AI generated photo to resonate with Monica's Chinese Name
Story Told by Monica
Interviewed by Margaret Nie & Jane
English translated by Qiran Zhang / English Proofread by Liqing Pan
I am a very simple person. Now 37, I was often labeled by my manager as naive and innocent. Actually, I suppose I am not that innocent after all, but spiky. In these thirty-some years of life, I feel both lucky and unfortunate, which probably is just like everyone else.
I have a spiky personality and have been fearless from an early age. My family often said I was as stubborn as a donkey. I used to run away from home, as there were too many things I couldn’t stand. I just live a life full of edges and corners. One of my teachers particularly admired me, and he told me that "You must hold on to your individuality and never simply follow the crowd." However, more voices around would tell me that this prickly nature would only get me into troubles. They would warn me against being spiky and never like other girls, who would talk softly, compromise easily, and act obediently.
I was given a Chinese name that embodies resilience and toughness, and I do things like a man, which means I don’t give up easily and always have high standards for myself. Speaking of which, I lived the first half of my life relatively smooth.
Although I was not gifted at studying, I got admitted to a prestigious 211 university because I learned art. The ‘turning point’ in my life probably is year 2006. That year I was a junior in college, when my father passed away unexpectedly. After handling his funeral, I returned to the college and back to my studies in Beijing.
At that time, I was not yet aware of the striking impact his death would have on me.
My father left me on November 29, 2006. This November 29th will mark the 16th years since then. It still deeply hurts whenever I think of him, for the drastic change of our life after his departure, living like a footless bird, endlessly drifting from one place to another, and never rest...
My Father in My Memories
My dad, according to my memory, wasn’t the kind of man you would call “great”, and would not be called meticulous either. But since he passed away, most of what I could remember were his former kindness, although also a few not-so-good moments, due to his bad-temper.
One childhood memory stands out. One evening, he came home after drinking a lot of alcohol and found me playing with a friend. He asked my friend, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" She replied immediately with confidence, "I want to be a doctor." Then he turned to me, "And you?" I said, "I don’t know."
We were munching on a snack called Halihali, and upon hearing my uncertain response, he snatched the snack from my hand in a sudden burst of anger and throw it to the top of our woody cabinet. I had such a clear memory of that day. My friend was let go, and my dad took off my pants and gave me a spanking – I didn’t even know why I got beaten. After that, he probably sobered up, and regretted, so he apologized to me and handed me two Yuan to make up for what he had just done. That money was enough to buy a treasure trove of treats in those days. I was dazed, and unable to make sense of all that.
My father was not a frequent drinker. I’m not sure what troubled him that day, but it was the first time I got beaten. As I grew older, I wondered for years why he did that – I couldn’t stop thinking. As I become a mother myself, I find myself looking back with a new perspective, and with that I try to grasp what once eluded me. Now I believe that he must have had harbored great hopes for me to become a successful person, or at the very least, a person of value, but my response probably disappointed him, making him ashamed for my lack of ambition.
But there are also moments he treated me well. When I was in high school, I had to leave home at a bit over 5 am to take a bus to have classes, and the bus station is 10 minutes- walk distance from home. He rode his bike to take me to the bus station literally Every Day - from summer to winter, then from winter to summer, regardless of weather. Till today, I still can see that moment in the flashbacks of memory, of him riding that bike as I look from behind him, from the backseat. Another memory etched in mind is of him waiting for me in a long and dimly lit alley after my evening classes, hands clasping behind his back, holding a teacup. He was always waiting for me there to walk home with me, especially in the winter.
I was a bit rebellious then, and I said to him, “Dad you don’t have to wait for me! I am familiar with the place, and I can go back very soon.” Then he replied:” If I don’t see you back, I would always wait for you here.”
He ran a small business, and the burden of supporting our family is heavy on him, especially as he was an overly nice person. I remember on one particular New Year’s Eve, after he got the payment for his project with the government, he handed out every last penny to his workers, forgetting that our family is almost out of money for the new year. I complained and said “Why do you leave us in such a miserable state, you could have kept the money but you gave them all away!” I muttered, feeling deprived of the usual treats and new clothes that marked the holiday.“Do you have any idea how tough life is for folks in Zhangjiakou?” he asked“They only have meal of plain potatoes, while we, at least, can afford steamed buns.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he added quietly, “They workers need money more badly than us. They can only wear clothes with patches.”
He was too kind to be a good businessman. Because he was not ruthless enough, his business was never a success.
My Father's Sudden Death
Years before he passed, I often saw his room with lights on till two or three in the morning. As I quietly pushed open the door, I found him huddled over his desk, meticulously going through a stack of invoices, calculating something over and over. He was always like that, working late, often pushing himself.
The day he died started off like any other. He was with his business partner, discussing the usual things, and had a little bit of wine over lunch. On his way back home, he began to feel sick. My mother was out at the market stall, as usual. By the time she returned, he was seen lying on his cot, which upset her, since she had to be out to make a living because of his incompetency in supporting the family. Frustrated, she glanced at him, thinking he was just sleeping off the alcohol.
She called his name, but he didn’t respond. She noticed some vomit in the toilet and the lingering scent of heart medication in the air. She tried to wake him again, but by then, he had already slipped away.
When I got the news that something happened to my family, I rushed home, not knowing what exactly had happened. I called the boy who later became my boyfriend, and he picked me up from the train station. The fog that day was thick, almost surreal, as if the world itself was clouded in mystery. At first, I thought it was my mom who had an accident, since her health condition was always not good.
The boy didn’t say much until we almost reached home, he turned to me and said, "There’s something wrong with uncle... your dad."
I paused in a shock. "What do you mean? Is he in the hospital?"
He hesitated, "It’s worse than that."
A chill ran through me. "What's that? He is in the ICU or what?"
He looked down, unable to meet my eyes. "Worse than that. Your dad passed away."
I dropped my school bag right there and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest.
When I got home, I found him lying there alone. In our Hui ethnic tradition, we keep the body at home, not in a hospital or a funeral parlor. It was November, and the cold had already settled in. But in the room where my father’s body was kept, the heating had been turned off. The furniture was moved out, and he lay there on a wooden board, supported by two legs underneath, covered by a simple white cloth. I couldn’t bring myself to lift that cloth and look.
My thoughts flashed back to the last time I spoke to him before leaving for school, when he promised me to buy me a Motorola V80 cellphone. The first thing that came out of my mouth when I saw him was, "Dad, you promised to buy me that phone... haven’t you bought it yet?"
But he lay there, still and silent, and I knew I would never have his answer.
Returning to Beijing to Finish My Studies
After my father’s funeral, I returned to Beijing for school. Strangely, I didn’t feel much at the time.
I am a huge fan of Leslie Cheung, and when he passed away in 2003, I was utterly heartbroken. I even wrote letters to him, which were tied to balloons and released, hoping they’d somehow reach him in the sky.
On the day of Leslie Cheung's funeral, I was desperate to watch the live broadcast on Phoenix TV. I made up an excuse at school, claiming I had left a pot of water boiling at home. I rode home on my bike in a rush, and unlike usual, I left it outside the room instead of locking it in the room that day, which caused it to get stolen.
My mother would often make joke at me about this, saying that the funeral cost me a bike. I have a deep memory that my dad asked me then "if I am gone, would you also be like this?"
And the fact is, when my dad passed away, the pain didn’t hit me the same way it did when Gege died (Our fans like to call Leslie Cheung Gege). Probably the loss of Gege only brought me nostalgia, while losing my dad became a lingering ache, a wound that never really heals—a pain that stays with me for a lifetime...
Leaving Beijing and Returning Home
I often felt like a speck of dust drifting in the air, never truly finding a place to settle. My father’s death didn’t greatly impact my physical life, but with my mind it left a deep sense of instability, which worn me out. Maybe it was this very situation that eventually forged my resilience.
Things went on well for both my study and career. In 2008, I had the privilege of participating the Olympic torch relay all the way across China for three months, leading the cheerleading team of the organizing committee. After the opening ceremony is over, I returned home. I originally didn’t plan to go back to hometown after graduation, since I had already secured the job as a teacher in a primary school in Haidian District, Beijing. But what happened at home drove me make the decision of returning to hometown. My younger brother was only 14 when our father passed away, and I am the eldest daughter, so I had to take more responsibility than before.
At graduation, I packed up everything by myself and sent them home. While my classmates celebrated their triumphant graduation surrounded by family, I was alone and returned home silently taking a free ride from a fellow student. I used to hold a grudge against my mother for not attending my graduation ceremony, but now I understand—she had to work to earn the money, which although meager, is all that she could make to support the family.
I Had a Quick Marriage
Once I’m back, my mother urged me into marriage, driven by traditional values that favor males over females. My mother was born in a low-class worker’s family, and the traditional value that girls should marry early resonated with her, especially so after the death of my father, which made the family difficult to support anyone other than my younger brother. After numerous failed matchmaking attempts, I eventually made match with someone through family connections. My mother had always hoped I would marry into a family with better financial standing, and this man seemed to fit the criteria.
On the day of our blind date, I heard a message on the radio that said, “You should only marry someone you truly want to spend your life with.” The words struck a chord deep within me. Still, I chose to marry him—not out of love, but because he checked off most boxes I thought were important.
I had a flash marriage. One month after meeting each other for the first time, we got our marriage certificate, and the wedding ceremony was held only three months after we met. I barely knew anything about his family. He treated me kindly, but there was a big issue with his family, the fraught relationship between him and his parents, which I only found out later. When we just got married, he would frequently curse his mother by name, and I tried to stop that, naïvely believing I could help mend their bond somehow.
Now, over a decade into our marriage, his relationship with his parents remains as strained as ever. No one, not even I, could fix it. He carries a deep resentment towards them, convinced that they are dragging him down. I didn’t fully grasp the impact of this tension until we had a child, eight years after our marriage. Before that, I had very limited interactions with my parents-in-law, mostly only in occasions of family dinner on New Year’s Eves. Even after our child was born, I once thought I could manage without their involvement by hiring a nanny.
First Job After Graduation
After graduating, my first job was as a teacher at the local media college, a position I held for 12 years. I quit that job the year before last. I started to think quitting because every day felt like a rerun of the one before. I could predict exactly what the next few years would be —each day a mirror image of the past. I had become so skilled in teaching that I no longer needed to prepare for classes; I knew the routine by heart.
Even when I was in college, I knew I wouldn’t want to have a plain and dull life, since I only have one life to live. And at that time, an opportunity came to knock at my door—to join a foreign language education group as the course director for the art department of student elective classes—I took it. For about a year, I immersed myself in that new challenge, but then, life threw me a curveball: I found out I was pregnant, and not just with one child, but twins. This reason, together with several others, led to a pause of my job.
During my pregnancy, I didn’t work in the office anymore, but I kept myself busy by tutoring art students, helping them get into their dream colleges. It was a smooth period in my life, with everyone in the family pitching in. I’ve always been independent, so even when I got married or became pregnant, I didn’t expect any special treatment. I never saw myself as someone who needed to be catered to.
I never had the thought that I should be given privilege for pregnancy, but I surely miss that time, because it was 2019, and it was before pandemic.
Giving Birth During a Pandemic
After I’m pregnant and before the baby was born, I didn’t worry much about my family, for instance my husband. He was busy running his company, and I rarely involved myself in his business affairs. He’s always been a strong-willed person, and I mention him now because of his influence on me later on--very negative influence.
My husband was of same age as me, only one month older. The pandemic took a toll on everyone’s mental state, and our family was no exception. I gave birth to the twins on January 10, 2020, just 5 days before the outbreak in our hometown. The situation in Wuhan was growing dire, but we were still largely unaware of just how serious things were.
As I held my two newborns, I posted on social media: "I’m going to make peace with the world!" Before they came into my life, I was headstrong and fiercely independent. But with my children’s arrival, I became willing to compromise in ways I never imagined, accepting things that I never would have tolerated.
The pandemic brought tremendous financial hardship to our family, and my husband was under immense stress. The past three years have been a nightmare that I can hardly bear to remember. There were moments when his frustration turned violent—he would take a knife and threaten me, the children, even my mother. He once said he would kill the baby, and even took actions, which freaked me out. I didn’t know how to deal with the world anymore. We fought fiercely when he directed all his anger and resentment to our baby, and our relationship is at the edge of the cliff.
I thought I would be given care and support after giving birth to the babies, but rather, I experienced the most difficult time of my life. I would wake up every day in tears, overwhelmed by despair. The thought of ending my life together with my babies often came to my mind in those days, as I assumed no one else would ever take care of them if I’m gone. The thought even went concrete to include details such as where and how – jumping from a certain building with one child on my back and the other in a carrier in the front. But fortunately I eventually gave up those thoughts.
Life's Darkest Hours
When my babies were six months old, our home had become unsuitable to live any longer. I told my husband, “I’m taking the babies and leaving.” Since my auntie still got an empty place, I moved there with a nanny. During that time, my husband rarely visited; he just paid for the nanny.
I almost felt I was the most miserable person in the world, until I met two incredibly nice nannies, who gave me enormous encouragement and were like my family. They weren't just tending to my child—they were my biggest emotional support. They filled the gap left by my mother, who was on completely different wavelengths with me and could not communicate well with me.
When the twins were two and a half years old, my husband told me he could no longer afford the nannies, and that‘s when my parents-in-law started to took over caring for the children.
Throughout this time, I kept a diary. In this thick diary, the words “almost suicide” appeared in a daily frequency. But amid the darkness, a new perspective started to grow insides me. I often told my friends and the nannies, “I have a very good friend who gives me advice on doing this and that.” And my nannies would echo “She is right! You must cherish this friend. She’s guiding you to the right path.”
When I finally had to say goodbye to my nanny, I say to her, "I need to tell you something."
She asked, "What is it?"
I said, "Actually, I never had this friend."
I saw the fine hairs on her arms erects on the backlight of the sunshine. This was how I survived the most depressed time of my life. I told a friend who was a psychiatrist about the imaginary friend thing and asked, "Do you think I’m schizophrenic?"
He replied, "Technically, yes. But it was good for you—it was your mind trying to save you from despair."
Finding My Way Out
When my children were six months old, I went back to work. My nanny, wise as ever, urged me on that, “You’ve got to get out. You can’t keep carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. How’s your mom? How your brother lives and how your mom lives is not your business. You can’t live for them. You need to live for yourself and your kids.”
So, I took her advice to heart. Later I found a job related to performance art, and I worked there till September of this year. Then I had a new job opportunity, introduced by some very nice and elite people, filled with creativity and energy, and I joined the insurance company and work there till today. I’m genuinely happy every day, because I’m surrounded by people who radiate positivity, helping me find my direction and purpose.
I’ve stopped wasting my energy on pointless worries. It’s like a ray of sunshine finally broke through the clouds of my life. I no longer struggle to find out what kind of person my husband really is. The three years since I had my babies have completely transformed me. I’ve learned not to look to anyone else for validation, not to rely on anyone but myself. The only person I truly trust now is me.
Recently, I initiated a program of Swing Musical, where we indulge in the joy of swing dancing. Through this activity, I’ve met so many like-minded friends, and I’ve come to realize that sometimes, the people who at first are total strangers could also end up being providing huge support. As a Muslim, my faith is in Allah, and I believe He knew my family couldn’t be my anchor, so He surrounded me with friends who could. People like Sister Yuan, who introduced me to GMI—I feel truly blessed.
My children are turning three now, growing up so quickly, and they’re incredibly understanding and well-behaved. Life doesn’t feel so daunting anymore. When I look back at everything I’ve been through, I’m actually grateful for those three tough years. They forced me to grow in ways I never imagined.
The Day My Family Unraveled
After my dad passed away, our family was never the same, but at least I still had a place to call home. But then my brother, who used to be a good kid, started to drift. I attributed that to a great part to my mom’s way of education but have to admit my dad also played a part in it. He spoiled my brother, and even offering him cigarettes when smoking sometimes. By the time my brother was 14, he already learned to smoke.
After Dad’s death, my brother would often say, “Mom, I’m going downstairs for a bit.” When my mom asked “what for”, he’d answer, “Tell you what, I’m going down to smoke.” I told my mom she should not have let him but should instead taking the death of our dad as a lesson and talk him into focusing on forming good habits as a young and prospective pal. But instead, she only said to him, “Don’t go outside and let the neighbors then, just smoke at home. ”
After I got married and moved out, my brother’s behavior worsened. He started staying out all night, and before long, he got into drugs. It was also me who found he was using meth, because I noticed how erratic and irritable he’d become. Before, when I talk to him and he got impatient he would say, “Sister, I know,” but then he was yelling, “Shut up! Don’t you talk to me like that!” I felt strange and wondered what has changed him, so I searched his room and found his drugs.
These drugs surely made him broke and owing a lot of money. My mom sold our family’s old house, our only home, with the original plan to buy a new one near my home, where the environment is good, and price is also good. But before I knew it, she gave half the money to my brother to pay off the debts. My mom rented a small house instead of buying, which didn’t bother me too much at first—after all, as long as we were together and I still get a place to go to, I still have a home.
But until I got pregnant, my mom always talked about her finding a new partner, something I couldn’t understand. I often voiced my frustration directly to her, and she would get defensive, saying, “I’m doing this for the family, for you and your brother. It’s hard to support everything on my own…”
Eventually, my mom remarried. She met someone before I got pregnant, and after they got married, she moved into his place and ended the lease of the other house. That was the moment I realized I no longer had a home to go back to. The feeling of being a floating puffball that had begun with my dad’s death intensified. My mom’s remarriage made it clear—I had nowhere to go. If something happened between I and my husband, there wouldn’t even be a place for me to retreat to.
I don’t harbor resentment toward them—my mom or my brother. I just didn’t know how to face them for a while. My brother, despite everything, had always been good to me. I remember one time we had meal together, and he drank a bit, he turned to me and said, “Sis, you know what? If not because of the law and order thing, my brother-in-law would have been taken care of, by me.” He was talking about my husband, who had been almost entirely absent in childcare for the three years after the babies were born. My brother saw it, and he had a lot of sympathy for me.
I always tried to keep him grounded, telling him, “Don’t ever do anything rash. The one who deals the first blow loses out.” Things have not reached that point, but I knew if push came to shove, my brother would definitely stand up for me.
Now, my brother has been clean and out of drugs for a long time, also working normally, which I have great admiration for.
Living in the Moment
Sometimes, separation is better than staying together and torturing each other. My husband and I haven’t divorced, and neither of us has brought it up. He focuses on his business, and we live our own lives without interfering each other.
It’s been three years since the pandemic, and three years since my twin sons were born. When I married my husband, part of the appeal was that he didn’t smoke or drink. But somewhere during these three years, he picked up smoking. My friends tried to console me it’s probably his way of coping with stress, and I’ve tried to understand. After all, it’s not like he has done anything worse.
This current state of separation is the best thing for us. He usually stays at his parents' house, and when we do see each other, it almost always ends up with quarrels. We’re both so on edge that we can’t get through a conversation without it turning into a fight. That kind of tension isn’t good for the kids, so it’s better for me to live on my own. Even the kids don’t like going to their grandparents’ place because they sense the constant conflict.
Right now, all I can do is pull myself out of the shadows. I’ve become the manager of the first local swing music club, and it’s been a lifeline. Combining swing dancing with drama and musicals, the club is finally taking shape. Working with people who share my passion has brought new joy and inspiration into my life.
I’m also working as a life insurance financial planner. My team leader is a fantastic person who told me something that really stuck with me. He said, “You’ve got an aloof personality, and that might not be the easiest fit for this industry, but please don’t change yourself. You’ll attract people who are on the same wavelength as you, and you just need to make friends with them. Don’t try to change yourself just to fit in.” That advice resonated with me. I am never willing to change my edges and corners, I even use this lyric from my brother’s song as my social media signature: “I am me, a firework of a different color.”
Motherhood has changed me in so many ways. I’ve always had spiky personality, but having kids somewhat altered it. I’m made more empathetic, more able to put myself in others’ shoes. I’ve become more understanding, more open-hearted. Where I used to see things only from my perspective, I can now approach life with a sense of calm and tolerance that I never had before. My children have made my heart softer, and I’m grateful for that.
These past three years have been incredibly challenging, but I’ve made it through.
What storm could possibly shatter me in the future?
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