be one to speak about her condition, given that I didn’t return home either. Maybe she does not have a family to return to, and she is all alone with the little girl. I turned in my bunk, thinking of the possibilities, and dozed off for the night.
By the morning, Spring Grass had asked me to tell her daughter a few things after she left, but I had to leave to do my own work before her daughter woke up. I couldn’t wait any longer—the earlier I went, the more people I could pass on the streets, the more peanuts I could sell. Selling is not easy since I do not know how to speak Mandarin like the passersby on the streets. I have no other option but to do this, though. Nobody will hire me besides the factories because I cannot read Mandarin either, after never having a chance to attend school in the village. I know only how to speak a few words and phrases I had picked up from listening to some relatives speaking in Mandarin, and this is not even enough to get around the city. I hear the working conditions in the factories are horrible, though, so I must resort to the streets for work.
I had learned of the hostel and the opportunity to sell roasted snacks through a few folks in my village by the mountains, Zhangsville, who had relatives working in the city. I did not tell them why I needed to leave the village, but they sensed and understood my urgency at the time. They pointed me to Haizhou. They were helpful enough to state as well where I would be able to find people that understood our language and could help with directions. All of the advice was very helpful, but perhaps I should not have asked too many people for help…
Once the night fell, I went back to the hostel and had dinner. I returned to my bunk to the noises of crying and water sloshing and to the sight of Spring Grass washing her daughter’s feet. I explained to her that I had to leave early and was not able to admonish her daughter for her, as she asked for. Remembering how recent her arrival was, I inquired about Spring Grass’s reason for not being home at such a time of year, but I was met with the same question from her. I was met with a pang of pain—I’d avoided thinking of home for so long. I tried to be brief with Spring Grass about my family, so of course she wouldn’t have had the full idea of why I left. However, I was more than simply angry with my mother-in-law. I felt struggles growing within me since my earliest years of growing up in Zhangsville, and it just happened to boil over just a couple of years ago.
Like most families in the village, my family was poor. For siblings, I only had one brother, but my parents still could not afford to send me to school with him. Thus, I remained at home, tending to the crops and livestock with my mother. Although our family was small relative to the other families in the village, there was still much work for us to do since father could not work himself. He had grown increasingly ill as he aged, and we had to scrape what money we could to pay for his medicine.
Although I was very obedient, nothing seemed to satisfy my mother and her demands, which were exacerbated by our finances. I was sympathetic to her, as we were truly in a rut. The farmland and weather were incredibly capricious; some seasons, our crops would fail to rise, leaving us with nothing to eat and sell. I wondered what I had done in a previous life to be born into such a situation. Of course, mother would be upset all the time. There was always too much to do for too few hands and for what seemed to be a gamble with the gods. Yet, we did not look far outside of agriculture to gain money. What else is there to do in a land like this? I figured my only option to help my family escape these circumstances was to marry a rich man or at least someone much more well-off than we were. I knew finding someone so willing to be with me would be difficult, but since I had much free time during the farm’s off-season, I figured it would not hurt to leave home for a while to look around. I thought this would make my mother very much happy, as well.
With an incredible stroke of luck and the sweet-talking abilities of my parents, I was able to marry a man located in one village over. His family was not rich, but they owned a business that allowed them to be somewhat comfy with assets. However, they had their fair share of financial struggles too. Although getting married resolved some issues on my side of the family, it also raised some issues on my husband’s side. Particularly, my in-laws were not enthusiastic about the financial burden my poorer family added to their troubles. They would have preferred if their son was arranged to marry a girl from the city, as to help relieve their financial issues as well. I felt a sense of guilt about my belonging in their family due to this, which my husband tried to quell. My husband chose me, so why would I not belong here? However, so long as I assisted with their business, my husband and his parents were willing to financially support my side of the family, despite the burden it was.
Even with my contributions, my husband’s parents continued to hold this issue over my head and brought it up whenever problems came up with the family’s business. Each mishap, even honest mistakes, suddenly became my fault. Although I was always sympathetic about financial issues, I could not bear the logic behind these attacks, and I grew both more angry and guilty about what I could not control. I began to think about leaving, finding a way out, something that became a necessity over time. This was not easy to accept because there would undoubtedly be repercussions. What would be of my two children, my son and daughter, if I left? I have to come back for them one day. Surely, my husband’s parents would not be happy about having to see me come back after leaving. However, after I decided to stand my position for once and argue back at my husband’s parents, suddenly my husband took their defense and hit me. There was no doubt from here that I absolutely had to escape for my own safety, so I decided to devise a plan to leave for the city.
I asked the other villagers for help and decided to try to persuade my husband’s parents that I should stop supporting the family business if I was creating so many issues. I half-lied and told them that my parents desperately needed help back at the other village so I could have an excuse to temporarily leave. From there, I left, long before word from the other villagers got around and my husband’s parents realized the truth of the situation. I wondered, if I decided to ask less of the other villagers for help, would the gossip have ever gotten here? As I left, I prayed that one day I would come across enough money to bring my children to the city as well. Although I put off a front that I do not miss them, I do deep down, and they are my only regret about leaving.
Now here, speaking to Spring Grass, I realized she must be like me. She did not tell me about why she was here, but no words needed to be said. All I knew was that we both were village women with children, alone in the city. As I learned from the other women in the hostel, women often did not just leave the countryside out of luxury, and it was incredibly lonely for women like us in the city. For this, I was willing to suggest to Spring Grass to come and sell peanuts with me, even if I would not benefit from it. After all, we were practically sisters here.