The Girl is 28 Years Old
After the New Year, you will be 28. On the second day of the New Year, while I was washing dishes in the kitchen, my mother mentioned this, and I feared that she would continue with: "Liping's child is already three years old, and Liu Min's child has already started kindergarten..." In a panic, I hastily wiped my hands and fled the kitchen.
My father was watching TV in the living room, and both of my younger sisters had been called away by their respective boyfriends. The house was cold and quiet, not at all like the atmosphere of the New Year. It was once again just me facing my parents alone. At such times, they either twist and turn around to inquire about my recent news or earnestly advise me not to be picky anymore and just settle down with someone. For the sake of my marriage, for the sake of making me marry quickly, they have worried a great deal. But I, unfortunately uncooperative, am already 28 this year and still haven't found an object.
A few years ago, my parents never imagined that their supposedly smart and likable eldest daughter would become an unmarried woman who can't find a husband. Since childhood, I've dreamed of a day when I sit on a high throne like a queen, and a handsome prince kneels before me, holding roses and pulling at the hem of my dress saying, "Ah, dear maiden, you are my princess, you are my queen, please marry me." Who could have thought that I am almost 28 now, and not only has no one proposed to me, but no one has even held my hand. I'm eager to get married but can't find a partner. My daily routine is nothing but blind dates, blind dates—almost turning me into a professional blind dater. Finding a partner has even become my secondary occupation.
From the initial blushing excitement to today's numbness, tall or short, fat or thin, handsome or ugly, poor or rich, outgoing or introverted, capable or honest—every kind of personality, every type, every profession, there’s been everything, yet none of them were suitable for marriage. Among these people, some liked me, but I didn’t like them; others I liked, but they didn’t like me; more often than not, neither of us liked each other.
I clearly remember the first time I went on a blind date. After spending three whole hours in front of the mirror, I followed my mother to the matchmaker's house, my heart pounding and my legs trembling. I walked back and forth from east to west, then from west to east, three full rounds on the street in front of the matchmaker's house before I calmed down enough to enter. When I met the young teacher, although I didn’t fancy his height of less than 175 cm, I was still extremely nervous. The matchmaker offered him a cigarette, which he declined, and then the matchmaker gave me sunflower seeds, which I also declined. This incident happened ten years ago, and yet here I am still going on blind dates. Now, blind dating has become a familiar affair for me. I can answer the matchmaker's call without combing my hair or washing my face, meet someone, then go back to work as usual. By evening, when the matchmaker calls to ask how it went, I might only then remember that I met someone at noon.
People who have introduced me always say I’m too picky, but I feel wronged. I don’t seek wealth or high status, I just want someone who shares my interests and mutual affection. Yet, even this simple requirement is so difficult to find. A few years ago, my friends who were in the same predicament as me eventually all found partners through various means and methods. After attending their wedding banquets, they disappeared one by one. Now, I am truly the last one standing, becoming a real iron bachelor, having neither boyfriend nor girlfriend. Even visiting their homes makes me feel sour inside when I see their sweet interactions or them happily holding their children. I desperately long for and dream of finding love, hoping to have a home of my own, someone of my own. But I wait day after day, year after year, and now I’m 28, and my fate hasn’t come. Recently, I’ve started to doubt whether fate actually exists.
A few days ago, I read an article that deeply touched me. The article said that from an economic perspective, matters of the heart are also issues of interest balance. Love and marriage, like other human behaviors, seek tangible benefits and must be chosen rationally, conforming to the rational analysis of maximizing economic utility. Furthermore, life is a wonderful product, and God gives us bodies, beauty, wisdom, and time—all resources. How these resources are allocated should be instinctively considered by women, calculated economically and carefully planned for their lives.
If I follow this view, I’ve already wasted the resources God gave me, and I haven’t planned my life well. Why? Because when girls are in their early twenties, they are at their most beautiful and prime age for finding a partner. Back then, the field was full of good choices. If I had realized that fate isn’t practical and carefully selected then, I would have definitely found a great match. Now that I’ve finally understood these beautiful ideals, the best matches have already been taken. Time has passed, seasons have changed, and I’m no longer young, with the weight of years showing on my face. Even if I encounter a great match now, would he look at me? No matter how excellent I am inside, compared to the tender eighteen-year-olds, I may possess more implicit beauty, rhythm, and inner beauty, but old bulls prefer young grass, and young bulls don’t like old grass. Those who know me, those who once admired me, are mostly my peers, and most of them are already married. As for those left for me to date, how many of them can recognize my worth at first sight, seeing past my flaws to the noble soul within? And if there were someone willing to kneel before me and hold the hem of my dress, saying, "Ah! Dear princess...," would I even consider him?
Because of this, I often lament and regret for myself, feeling like a luxurious piece of clothing that, despite its fine craftsmanship and quality, wasn’t sold because of an unreasonable price. Now that its style is outdated, it can only be sold at a discount. Sometimes when I go on blind dates, I even feel like I'm selling a premium product at a low price. Whenever I see peers going out in pairs, I feel left behind and imagine what my parents say: "Stop being picky, just settle for someone." But matters of the heart cannot be forced or compromised like other things.
Thus, I waited year after year, day after day, but my bird of love never came.
A few years ago, in the prime of my youth, I had some charm, and there were people around me every day. But who knew that youth and beauty are fleeting, changing in the blink of an eye. My skin, once rosy, has been replaced by freckles and wrinkles. Additionally, I've been unwilling to spend money on grooming, so now I'm not ugly, but certainly not someone you'd notice in a crowd. Though my appearance may not be as beautiful, love remains beautiful in my heart. Chasing fashionable love with this imperfect appearance seems inappropriate. Two years ago, during the Spring Festival, my mother warned me: "If you don't find a partner soon, you'll be too old, and older women are harder to marry." I assured her then, "Don't worry, next year I won't be spending the New Year with you." But two years have passed, and this year has arrived, and I'm still single. I still live with my parents, and last year during the Spring Festival, I secretly vowed that I would absolutely marry this year. But another year has ended, and it's all been for nothing—not only did I not marry, but I didn't even find anyone to seriously interact with.
Among my colleagues, there's a girl one year younger than me who is also unmarried. Her conditions are similar to mine, but unlike me, she has many lovers, changing every ten days or half a month. Therefore, the colleagues privately nicknamed her "Half-Month Talk." Initially, I disapproved of her behavior, but now I don't feel the same way. Why? Because after my own experiences, I realize that "Half-Month Talk" isn't easy. Not only does it require charm, but also courage and broad-mindedness. If someone called me "Half-Month Talk," I would be furious, but when she heard it, she said, "Not Half-Month Talk anymore, it's Weekly Issue now." Listening to her words and tone, you can tell how open-minded and broad-hearted she is. Thus, though we're both late bloomers, her attitude is much better, and she doesn't feel as anxious or pitiful as I do.
Given that I didn't find a single person worthy of investigation last year, and realizing how far behind the times I am, I've decided to change my mindset and direction. I need to appropriately absorb some of the spirit of "Half-Month Talk," not to become "Weekly Issue," but at least have one or two people to talk to. To this end, I patiently sat down and carefully analyzed the reasons why I remain single. Besides my belief in fate, I discovered the following points:
One, I've been overly influenced by the negative effects of my grandmother and mother, correcting past mistakes too drastically. Because they were too trendy when finding partners, my grandmother relied on fortune-tellers to choose signs and destiny for matchmaking, and ended up with a short-lived partner; my mother insisted on marrying someone with a good social class, and ultimately chose the poorest peasant representative, with whom she argued for half her life. Then there's my aunt, a farmer herself, who wanted a worker instead of a farmer, and eventually lived a life much better than a farmer's, but now, with four family members laid off, survival itself is problematic. Therefore, my grandmother often laments her bad luck, but I think she resembles the fable of the rat marrying off his daughter. When it came to my turn to find a partner, I didn't want to be shortsighted like them. I vowed to establish my worldview and mate selection with historical, developmental, dialectical, materialistic perspectives. Thus, I set two rules for myself: 1) Avoid overly trendy people, 2) Avoid overly popular ones. Therefore, when diplomas became popular a few years ago, I avoided diploma holders; when gold-digging became fashionable recently, I avoided wealthy individuals, losing many opportunities in the process.
Two, I always hoped to find someone with whom I instantly connect, whose face lights up my world or feels familiar, as if I've met them in a dream or in a previous life. But how easy is that? A face you've never seen, a stranger with no mystery, looking like someone you know—indeed, not so easy.
Three, I always hoped to find someone who treats me like a treasure, loves and spoils me selflessly like my parents. If I were seventeen or eighteen, maybe someone would spoil me, but now, nearing thirty, neither grandma nor uncle cares, let alone strangers. Clearly, this idea is somewhat unrealistic.
I believe that due to these reasons, I have become autumn wheat, winter beans.
Having identified the causes and clarified my thoughts, I resolved to change my mindset, shift my perspective, abandon my previous irrational and impractical methods of finding a partner, and adopt scientific, rational, and economic approaches to choosing a mate.
According to normal views, this might seem a bit too calculating, but I think it will definitely be more efficient and increase the chances of success. You must know: for a 28-year-old girl, talking about romance and feelings is somewhat impractical.
With goals clear and directions set, it all depends on this year. My first plan is: move out, it will definitely be better to leave my parents. First, more freedom—I can go out for a meeting at night without my parents' eyes watching me, and I won't worry about the time of my return. Second, more freedom in dressing—I can wear a halter neck dress or tank top without worrying about what my parents will say. Third, without seeing my two younger sisters flaunting their dates every day, I won't be constantly anxious. Fourth, without nagging and urging, I can stop aging mentally, and my parents won't argue over my affairs anymore. Several times, my mother blamed my inability to find a partner on my father's indulgence, leading to arguments with the peasant representative. But what does my ability to find a partner have to do with whether the peasant representative indulges me or not? She's upset because she can't arrange my marriage or force me to find a spouse.
The New Year passed quickly, spring arrived, birds began courting, ants moved in together, flies got pregnant, butterflies remarried, and frogs had babies. I found a one-bedroom apartment, ignoring my parents' advice, and moved in without hesitation. Initially, I indeed felt peaceful, but soon, I felt another kind of sadness—the emptiness and loneliness of facing four walls after work, the solitude of having no one to talk to, especially after dusk. Whether young or old, everyone else was either proudly walking hand-in-hand in the middle of the street or sneaking into bushes on the side streets. Seeing schoolchildren hiding in bushes made me tearful—how unfair life is. They are seventeen or eighteen and already in love, while I am twenty-seven or twenty-eight and have never been in love. During these moments, I feel that heaven is particularly unjust, and I am utterly useless, just like the old spinster I know. That woman is over forty, and because she read too many romance novels in her youth, she never found a partner. Later, her temper became very strange—men who approached her closely, she accused of ulterior motives; men who tried to help her when she was in trouble, she scolded. So, even though she is nearly fifty, she remains unmarried and avoids others. She has become one of the well-known figures in the neighborhood. I feel that I am like her now—strange and abnormal. Chopsticks come in pairs, gloves and shoes come in pairs, bottles don't need to pair but must fit with caps, bowls don't need to pair but must fit with spoons. God's creations never exist alone, but I defy nature's laws. It's not that I want to defy, but God simply doesn't care for me. Do I willingly endure anxiety and loneliness every day, accompanied by solitude and helplessness every night?
Recently, I've been incredibly distressed, feeling as if the whole world is celebrating except for me, a single person. Lin Ping, my colleague and friend, is three years older than me, already 31. Due to past emotional wounds, she shunned love and declared that she wouldn't regret remaining single for life. Lin Ping was always my comfort and bottom line. Whenever my parents urged or relatives questioned, I thought, "Lin Ping is over 30 and not worried, why should I be?" But unexpectedly, even Lin Ping got married, and quite suddenly. From meeting to understanding took only over a month, and she abandoned our alliance. At her wedding, wearing white lace and thick makeup with crow's feet, she smiled and told me, "Come visit me often." I agreed verbally, but tears welled up in my nose. Women, once married, ascend to the clouds, busy nesting or laying eggs, no longer caring for female colleagues. I've learned this lesson well. Afterward, Sundays became lonely. I lamented inwardly, wishing I could find someone today and marry tomorrow.
Lin Ping's marriage left me heartbroken, making me feel truly abandoned and left behind by society, even rejected by people. I, who used to pride myself on being refined, now felt inferior. My father said, "Why are you so gloomy and old-looking lately?" My mother asked, "Where did your cleverness go?" Indeed, if it weren't for the constant reminders from family and friends—"You're so old, hurry up and find someone," "You'll be 30 soon, you'll be too old"—I wouldn't be this way. Personally, I don't feel old; I'm still in my twenties, not thirties. Just because you're not married, just because you're 28 and don't have a partner, you're automatically labeled an old maid, even set as an example. Once, my neighbor scolded her eight-year-old daughter, saying, "Behave, or you'll end up like Aluxiang, unable to find a partner and become an old maid." Childish words hurt my mother deeply. During that time, I really wanted to stomp off to the south. Newspapers report plenty of people in Shanghai and Shenzhen who choose lifelong celibacy—how do they manage? Zhengzhou isn't too remote, so why are people's thoughts so backward? Since then, I've believed that all my pressure comes from societal expectations. But later, when homosexuality appeared around me and people accepted it calmly, and when I increasingly felt loneliness and isolation, I realized that marriage is not only a social phenomenon but also a natural need. I have defied nature's laws, becoming somewhat peculiar and unconventional. Remembering the ancient adage "Men should marry when grown, women should wed when grown," I refocused all my energy on finding a partner.
The TV station aired a program similar to "Rose Appointment," and I hastily registered. However, the interview notification coincided with my phone malfunctioning. By the time I received the message and rushed over, they said, "Too late, next time." But there was never any news of "next time." Seeing full-page matrimonial advertisements in the newspaper, I became interested. With difficulty, I found someone equally eager to marry and gathered our courage, sneaking like spies to a nearby matrimonial agency called "Wait a Thousand Years." It was better than expected. Checking the records, however, shocked me. Undergraduate degrees were common, even doctorates and overseas students were listed. These conditions made me feel unworthy, but upon further reflection, I wasn't impressed. Although marriage has never been purely personal, always linked to power, status, lineage, and wealth, openly declaring oneself as having a car, a house, a company, and a substantial income seeking a beautiful companion was something new to me. Looking at it, I couldn't help but feel repulsed. This was clearly using cars and houses, not oneself, to lure beauties. What difference is there between this method of finding a partner and fishing with bait? Truly boring! Complaining thus, I remembered others' warnings about scammers and matrimonial agents, doubting the authenticity of these words. Despite this, I paid the fee and registered, clinging to a shred of hope. When sick, one seeks any remedy, and even if there are many frauds, one must take risks.
The young matchmaker gave me a code: 4321, saying that I could use this code instead of my name when coming here. This suited me perfectly, showing their understanding—we are undercover workers here, fearing acquaintances and leaks, sacrificing our faces, dignity, and money for the great, eternal cause of love.
Dates came quickly, and I basically attended every one. But soon I discovered that among the people they recommended, there were all kinds—good and bad mixed together. After a period of effort, still no results, I became greatly troubled and told them that in the future, I would only initiate meetings, not accept invitations.
Then, life returned to quietude.