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墨書 Inktalez
I had just started my career when the news came that my grandmother was seriously ill. The doctor handed us the report: late-stage cancer.
At that moment, I felt no particular emotion—neither relief nor sadness.
My father's reaction was completely different, intense and direct. Shortly after receiving the news, his once faintly white hair seemed to have faded even more in just a few days, perhaps a mark of time or a deep concern for my mother's condition.
He often sat alone by the rooftop railing, gazing into the distance in silence, and his posture revealed his helplessness.
The surgery removed the localized tumor, but most of the malignant cells had already spread throughout her body, making it impossible to eradicate them completely. After discussing with my grandmother, my father decided to forgo chemotherapy and take her home for recuperation, relying only on some folk remedies and painkillers.
Although my grandmother was physically weak, her spirit was surprisingly good. She seemed to suddenly realize the importance of family and kinship, and she began to praise me to our neighbors:
"My granddaughter is a wonderful child. She is more capable than anyone else and very filial; she takes care of me better than my own children ever could."
In her words, she made comparisons with others, earning unanimous agreement from everyone around.
I felt no waves of emotion at my grandmother's praise. To me, taking care of an elderly person who is ill was merely a responsibility; there was no need for excessive boasting. Yet this filial piety quietly earned me more attention and recognition within the extended family. As a result, my parents became even more proactive in arranging marriage prospects for me, hoping I would find a good match.
Matchmakers sprang into action, each one extolling the virtues of potential suitors as if all the goodness in the world resided in those families, conveniently avoiding any mention of their flaws. My mother was delighted by their flattery, while I remained indifferent amidst this seemingly lively matchmaking process.
What they didn’t know was that I had spent years suppressing my emotions and had accumulated a heavy debt of feelings.
Years of tumultuous romantic experiences had left me with no expectations for marriage. I was unwilling to bear too much alone and dared not easily venture into another relationship.
But unable to withstand their urging and persuasion, and unable to argue against my mother's words—"I don't want to see you alone after I die"—I ultimately softened my heart.
I chose a man from a rural teacher's family. He made a fairly good first impression, being generous and well-mannered. His father shared almost the same hobbies as mine, which pleased my father greatly. Although my mother had a somewhat complicated expression, considering that his family was relatively stable and the distance after marriage would be short, she accepted the gifts.
The days leading up to the wedding were harmonious; our relationship was decent, and he was a generous and ambitious person. With the elders in both families happy about the union, it seemed like a win-win situation.
However, as expected, the conflicts hidden behind daily trivialities gradually surfaced after marriage.
After failing several exams, he became less motivated than before, showing indifference towards family matters, neglecting the care of our child, and lacking thoughtfulness towards me.
The money borrowed from my in-laws for loans was either truly invested unsuccessfully or used for unknown purposes; ultimately, our family was deeply in debt, with him ignoring responsibilities while I faced everything alone.
During those days, I bore the heavy burden of the family. I had to work, take care of the child, and endure the pressure brought on by financial issues all by myself.
He quit his original job and moved to another city. Our communication dwindled to almost nothing; we barely spoke a few words each month, and I didn't care at all.
Every time I saw friends enjoying outings together, shopping and exchanging gifts—especially when husbands showed love and responsibility towards their wives and children—I couldn't help but feel suppressed.
"The poverty-stricken couple faces endless sorrow," this saying was once again validated in our family.
In reality, it proved that whether married or not, one cannot change the loneliness of living alone.
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