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"We sisters are both useless"
After our uncle's funeral, I asked my mother if she would end up like my aunt, finally free from the torment of those men, but cry before their coffins. When my mother answered, there was no self-deprecating smile on her face, nor was there any resentful anger. It was as if she was stating some rule of the world's workings. The sun rises and sets; each year brings its spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The wise see through the essence of the world's operations, and even after divorce, she could not escape the torment inflicted upon her by men.
Xinwu is my mother's hometown, I also have lived there since birth. Although Xinwu is spacious, it is also cramped due to its close-knit nature. Over eighty percent of the population is of Hakka descent, and with some effort, one can always find connections with different people in Xinwu based on their bloodline. My family is a microcosm of Xinwu, with three adjacent houses where my grandparents, uncles, and aunt lived. These houses were newly constructed by my great-grandfather after tearing down the old sanheyuan. Our house is across the road from the old house, separated by a small ditch and farmland. My mother’s cousins reside on the same road, one in front and the other behind, and my youngest uncle lives on another farmland. The whole neighborhood is populated by people with the surname Luo, just like everyone took a bamboo pole, drew a piece of land, and started building their houses. Everyone is so close that they have no choice but to stare and gossip about each other.
Before leaving Xinwu, I always felt like it was a net that trapped the entire family. As I grew older, I realized that it was the women struggling within the net. The disharmony and monstrosity left me questioning during my childhood, but I didn't understand my confusion and discomfort until I left Xinwu to pursue my education. It was then that I saw clearly what troubled me.
They all belonged to some man; bound by the family; sucked dry by the clan. Their experiences may vary, but in the end, they all became nutrients sustaining the family. And every Hakka man, whether born into the bloodline, brought in through marriage, or born from a marriage, with an excess of nourishment, began to weaken and decay. Only in front of their women, they regain their manly vigor and strength.
The Hakka women I've seen are strong and fearless, yet they seem willing to fall into the web of these men, being sucked blood until only their husks remain, lacking the blood in their brains to think, unable to escape, and forced to rely on their instincts to struggle. Occasionally shedding tears, complaining for a while to prove their helplessness, they once again immerse themselves in the family.
My mother is like this, starting with her grandfather, going through father, brothers, husband, nephews, and son, being exploited until it became a habit, and the habit became a law. Perhaps it is because there is a lack of rules for survival that Aunt cried bitterly before the coffin of the man who tormented her.
After hearing my mother's decision to divorce, I hugged Aunt and cried. At that time, I thought I was crying for my mother's experience. It wasn't until the divorce, and my mother finally smiled, that I understood the reason for my tears.
I also became a man who traps women, shackling my mother at Xinwu.
To this day, I am still pondering whether I have not yet become the image of a Hakka man or if the curse of Hakka women was finally broken by my mother's courage when she asked for a divorce.
I want to write a story about the family and Xinwu. I want to show everyone the perseverance and decisiveness of these women, their foolishness and sorrow, their sacrifices, and their devotion.
In addition to the convenience of resources and abundant material from the field survey, I hope to use writing to preserve the local culture and characteristics of Xinwu, at a time when the era is changing rapidly, and urbanization is gradually assimilating rural areas. I also wish to write the stories of these women who are difficult to speak up, who do not believe their experiences are valuable.
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