3
WING
‘I HATED MY mother. She treated me as a pet for twenty-three years. Even after all this time, I still can’t live like a normal human being!’ Golden Swallow’s words had gradually changed from the voice of one girl’s heart into a rising chorus of shouts from China’s only children. At first their parents were perplexed, then hurt, then righteously indignant.
China’s first group of only children were all born between 1979 and 1984. Their parents generally subscribe to the same viewpoint: ‘We suffered hardships, and we won’t let our children go through the same thing.’ They were willing to undergo hardship and exhaustion, but were determined that in the future their children would have the same opportunities as everyone else. However, it often turned out that their children did not live the happy, satisfied lives their parents wished. According to an official report into 6.1 million only-child households, estrangement and conflicts between parents and children exist in almost half. These are the biggest worries for only children, and have influenced Chinese families and society in ways that are impossible to ignore. But why are the parents shouldering all the blame? Why has nobody realised that parents are struggling under the burden of a social policy without precedent in the world? No mothers and fathers know how to be a parent when their first child is born. Their parenting skills increase day by day as the child grows. It is only once the second child is born that they learn to refine their parenting skills. But parents of only children never get this opportunity. They rely on other only-child families to help them ‘seek out a cure’. However, as when consulting a doctor, hardly anyone remembers that they too get sick, old and die. Society is forever debating the loneliness of only children, yet they seldom consider the parents’ isolation and helplessness.
I sent Golden Swallow’s ‘famous words’ to several parents of only children who I had been in touch with for many years, though I sent them anonymously. They reacted angrily: ‘Is the mother keeping her child as a pet, or is the child keeping her parents as slaves, to be at her beck and call with every wave of her hand?!’
The relationship between mother and child, that most treasured of all relationships, has in the eyes of some only children metamorphosed into the mutual recriminations of pet and slave. Why? How many sons and daughters are crying and shouting ‘why’ at their mothers and fathers? Their parents are asking themselves the same question, over and over again during sleepless nights.
I think one of the main reasons we have created families so different to previous generations is that we have lost the traditional support network of the extended family. The parents of today’s only children grew up in large families. There was poverty and overcrowding, but very little opportunity for loneliness. They grew up in a noisy, cheerful environment, full of close family feelings and squabbles with their brothers and sisters. Even in the cities, where the work unit was ‘society’, these units were often as close as families. But in this age of only children and Reform and Opening-up policies, city life is no longer dominated by the empire of the work unit. The people have been divided up along economic lines into forests of box flats and skyscrapers. There is less contact between people, who often do not even know their next-door neighbours. This isolation is even more pronounced for only children, each living in their little well, unaware of what is going on outside the window.
I think many parents were like me when their children were small. They tried to make up for the lack of extended family by teaching them about what family means. I went to endless pains to explain to my son the difference between family and other relationships, from ancient times to today, from China to the West, and from all sorts of different angles. However, they all grew up so fast in this modern digital world that they never experienced the family home as a place to relax and set their hearts at ease. A place where they could be themselves, a branch to perch on when weary of flying, a safe harbour to drop anchor and rest from the storms of the ocean outside.
For my son and other only children, brought up in families with no brothers or sisters to dilute their parents’ attention, they were painfully aware of their parents’ scrutiny every second of their lives. Home became a prison, with their parents as the bars, constantly protecting them and correcting their every move. Only children, seemingly much more than children with siblings, yearn to break away from the family and their parents’ control. Even if they do not know whether the light beckoning them from outside is heaven or hell, they still yearn for the freedom of flying the nest. And parents also know that when their children grow up they should learn to fly. However, their endless worry and suffocating love all too often leave their beloveds incapable of flight. A bird cannot carry its cage when it flies! And as for those who manage to fly, many have no direction. Relentless and unrealistic competition causes many Chinese only children to flap laboriously through the broad streets and narrow alleys of Europe and America, dragging behind them the gilded cages of their parents’ riches and worries. The space in between them interlaced with countless threads, one end tied to the cage, the other knotted to the parents’ hearts, neither end free.
Before we met in London in 2008, Wing’s mother and I had only exchanged a few polite telephone calls. Her daughter was a volunteer in my charity, Mothers’ Bridge of Love (MBL). As with many Chinese only-child volunteers, their families would often telephone to ‘verify’ information received from their children. Actually, they were also hoping to find a roof to shelter their child from the wind and rain. With the passing of time, friendships often grew up between us. These parents also helped to keep me up to date on China’s rapid development and its consequences. We were members of the ‘only-child club’ too, and our conversations would always come back to our little treasures. Wing’s mother lived in Beijing, where I was born, so we naturally had more to say to each other than other people.
In autumn 2008 Wing’s parents came to London to see their daughter. I invited them for a stroll in Kensington Gardens. It was my custom at MBL always to find time to spend with volunteers’ mothers who had come all this way. Partly to express my respect and thanks for the volunteers, and partly in the hope that I could comfort those anxious mothers. I have always believed that mothers’ hearts are linked. It was also a good opportunity to learn about their children’s development, as they set themselves up in careers, marriage and adulthood.
That day, with yellow-gold leaves beneath our feet, we walked slowly in the park as autumn colours reached their height. We chatted about our lives in Beijing, my perceptions of China through Western news, and of course Wing, who we both cared about. Wing’s father followed behind us two women in silence. He was a retired mechanical engineer, and apart from saying hello at meeting and goodbye at parting we barely had any other communication. Many Westerners would describe this as Chinese male reserve, but I had often seen men with their tongues wagging freely at the banqueting table, going on and on interminably. Wing’s mother had the air of a consummate teacher, which could only have come from being a true product of generations of teachers in her family and years of teaching herself, page by page and class by class.
I cannot recall exactly what we were talking about, but for no particular reason the conversation petered out into silence. When I think back, that silence was more chilling than an angry shout.
Wing’s mother suddenly stopped, turned and said to me, ‘Do you know, Xinran, Wing hasn’t been home to see us once in the four years since she left, and her phone is always “out of battery”.’
‘Is that so? Surely not, I’m in touch with her on my mobile practically every week, her mobile . . .’ I suddenly realised that I might have made a big mistake, but it was too late.
Wing’s mother looked at me with a stunned, frozen expression. ‘You can get hold of her any time, but I, her mother, cannot, is that how it is?’
‘I, I don’t know.’ I did not know how to answer her, for it had honestly never occurred to me that Wing was capable of treating her parents like this.
Wing’s mother stared at the open expanse of park in the distance and said, almost to herself, ‘Ever since Wing was a little girl, we never had any reason to criticise her. She obeyed everyone in the family and never overstepped the mark by so much as a millimetre. She grew up on a line between two points, home and school. Her entire living space, apart from the bed she slept on, consisted of her school desk and the dining table. She hardly ever went outside to play, and barely had any friends. I sometimes tried to persuade her to go out, but she never did. My husband and I thought we were blessed, our daughter had never given us any reason to worry in her whole life! When she graduated from secondary school, her father hoped she would study computers, so she went to the best university in China to read computer studies.
‘In fact, she had always excelled at literature, liked reading books and writing poems, but she never gave any sign of wanting to study arts subjects. At the time, our friends were all overwhelmed with the trials and tribulations of only-child families, but our daughter grew up in line with our plans every step of the way, never giving us a moment’s unease. My husband said that she was like the fuse box in our house, silently ensuring power and security for the whole family! When she mentioned that she would like to go overseas to study and see the world after university, we agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Besides, she had passed the entrance exam for a Master’s degree in the Asian Research Centre of the UK’s best university. The child had always had a liking for arts subjects, how could we refuse? Living in a globalised age, if we didn’t let her go she wouldn’t have a complete education. That would mean as parents we did not give her the best possible start in life. However, as soon as Wing left our home in Beijing, I realised that she had taken the family fuse with her, plunging our world into darkness.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I had hardly been able to follow her words, my head was full of images of her perfect daughter.
Wing’s mother ignored me. ‘Xinran, do you think that Wing is a good girl?’
‘I should say so; compared to many Chinese girls I know she’s outstanding. She’s a genius with computers and I’m always impressed with her knowledge of literature. Nobody in our office compares to her! Besides, I like that classical beauty you see in her from time to time.’ My praise of Wing was sincere.
Wing’s mother stared at me, her eyes like piercing arrows. She said slowly and deliberately, ‘Do you know something? Since Wing first came to Britain she hasn’t written us a single letter, nor of her own volition given us a single phone call. It’s only on the last day of the month that we can ever get through to her, no matter what tone we take with her, or even if we beg, she doesn’t pay a blind bit of notice. I don’t understand how the good girl who grew up by our side, our daughter who was closer than close to us, could be so unfeeling!’ Tears poured down her face in a torrent. I could see that this had been a very long time in the brewing.
To tell the truth, it was very hard for me to believe what she said. The Wing I had spent time with was a cultured, charming and timid girl. How could she be so cold and inflict such pain on her mother? I could not get any words out. With great difficulty, I finally took a breath and asked, ‘Why do you think your daughter is so unfeeling?’
‘For a girl to leave home for so many years and not spare a thought to ask about her parents, does that not seem cold to you? We’re not uneducated peasants, we’ve never oppressed her for being a girl. We not only gave her life, we gave her all the life and education she ever wanted. But now it’s as if she’s discarded us without a backward look!’ Wing’s mother was getting increasingly furious and emotional, while her father was standing a long way back, as if we were nothing to do with him.
‘I was really hoping that through you, MBL or a social meeting like this she would come back to us. I know that perhaps she will never live with us again, but I hoped that she would come back to us as our beloved daughter.’
Wing’s mother’s words made me think of my radio programme in China, Words on the Night Breeze. Letters and phone calls for help flooded into the programme from every corner of China, from country and city women. Exactly how many women I helped I do not know, but I remember that in those eight years two women in particular phoned me in absolute despair. Afterwards they felt I had not helped them, and ended up taking their own lives. From that time on I started to doubt myself, even to hate myself for not having the strength to match my ambitions. I desperately hoped for another chance to make up for my feelings of uselessness. It was not just about helping others any more, it was also a way to save myself. I hoped that I would be able to free myself from those heavy self-reproaches by doing good deeds.
After my chat with Wing’s mother, I started to pay more attention to Wing, who often came to the MBL office to help out.
Wing joined MBL as a volunteer two years after it was set up in 2004. The first time she came to the MBL office at Orme Court in London I was pleasantly surprised. A pocket-sized, shy Chinese girl, hair piled up elegantly on her head and held in place with a pretty red chopstick, she came sweeping in dressed in the dark colours of China’s south-western ethnic minorities. In the half-hour interview, I was impressed by her independent understanding of modern China and her skill with computers. I also discovered that she spent her limited holidays hiking, a thing that is very rare, not only among Chinese women, but among all that generation of young Chinese people. I sensed too that combination of ignorance, powerlessness and aloofness that so typifies only children, and makes life such a challenge for them.
Wing’s arrival very soon made life a lot easier at the MBL office. Her fluent English and Chinese, and her casually assured web skills meant that she very quickly took over the running of the website. It was inspiring to see our website of several hundred pages renewed and expanded under Wing’s wise management. However, during all her time with us she never expressed any feelings or discussed her hopes for the future. It was as if she did not need to communicate with anybody else, she was a universe unto herself.
In order to complete the task Wing’s mother had set for me, I started seeking out opportunities to get closer to Wing. She was fond of reading and I had a small library in my home, set up specially for Chinese students, so I often asked her to ‘house sit’ for me. I invited her for weekends with the family and trips to the countryside, in order to get to know her better and to let her see my family life.
Wing appeared to be very self-assured and careful, both in her personal and professional life. When she was in the office anything seemed possible. However, she was fearful of contact with strangers. No matter who came in, she would give them the briefest of glances and a word or two of greeting before scurrying back to her corner. Her smile always seemed to be tinged with embarrassment, as if she were constantly asking, ‘Is this all right? Have I done something wrong?’ When listening to her talk about work, I had to shut out all other sounds in order to make out the quiet buzzing of this little bee! But when she recited poetry or spoke English, her voice carried to every corner of the office. I have noticed over the years that when extermely talkative Chinese people speak English, their voices often go very quiet, but with Wing it was the very opposite. Her voice carried when she was on the dependable ground of classical literature or when speaking a foreign language. Perhaps she had little contact with others when she was growing up? Perhaps always feeling that she was in the wrong had left her no space to express herself? Or perhaps she had done little else but recite poetry in the classroom?
I tried to explore this with Wing on one occasion. She gave me a hurried glance, lowered her head and said quietly, ‘I grew up in a world with the sound turned down. My father never said very much, so as not to interfere with my studies and sleep. In class the teachers didn’t let us talk, and with classmates if I said the wrong thing I’d get hit.’
Oh, my poor little girl! When I heard this I wept inside. I wished I could fold her in my arms and let her yell at me to her heart’s content. Chinese people say that silence is golden, meaning that one should talk less nonsense and think before one speaks, to avoid causing offence or getting into trouble. But that does not mean we should strip away children’s ability to speak their mind.
I wanted to help her live at the top of her voice, and a secret determination arose in my heart. ‘Why is it that your voice is so clear when you recite classical poems and speak English?’
‘I know my classical poetry so I’m not afraid of being laughed at. And when I speak English, well, I’m Chinese. Nobody will blame me if my words are incorrect,’ Wing said very seriously.
I really wished Wing’s mother could have overheard that conversation.
Many parents have found comfort and pride in their perfect daughters, without ever realising the high price paid by the child. It is not just a sacrifice made while growing up, but a lifelong warping of the personality. This practice is actually also part of the Chinese national character. We have used the notion of silence being golden to shackle children’s lively minds. Times have changed, but these shackles have remained, like so many old customs, in our subconscious. Carried forward by their own momentum, they are transmitted hidden to each new generation, who in turn fasten them blindly on their children’s spirit and freedom. This is particularly cruel in families with only children, who have no brothers and sisters with whom to share this silent burden of loneliness and helplessness.
I asked Wing if she wanted to learn my voice training method. She knew I must have mastered at least the basics of elocution from my many years in radio, so she agreed. We took two and a half hours out of her weekly volunteering time to practise three skills: volume control, the feel for language and sentences, and the logic of narrative. We would sit in opposite corners of the office, a good six metres apart, and discuss the news. First face to face then back to back, we would try our best to make the other hear clearly, understand and remember what was said. After several months it was possible to distinguish Wing’s voice across a noisy crowd. At least in the office people no longer had to crane their necks to catch her words. However, the timidity and self-abasement in her body language were still present.
In order to help her fully release her potential and self-belief, I suggested that she chair a big cultural event that MBL was holding in London. Wing agreed to give it a try. On the day, I watched as Wing walked elegantly onto the stage in front of 150 people. She gave an impressive and dignified welcoming speech in ringing tones. Tears flowed from my heart to my cheeks . . . ‘Thank you, Wing! Thank you, thank you!’ I said quietly again and again. It was as if Wing’s heart had suddenly taken flight and begun to soar!
After the event, Wing said that while standing on stage speaking, a strange feeling came over her, as if her life had changed onto another channel.
‘What was the feeling?’ I asked. I did not understand at the time, but subsequent events made me savour her words in retrospect.
A few days later, several girls in the office took advantage of the absence of any men to discuss what each of them knew about the other gender. I blundered unaware into the room and the twittering sparrows promptly fell silent. I felt rather embarrassed, unsure whether to advance or retreat.
‘Carry on, Xinran’s hardly an outsider. At her age she’s seen it all! Keep talking!’ This was from Wing, whose ‘channel had been changed’.
It all sounded a bit peculiar, so I asked the girls, ‘What are you talking about, all furtive and hangdog? Hiding something from me, are you?’
The girls giggled, but none of them spoke. Wing explained, laughing, ‘We’re discussing men!’
Discussing men? It seemed that China’s age of earth-shaking changes had truly transformed its people, from inside out. When I was Wing’s age, I would never have dared to talk about men in public. To do so would at the very least have been bad manners, at most downright ‘hooliganism’. I warned myself, don’t go showing your ignorance of the times! This is London, and you’re with another generation, they can talk about whatever they like. But what are they saying about men? I was filled with curiosity.
‘I . . . If I don’t say anything at all, can I just sit here and listen in?’ I implored.
In addition to Wing, the group also included an Italian, an American and a Swiss girl. The Italian said, ‘Travel is a good way to find the right man, as it gives you opportunities to test his responsibility and general know-how.’ The Swiss girl said, ‘The man you meet in your normal life will be the most dependable, as everyday situations are the closest to home life.’ The American said, ‘It doesn’t matter where you are when you run into him, as long as it feels good you can be with him; if it doesn’t work out then you part company . . .’
All of a sudden Wing piped up with something that surprised us all: ‘When I need a man I don’t wait for the opportunity to travel or some special event, I head straight for a bar or a place that interests me, and take the initiative to get to know whoever takes my fancy. If we get along we can have a one-night stand, if we don’t it’s a couple of drinks and then bye-bye. Why use a formula to find men? The relations between men and women are all about feelings, why add all these humdrum formulas into the mix?’
‘You Chinese girls seem so open, don’t your family mind? Were you like this when you were in China? What about other Chinese girls? I thought the Chinese were meant to be very traditional?’ several of the other girls blurted out eagerly.
‘Me? When I was in China? I grew up in a desert, with no real human beings, so there’s little by way of comparison. Sex is a universal human instinct, it can’t be pigeon-holed as modern or traditional, nor is it something parents have the right to meddle in. Why should I care about other people’s crass comments?’ Wing said matter-of-factly.
I quietly clapped a hand over my mouth for fear I would cry out. Good heavens above, I thought to myself, is Beijing a desert, empty of human beings? Do her parents know about their perfect daughter’s sexual habits?
Actually, Wing’s attitude was far from unique, the ‘novelty’ of sex before marriage having begun a decade earlier with the first generation of China’s only children. Prior to that, Chinese people would generally get married at between twenty-three and twenty-five years of age, and then have children. This was seen as fulfilling one’s responsibilities to the family line. People who remained unmarried past this time were looked down on as pitiful creatures, while sex before marriage was a disgrace, too shameful to discuss. Nowadays everything has been turned upside down, and those who marry ‘excessively early’ have become the pitiful creatures. The first generation of only children pioneered China’s marriage revolution. They began to view sex before marriage as a lifestyle choice, almost completely throwing off the family or political fetters that had been clapped on earlier generations. Instead, they chose their partners for love and romance, money, novelty value or even to relieve boredom. A quantum leap had taken place in the institution of Chinese marriage, throwing out old-fashioned ideas about a stable, dependable relationship where feelings might develop over time.
Back then I had never come across such pioneering opinions about men, especially from the lips of such a normally reserved girl as Wing. I was astonished and baffled by Wing’s remarks. As a contemporary of her mother, just how much did we really understand about our children? The majority of us parents believe that our job is to prepare our children for the world as we see it. However, we often overlook that we have already changed the world that was left in our hands into something our forebears would think strange, ingenious and unbelievable.
I was desperate to understand their ideas and thought processes, not only because of the task Wing’s mother had set me, but also as my son Panpan was just entering adolescence. I was often left not knowing whether to laugh or cry when faced with his ‘pearls of wisdom’, and yet I did not want to show any lack of understanding or disrespect, as young minds need encouragement like plants need the sun. Searching for some kind of common ground with my son gradually became an all-encompassing endeavour. But despite playing down my life experience and knowledge, and not pushing my own ideas on him, he still called me an ‘unfeeling and unloving mother who did not understand him’. He would rather be the butt of his friends’ jokes than believe his mother’s heartfelt words.
One day, I invited Wing for a meal at New Fortune Cookie on Queensway in London. My excuse was that I wanted to ask her advice on the difficulties I was having with my son. As a mother, how was I supposed to understand a son going through puberty? How could I make him understand that the only unconditional gift in life is the love and care from one’s family? That my attempts to correct his mistakes were done with an aching heart, not out of a desire to bend him to my will.
‘Do you want to know what I really think, or would you rather some high-flown principles?’ Wing asked me casually, sipping the French red wine I had ordered for her.
‘What does that mean?’ I said defensively. High-flown principles, I thought to myself, did she really think she knew more than me? I had a mind to . . .
But Wing had seen right through me. ‘Do you think just because you presented a programme on women’s issues for eight years that you know everything about life? Life changes, why can’t principles?’
I was stunned. Was this young woman in front of me really Wing? She had truly ‘changed the channel’ this time. Her words were razor sharp!
Wing looked at me. ‘What’s the problem? You parents are always making a fuss about nothing.’
I was even more bewildered. Were age and experience no longer able to stand up to our children saying, ‘You’re making a fuss about nothing’?
Wing flashed me a wicked grin. ‘You see, you can’t handle the truth, can you?’ Her smile brought me back from my reverie. Despite what she had said, it was still a very Wing smile, all embarrassment and anguish rolled into one.
‘I can take it, I can take it, keep going. I promise I’ll try my hardest to digest what you have to say.’ I knew that her truth on the matter was precisely what I was looking for.
‘I’ve never been a mum, I’ve only just kissed puberty goodbye,’ Wing said, absorbed in the task of stripping off the packaging from her chopsticks. ‘Don’t worry about your son, he’s a lot luckier than most of us only children! He’s had heaps of opportunities and experiences, at home and in the outside world. Besides, boys are different from girls, they open their eyes to the world late and mature slowly. Your son is already doing pretty well. I went through some of the stuff he’d written when I was staying with you, and—’
‘What? You’ve read my son’s diary? Even I, his own mother, haven’t gone through his things and read his diary.’ I was rather put out, as I have always believed in respecting privacy, even between family members.
‘Xinran, you’ve become too Westernised. All Chinese parents pry into their children’s lives, peeling them open from skin to core. Chinese children are the property of their parents, and we single children in particular are the property of all the generations before us.’ Wing drew a little circle on the dining table with a chopstick, then a series of bigger circles around it, building up the layers of generations.
I disagreed. ‘I’m sorry, Wing, but not every Chinese parent thinks that way. I’ve always believed that in or out of the family, male or female, old or young, everyone should have their own space. Respect for others starts in the family. As a child, you formed your ideas about the outside world from family meals around the kitchen table.’
On hearing these words a flicker of doubt passed across Wing’s face and her eyebrows twitched for a moment. ‘In principle it’s like that, but in real life things are a bit different. Where does the closeness between family members come from? It comes from a deep understanding of each other. Aren’t friends a bit like that too? You understand a lot more about the friends you share a dormitory with than the ones you see in class. This is because you know every last grubby detail of their lives! Take you, for example: if I hadn’t stayed in your home and gone through all your clothes, I would never have discovered that you’re no more a follower of fashion that I am. How else would I know that we have similar tastes in lingerie and accessories?’
‘What? You went through my clothes?’ I said, frowning with increasing discomfort.
Wing plainly found my reaction strange. ‘When you invited me to your flat, didn’t you say that I should treat your home as if it were my own? That meant I could go anywhere you hadn’t locked, right?’
Wing’s eloquent self-justification left me speechless! For a very long time after that, every time I opened my wardrobe I had visions of another pair of hands rifling through my underwear. Words could not describe how cringingly embarrassed I felt.
Wing seemed entirely unaware of my disquiet. She raised her wine glass and took a long gulp. ‘You parents are always terrified about what might happen. Not everybody goes through hell during puberty. In my case? I don’t know. Perhaps my childhood wasn’t typical. Ever since I was little my life’s been ruled by the second hand of a clock, revolving around the face of my parents, every second, every tick. I didn’t lose a second in twenty years. The changes across the country, moving house, going up a grade at school, even biological shifts, to me were just different numbers on that clock. All I knew was that as long as I kept pace with that ticking second hand my parents would be happy, I wouldn’t be scolded by my teachers or teased by my classmates.
‘I never thought about what kind of person might want me when I grew up. Never knew my parents’ hopes and dreams for me besides study and health. I didn’t even know I had any rights and opportunities beyond studying, eating and sleeping. I never watched TV at home, as it was only for my parents to watch the news. My father said there was no point in me watching the news, as it was all made up and sensationalist. I never went outside during the holidays, as my parents thought the world was full of kidnappers and con-artists. At Chinese New Year and other festivals we would visit relatives, but as a girl I was expected to “sit like this and stand like that”, tearing around any old how was definitely out and a sign of a poor upbringing. I didn’t understand my classmates’ games and couldn’t join in their conversations. I could only secretly play by myself . . .’
‘Secretly play by yourself? Can it really be possible that your parents didn’t even let you play?’ I felt waves of heart-wrenching pain crash against my body as she spoke. Disarmed by her words, I totally forgot my irritation of a few minutes earlier.
Wing smiled weakly again. ‘Well, maybe they could have paid more attention. But if they had known they wouldn’t have been happy any more.’
Once again I clapped a hand over my mouth, wishing I could cover my eyes that were welling up with tears. For the sake of her parents’ pride and happiness, this young woman in front of me had sacrificed her childhood happiness, abandoned her dreams and even stifled her youthful impulses. I wondered whether her mother had the slightest idea about any of this.
Our food arrived, yet I could swallow nothing. I picked at the rice with my chopsticks, struggling with one grain at a time. I couldn’t help wondering if my own son was suffering silently in corners I knew nothing about. I suddenly remembered a diary entry from a few years earlier.
‘Go on, eat, what are you gawping at?’ Wing called me back from the depths of my painful memories. ‘Don’t waste your tears on the state of the world for my sake. I actually have a pretty good life. After uni I carried on studying computers, and spent every day on the internet for three years! I’ve had my fill of fun from the news and on-line gaming. I won’t lie to you, I saw loads of juicy things from all over the world on the internet, including how men and women pleasure each other, I just didn’t want to deal with real people. Ha ha, go on, eat!’ Wing teasingly encouraged me.
‘Do you hate your parents?’ I couldn’t stop myself from asking her this question.
‘Why should I hate them? They gave me life, spent twenty years raising me, and they’re still paying for my overseas studies. What reason would I have to hate them?’ Wing stared blankly at her chopsticks as she spoke.
‘So do you call or write to them often?’ I asked cautiously.
‘I think you know perfectly well the answer to that question, so why ask? Has my mum been on to you?’ Wing continued eating and drinking her wine, apparently indifferent to whatever her mother had told me. However, less than a minute later, she suddenly became very emotional. ‘Think about it, Xinran, I’ve lived by their clock without feeling or desire, dotting every i and crossing every t, for twenty-two years. As a child I didn’t know any better, then I learned to endure it, later on it became a prison. I never complained about anything to them, all so that they would be happy; this was my way of repaying the debt of gratitude I owed them for raising me. I wonder if it ever occurred to them that out of their machine-like life I would grow into a real flesh and blood person with joys and sorrows of my own? They never even seemed to worry that I might be physically or mentally abnormal. I’ve often wondered about this, because I seem to be scared of everything, afraid to see people, afraid to do things, afraid of anything new.
‘After I left China I decided to set myself challenges. I forced myself to learn by trying the bitter, difficult things in life. I went to the country I was most afraid of, Nepal, because pictures of the poverty there had once given me nightmares. After I arrived in England, I spent a week going around London on foot, because I was afraid people would laugh at me for not knowing about the city where I lived. I would force myself to buy food I’d never tried; twice I ended up eating tinned cat food by mistake! I was afraid Westerners would laugh at my ignorance of food. I went to bars three times a week, to forced myself to face my fear of men. I used to think that if men were nice to me they were probably up to no good. I didn’t want to end up on the shelf like some kind of “reduced to clear” product, but even less did I want people to think that I lacked the “seven emotions and six desires”. I wasn’t rebelling, I was fleeing! Escaping from an only child’s prison. But did I dare tell my parents about these experiences? Wouldn’t that be the death of them? If I asked their permission and reported everything back to them, would they still be able to carry on with their lives? I don’t mind them thinking I’m heartless, I’d rather that than they live in fear. No one should have to live in fear . . .’ Wing unconsciously picked at the remains of her food with her chopsticks; she was breathing hard.
I looked at Wing intently. What could I say? I was lost for words, as they piled up in their thousands like a traffic jam in my throat. What a hopelessly struggling, despairing, yet kind and self-improving girl! Wing and I formed a bond that day, over those four dishes and bottle of wine. I no longer felt I was waving silently to her from the opposite bank of a river. I hoped I would be able to teach Wing that families need to communicate, that her ageing parents longed for the comfort of their daughter’s presence and trust in their remaining years. I hoped she would realise that the same strength coursing through her veins, allowing her to face and conquer her fears, also flowed through her parents’.
In the spring of Wing’s second year volunteering for MBL, we sent her to southern England to help a group of parents who had all adopted girls from China. A week later, we listened closely to her debrief in the office. When Wing and I were finally alone, she suddenly looked at me, her face brimming with emotion. ‘Xinran, I finally understand what made you set up Mothers’ Bridge of Love. While I was with those families I could feel their helplessness. They were so kind to their new Chinese daughters, talking over their days with them at mealtimes, reading them bedtime stories. They seemed so cultured, with their own successful careers, yet they have so little understanding of their adopted children’s country. They don’t know how to answer their questions. I’ve never experienced anything like it. China is so poorly understood in the world, there are so many Chinese girls who can’t even speak Chinese! The parents kept asking me, “Why didn’t their Chinese mothers want them?” I looked into their longing eyes, really wanting to give them an answer. I’m Chinese, but I truly couldn’t say why their mothers didn’t want them. I hope we’ll be able to spend more time helping them search for these answers. The girls miss their real mothers so much, and spend all their time trying to imagine them. How much more must their mothers be thinking of them. Do you think there is some special connection between mothers and daughters that transcends space, time and culture?’
Wing burst into tears. It was the first time I had seen her make no attempt to conceal her emotions.
I hugged her. ‘Yes, of all the things in the world, a mother’s love is the only one that is universal. Strength and support have their limits, but we are all doing our best, a little at a time, like the Foolish Old Man Who Moved the Mountains. One day, sooner or later, more people will think and feel the way we do. When that day comes, we little drops of water will come together into streams, rivers, lakes and oceans. People will begin to take notice and want to help those Chinese girls. Thank you, Wing!’
Wing worked in the UK for two years after completing her studies, then emigrated to Australia in 2010, where she found a job researching South-east Asian Chinese culture. In 2011 I was pleasantly surprised to receive an email from her mother. She wished me a happy Chinese New Year, and informed me that the whole family was moving to Australia to be with Wing. Their daughter was still the only sun in their solar system. They were following the fuse that brought light to their home. Maybe such a thing could only happen in a Chinese only-child family.
Her email came with an attachment:
I asked Wing’s mother if she hoped I would forward her attachment to Wing.
She wrote back saying that Wing had copied it from the internet, edited it and sent it to her. Perhaps she wanted to use this as a key to open the door between her and her parents?
I thought back to her words: ‘I wasn’t rebelling, I was fleeing! Escaping from an only child’s prison.’ Was Panpan fleeing too? I dared not pursue this thought any further.
How do you view the Yao Jiaxin incident? Why is Chinese society debating him (a post-80s man) so fiercely?
Recent, more in-depth media surveys have demonstrated how the victim has to some extent been hijacked by the extremes of popular opinion. However, many aspects of the incident are not actually that bad. The long-term lack of fairness in Chinese society has created a tendency to overcompensate when judging wrongs, and this is reflected in the justice system. If you trace the incident back to its root, it reflects a general lack of moral integrity in society. I don’t see that Yao Jiaxin being an only child affects the incident in any fundamental way.
www.xinhuanet.com 25 August 2004.
The ‘seven emotions and six desires’ qiqingliuyu 
represent the inescapable feelings of the human condition: happiness, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hate and longing, as well as desires of the flesh.
The Foolish Old Man Who Moved the Mountains is a story by the philosopher Liezi 
, about an old man who did not fear being mocked as a fool by the wise. He was not afraid of hardship, and persisted in his struggle to remove two mountains in front of his house. He made his family dig ceaselessly into the mountains, until the Lord of Heaven was moved, and sent two heavenly generals to move them.
– yi means ‘feather wings ready for flying’; bo means ‘to gain rich and deep life knowledge’ – wings feathered, he can fly with a rich and deep life knowledge. Then I also wanted to give him an English name, since my family has so many ties overseas. Chinese is such a rich language, with over 18,000 surviving characters, and English has all the combinations of the twenty-six letters. I wanted my son’s name to have strong energy and imagery in both languages. Panpan is very meaningful in Chinese characters, symbolising hope, observation, expectation and wishes. In English, as I discovered from the dictionary, it means half human, half god. That is how I feel when I see my son.