Since I moved back to China, I’ve moved into my parents’ apartment, which for the record, I played a big role in paying off our mortgage before I left for LA three years ago.
Excuse my ego, it finds it crucial to point this out. But no matter how much I want to spin this, I’m living with my parents as a fully functioning adult.
It is also crucial to point out that in the Chinese culture, especially in big cities like Shanghai and Beijing that ‘kids’ don’t move out until they get married due to a) strong family tradition; b) devoted parents who are terrible at calculating their ROIs; c) the wacky housing market and unpredictable species called landlords.
Since I’ve had my fair share of landlord sagas (from negotiation to small claims court), I find it almost therapeutic to not to worry about rent and lease and among other things.
And yet, mum and dad can sometimes love me a little too much to my likings. Mostly, my mum…
“Go to bed. It’s almost 10.”
“Finish your rice. We ain’t rich.”
“Why are you throwing away this bag when it’s in perfect condition? Are you out of your mind?
“Why don’t you take a shower now? So you don’t wipe your greasy hair onto my floral pillowcase?”
“Why isn’t my phone working? I’ve done absolutely nothing.”
In some portions of my dreams back when I was in LA, I begged hearing those lines from my parents. “If only I could be there with you in person. I will never get bored.” I remembered crying myself to sleep on that Chinese New Year’s Eve.
Well, as it turns out, be careful what you wish for.