The Chinese New Year is drawing near. Thousands and even millions of people are on the move in trains, airplanes, and buses, rushing to reunite with their loved ones. It is the time to huijia, or return home. In increasingly cosmopolitan Beijing, home is a concept that constantly needs to be redefined. Over dinner, Beibei, Lulu, and I discuss which home we will return to.
The most common definition of home for a Chinese woman is where her husband is. In our case, both Lulu and I are single women. Although Beibei is the only one that is married, she no longer has any affection for her husband, Chairman Hua. "Impermanence and homelessness probably are evitable feelings of modern souls, even though we do have a roof over our heads," Lulu says philosophically.
"I think when the Chinese talk about returning home, we don't mean our own homes," says Beibei. "We mean our parents' homes."
"Do you plan to spend the Chinese New Year at your parents' place?" I ask Beibei.
"Yes," Beibei says cheerfully. "They will teach me how to make dumplings and I will teach them how to taste red wine. Then we might play mahjong for a few days and nights. What about you, Niuniu?"
"I envy you for being able to spend time with your folks together," I reply. "Since my parents are divorced, I have to choose one over the other for my holiday visits. This year, my father wants to take his new wife to the States… So I guess I'll go to my mother's home. What about you, Lulu?"
Lulu casts her eyes downward. Returning home is a painful issue for her. Lulu's family is in a small town in the south. Her parents divorced a long time ago. Her father was a successful businessman and sent her to Beijing for schooling. But he passed away when Lulu was in college and his secretary stole all of his money. The rest of Lulu's family still lives in the small town.
Today, she is the biggest achiever in her family, a legend in her hometown: she was the most beautiful girl in town, the only graduate from a top Beijing university, and, now, the editor of a well-known fashion magazine. At one time when she returned home with ginseng and stacks of cash, the whole town celebrated. Small kids followed her around, asking for red envelopes. But things have changed in the last few years.
As her childhood playmates become mothers of toddlers, she is still single, without a decent boyfriend. The boys who used to have a crush on her have all "jumped into the sea" – started their businesses. The last few years have been good for business owners in small towns. They have built nice houses, they drive nice cars, and some are already working on their second or third girlfriends or marriages. Lulu still can't afford to buy a house in Beijing. She doesn't own a car. The neighbors all ask her mother the same question: "Has Lulu got a steady boyfriend this year?" Seeing her come home by herself, her mother no longer happily notifies every neighbor. The pride has been replaced by worry.
Last year, the tension really escalated when Lulu went home for the New Year. Any incoming phone calls from men became a family matter. Her mother insisted on answering all her phone calls. She shamelessly asked every man, "What do you think of our Lulu?… If you like her, when do you plan to be my son-in-law?"
Lulu quickly ran back to Beijing. This year, she decides not to go back to her hometown to be humiliated once more.
"Where do you want to go?" Beibei asks, jerking Lulu back to the conversation.
Lulu says, "A philosopher has said that nature is our real home. I plan to celebrate the Chinese New Year in a deep forest. I want to return to our spiritual home."
Before Beibei and I can comment on Lulu's idea, her cell phone rings. She starts to talk in her local dialect. So much for returning to her spiritual home.
"Who was it?" Beibei asks after Lulu hangs up.
"It was my mother calling from home," Lulu says.
"What did she say?" I ask.
Lulu answers, "She says she will come to Beijing to visit me for the Chinese New Year! I guess I will just stay in Beijing."
"Remember, Beijing has become your home!" Beibei tells Lulu.
I add, "Home is a relative term. Anywhere your bed and pillow are becomes your real home for that night, New Year's or otherwise!"
Lulu screams, "Oh, no! Talking about bed and pillow, I just remembered that my mom said she'd like to sleep in the same bed with me so that we could have good mother-daughter conversations at night. The same bed, can you believe it? I'm already over thirty and she still wants to tuck me in. Give me a break!"
HUIJIA: Return home. Family and home are extremely important in the Chinese culture. One must never forget where he or she came from, and returning home for special events is more than just a nice thing to do; it is a re-quirment of any self-respecting Chinese.
XIAHAI: To jump into the sea: to go into business. In China, starting a business is probably even more risky than jumping into the sea!