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Going Home
Grandma needs to see a doctor. Tomorrow, I'm going with her to my parents' place.
Her neck has hurt for a long time, and so has her ear. Her voice has gradually grown hoarse again, until she can barely make a sound. It doesn't look good. She laughed and said she was going deaf and mute. I wouldn't accept that and insisted on taking her to a doctor. My aunt said to try Changsha first.
Since losing his job, Dad has time to drive her to Xiangya in Changsha. But that means I have to spend a night at my parents' place, then have him drive us to Xiangya the next day. After the appointment, we'll need to go back for a few days too, to pay Lunar New Year visits to my maternal grandparents and that sort of thing.
I don't really want to go back, though. I'm not close to my parents, and after all the unpleasant things that have happened, I'm afraid a few more days there will feed my resentment again.
One day less is one day less. Get it over with and head back to university soon. Term's about to start anyway.
Suddenly, I want to let some of this unhappiness out. Just a little complaining.
My Birthday
I think of my birthday last year.
Told them ahead of time, looked forward to it, made a special trip home, and what I got was—
“Just because it's your birthday doesn't mean you come first today.”
No one noticed. No one cared.
I paid for my own birthday cake, lay alone in “my room” with its unmade bed, wrapped in cold, then took a taxi alone to the high-speed rail station to return to university.
I don't want to go.
That place isn't home.
I understand that adults are busy. I understand the realities of life.
But just once, I want to be a child who can ask to be fussed over.
I want to come first on my birthday.
I know birthdays aren't important. I understand all of it. But that day, I wanted to be a child.
I wanted presents from them, to eat cake together, sing Happy Birthday, wear a party hat, blow out candles, make a wish.
Even if that moment were an illusion, let it give me hope. Even if it were a brief dream, let me believe wishes can come true.
After all, they'd once told me that on my birthday, I came first.
But in reality, no one cared.
Then what was the point of going back?
I'm long used to independence, indifference, loneliness, exhaustion.
I understand the exchange of interests between adults. I know fairness doesn't happen just because you say it should.
But for that one day, my birthday, I wanted to be selfish.
My Final Year of High School
I think of my final year of high school.
Every day, the pressure left me unable to breathe. My maths and physics papers showed no improvement. My chemistry and biology grades were disappointing. Chinese and English had stalled. My dream university was getting further and further away.
I kept holding myself up.
I told Grandma, cycling home every day is too tiring. Could we rent a place?
But I worried that living alone would mean missing class, and I didn't want electronic devices distracting me from studying. So I asked her to stay with me, cook for me, and wake me up.
Yet at school, when I saw other people's parents bring them meals, take them out for good food, call to ask how they were doing…
I always felt a little sad.
When will Mum and Dad call me?
Will they send me spending money and tell me to eat something nice?
Will they find time to drive over and surprise me?
The answer was—no.
In fact, I later learned that they'd been debating whether I'd even get into an undergraduate program.
A first-tier university? They weren't even sure I could get in.
It felt absurd, and sad.
I laughed at myself: why had I entrusted my feelings to two people who'd never taken the initiative to understand me?
They didn't even know what I liked to eat, wear, or use. They didn't know my grades, didn't know a thing about my interests.
So what was the difference between these so-called parents and strangers...
I kept comforting myself: they're busy working, they have a family to support, they have my little brother to look after.
But now I'm at university, and I'm still comforting myself.
They've never sent me living expenses, not even spending money. They haven't even asked whether I need anything or whether things have been hard.
They took the cash gifts I received for getting into university, and they're even eyeing my competition prize money, to “help with household expenses.”
Understanding
Grandma always tells me to understand my parents.
I love her. I listen to her.
But on this point, it's hard to keep listening.
She says, if you have trouble in the future, go to Mum and Dad.
But I'd rather go to my aunt than to them.
I've resisted going to my parents' place since I was little.
Going back to my grandparents' makes me happy, because that's home.
Going to my aunt's makes me happy too, because her home is so, so nice.
But going to my parents'… I know I “should,” yet there's always a resistance inside me I can't put into words.
Grandma always wants to go there, saying she wants to look after my brother and see Dad.
But I know my brother barely knows her. To him, she's just a “phone-carrying machine” that lets him play on a phone.
Dad, whom she cares so much about, hasn't really shown her much concern either. He never calls her of his own accord. When he comes home, he just plays Warcraft by himself instead of talking to her.
Then why does she always want to go “look after” them?
Maybe I care too much about Grandma.
But I don't like being there. That moment of disappointment only made me sure.
I Don't Want to Go Home...
Honestly, I wish I never had to go.
I'd rather spend the holidays at my aunt's or my grandparents'. Anywhere but my parents' place.
It's the closest to university, just ten minutes by high-speed train, yet it feels the furthest away.
Grandma keeps asking when I'm going to my parents'. I want so badly to tell her—
I don't want to go back there. I don't want to stay for a single moment.
Before the holiday ends, I just want to go straight back to university.
I just don't want to sleep again in “my room,” with its unmade bed, yellowed pillow, cold thin quilt, and scattered clutter.
It's Just...
Even though it's cold there.
It has always been home, after all. Cold as it is, it's still somewhere to stay.
What Happened Afterward
The Diagnosis
Grandma was eventually diagnosed with early-stage laryngeal cancer. After the diagnosis at Xiangya, she was admitted to Nanhua. Having my aunt there to look after her makes it a little better than staying in hospital in Changsha.
Dad has been doing the driving, shuttling everyone around, being a dutiful son. These past few days, he's been going back and forth between Zhuzhou and Changsha, setting out every morning, bringing Grandma meals and food, accompanying her through examinations, then driving back at night.
I've been the one staying in Changsha to keep her company. When Dad goes to sort out the tests, I stay beside her and translate. Before, I amplified her voice because she spoke so quietly. Now, I interpret her signs and gestures. Dad said he felt much more at ease with me beside her. It was one of those rare times he told me I reassured him.
I'm starting to feel that things are hard for him too. My personality and habits are very like his. Although we've never lived together for more than a month, I've inherited a lot of his traits: laziness, procrastination, pessimism, self-interest. Oh, and most importantly, caring about family. At least neither of us is indifferent when it comes to family ties.
Maybe I've grown up a little?... Maybe. There was so much disappointment before that even a tiny bit of praise feels precious. Or maybe Dad has grown up a little too. I can understand him. If I had to do those things, I'd probably handle them much as he does. Sometimes I think Dad is a glimpse of me grown up.
Back to University
Once the diagnosis came through, we discussed treatment with the doctor. Given Grandma's particular condition and this second cancer, radiotherapy and chemotherapy in the original cancer site were still impossible. So targeted therapy was suggested.
Aha. All those things from high-school biology—targeted therapy, monoclonal antibodies, cellular immunity—finally felt a little real.
After the discussion, we planned to transfer her to Hengyang. Nanhua's proposed treatment was targeted therapy too. With my aunt there to help, Dad and I wouldn't be quite so tired.
The semester was about to begin anyway, so I had Dad drop me in Changsha and spent a few days with the dorm all to myself.
Having a dorm to yourself is lovely, and lonely. I'm not an extrovert who gets terribly bored without someone to talk to. It's just that a dorm with only one person in it feels cold even with the heating on. I get along well with my roommates. For now, they're the only friends at university I really talk to.
As the start of term gets closer, more and more people return to campus. Maybe soon I'll miss this loneliness.
That's enough complaining. See you in the new semester.