You

A sliver. The world is a sliver of light first, then— after a few moments of darkness— lit. Your ceiling is the first sight. White. Your breathing becomes more noticeable, the steady rhythm of in and out, as the nostrils get a bit dry from the continuous stream of wind flowing from the outside and inside.

She spends her final moments of the night on her phone. The brightness is set to the lowest, as the rectangular device floats about her face. Despite the cheap studio apartment, her Huawei phone defies the numbers in the bank, an odd part of Chinese society. For some reason, everyone has a smartphone— even her mother, a woman who holds her phone at arm's length and squints at the small pixels of Chinese characters on the illuminated screen. Sometimes, Mother sends little animated stickers via WeChat, the largest social networking app in China. Sometimes, Mother sends 25-second voice messages asking for help with chores. She always begrudgingly agrees and takes the short walk to her mother’s house to help.

Sometimes, Mother calls her on WeChat and cries to her about how she is too old to be married and too old to give a mother a grandchild.

As you finally expel the sleepy haze, you shrug off the flowery duvet wrapped around you. Your mother would be much happier if it was a man’s arm instead of a duvet wrapped around you. The day flashes by faster than you would like to admit, as you go into setting A: workday. Breakfast is a hard-boiled egg and congee from the breakfast hawkers on the street by your job, and sitting for nine hours isn’t too bad if you don’t think about it. Those hours translate to next month’s allowance, and the more you get the less you will have to depend on your parents' money. The less you will have to follow through with what they want. Tic. Tick. Ticking. Today is Saturday. Tomorrow will be Sunday.

A groan.

Sundays. Sundays are the hardest day of the week, despite it being your day off. Sundays come with calls, sometimes calls from strangers sometimes calls from your parents. This is typical, this is normal for any woman your age. You’re past the prime time, like raw meat that has past the best before date on the shrink wrap, you’re just rotting away. At least, this is what the people around you whisper during coffee breaks at work, and what you have been reminded constantly when younger men realize your age, and what your father’s eyes show but never speak about. The logical next question is: why. Why aren’t you married at this age? Perhaps you have problems, and could never strap down a man properly, perhaps you cannot cook well, perhaps you are too rebellious and not a submissive woman, perhaps you just weren’t lucky. Either way, it doesn’t change your status. Left behind, that’s what they call women like you. The Left-Behind Women.

Her father is worried. He knows that every Sunday, there is almost a competition amongst the other parents to see who can find the most eligible man for their daughter. Every Sunday, it’s a complex battle of wit and speech to other parents. How old is your son? He doesn’t look like the age you put down. That’s his income? A little low don’t you think? My daughter is an amazing cook, she’s from Shanghai but she can cook Italian, American, Sichuan, Guandong— name any cuisine and she can do it! What do you mean she looks like a hassle? Your son doesn’t look like he can get a steady job! At least my girl has a job. The goal of today isn’t to win an argument with the Zhou’s, but rather to score his daughter a date. It gets harder with every year, as faces become familiar. The Marriage Market is on every Sunday at the People’s Square Park. He’s done everything he can do, the father. With her mother, her father has printed thousands of profiles for her. Fliers to sell their daughter at the marriage market. On other days, he has brought old umbrellas from home and participated in the more traditional style of leaving the umbrella there to advertise his daughter. Perhaps the deal isn’t good enough for the other parents at the market, perhaps he needs to make up a small white lie in conversation to make her more attractive. Without a grandchild, nobody has a chance in the family. Without a son-in-law, his daughter will never prosper and will forever be a burden. He sighs, as he prepares another umbrella and paper for tomorrow’s event. Her mother is just as concerned. Mother knows that her daughter will tire her life out if she keep on working as she is now. At this rate, her mother knows that she will never see a grandchild in this lifetime if she doesn’t help her daughter find a man. How does her daughter expect to survive? Depending on a man might take away your individual freedom, but… That's what her mother did, as did the mothers before her. That’s how things work. Sure, her mother’s parents found her mother’s spouse, and her mother wasn’t happy in the later years of the marriage… But that’s how things work.

“Do you think that by just sitting there you will get a man? Do you think you will be helpful to the family as a Left Behind Woman?” Father murmurs. You decided to visit them tonight, as a final plea. Last month, you were continuously harassed by Mrs. Lin about how amazing her son is and how you should meet him. These days, being an employed woman is somehow more attractive— apparently, it has to do with grace and elegance. Or perhaps the fact that your mother edited your photo too well on the ad she put up in the marriage market.

“Your father is just worried. We are doing this out of our own will and worries. If you have a child with anyone when you’re any older than now, it will be harmful to your body” Mother consoles. You know for a fact that your mother likes to throw in your cup sizes and hide your weight when the other parents at the market ask about your appearances. You silently wonder to yourself if your mother is happy being trapped in the marriage she is in today. The nights when you are over and see your father ignore her, causing your mother to hide in (false) safety, sobbing in her shared room in her shared house in her shared life. Nothing in the house belongs to her, not even the daughter that stands in front of her now. But Mother can never leave Father, for both societal and economic reasons. Did your mother want that for you too? You’d much rather just never get yourself involved in a situation like that. It's almost like she's hoping for both the best for you and the worst because all she knows is that one must go through the worst to get "the best."

You feel a slap on your face. A distant but painful stinging on your left cheek. I wonder if I have anything in the freezer that I can use at home to calm the swelling, you think to yourself.