The Meaning of Home
by Huina Zheng
Lan kneels and embraces her mother around the waist. Her mother is draped in a thick woolen coat, and Lan’s gesture is as intimate as kneading dough in a winter’s chill. As Lan recalls the flour turning soft and elastic under her hands, the tactile memory mirrors the cherished moments of making dumplings with her family on New Year’s Eve, when their home was alive with laughter and warmth.
Her father, ever the vigilant cook, would gently stir the dumplings to perfection, while Yong, her eager younger brother, prepared the sides. Lan and her mother, side by side, would fill dumplings with their favorite ingredients: pork and green onions for the siblings, a vegetarian trio for their parents.
In the bustling kitchen, Lan, the elder daughter, yearned to belong, treasuring these moments of unity and love. Yet, as she holds her mother now, she feels no warmth or connection. As per the local customs, her mother has to send her away, spending New Year’s Eve and the first day of the New Year in a hotel, returning home only on the second day.
Lan is divorced, and she understands the superstition all too well: staying at home for the New Year could supposedly cast bad luck upon her brother. She’s aware of the societal view on divorced women: they find themselves in a limbo, no longer able to return to their parental home and estranged from their in-laws.
Lan’s mother initially voiced strong opposition to the divorce, but she eventually offered her support, assuring Lan that there would always be a place for her at home. However, Lan chose independence, renting a place for herself and her four-year old daughter, Wen. Returning home for the first New Year since her divorce, she confronts these mixed feelings of belonging and isolation.
They said she was overly sensitive. After all, her husband Lin hadn’t cheated; he worked regularly, even if he never helped with household chores. But then, she wondered, how many men do?
When Lin, in a drunken rage, slammed Lan’s head against the wall again and kicked their crying daughter, Lan knew she had to leave. She had contemplated leaving before, but seeing the red, swollen bruise on Wen’s chest from Lin’s kick solidified her decision to divorce.
Suddenly, her family, who had been silent, spoke up against her decision. “If you go through with the divorce, I’ll have Lin break your legs,” her father threatened over the phone, equating her desire for freedom to immoral conduct. To his generation, perhaps she was in the wrong, but Lan wasn’t deterred by his words. She felt invisible, deemed worthless, especially when her brother coldly remarked on her slim chances of remarrying with a child, echoing their mother’s insistence on accepting a woman’s “fate.”
Yet, when Lan showed her mother the bruises, tears streamed down her mother’s face, a reaction that both comforted and confused Lan. Despite her mother’s love, now, during Lan’s first New Year visit post-divorce, she faces rejection at her own home. The one ally she thought she had in her mother is now the force pushing her away. Suffocated by this betrayal, Lan struggles to breathe.
Her mother permits her return for the New Year, but with conditions: she is to stay away on New Year’s Eve and the first day, rejoining the family only afterward. Is this exclusion significant or trivial? In reality, it feels like two harsh slaps, leaving Lan in a limbo just long enough for the physical and emotional bruises to “heal.”
As Lan is kneeling and pleading, her mother pulls her to her feet, and then pushes both her and Wen out, slamming the gate shut with a resounding bang. Lan vows not to cry.
Yet, as she walks away, Wen’s small hand in hers and a suitcase in tow, tears betray her resolve. The past year, marred by the fallout of her divorce, brought misunderstanding and ridicule. She refuses to dwell on those casting judgment, insisting to herself she is no victim. But clasping her daughter’s tender hand, feeling Wen’s attempt at consolation, Lan can only squat and embrace her, a protective gesture akin to a hen’s shielding her chicks from a predator, guarding her against the prejudices that have haunted them.
“Mommy, can we visit Grandma’s house in a couple of days?” Wen’s question, soft and melodious as a spring breeze, halts Lan’s tears. Self-pity is a luxury she can’t afford; she merely wipes her tears, smiles, and nods. Wen yearns for a sense of home, for the embrace of family. When she leads her daughter to a local hotel, it can’t be their home, and they will be alone for two days, but can’t it still be a sanctuary?
Lan’s decision is firm.
Her father is always the dominant figure at home, the final word on all matters. However, Lan’s father has stopped speaking not only to her but to everyone else in the family as well. Following a stroke that rendered him partially paralyzed, he now spends his days confined to his room, frequently erupting in anger.
The warmth and joy of making dumplings together on New Year’s Eve are gone, along with the laughter and conversation that once filled the kitchen. The flour that used to lightly cover the floor is no more. Lan had realized, even before her marriage, that she could never truly return to this home. Now she understands that reality all too well. But that was all in the past, and now, Lan refuses to be ensnared by those memories.
Now, Lan has a chance to forge a new path with her daughter, Wen, who welcomes her with smiles, unlike her brother, who ignores her or her mother, who shows favoritism with simple gestures like giving chicken legs to her son. Lan yearns for a life of happiness with Wen, desiring to provide her with the love and cherishing she herself has never felt.
That yearning stems from a deep place: the innate desire to return home when the world turns harsh, where upon opening the door, your family’s concern washes over you, their questions and gentle embraces offering solace and wiping away your tears. Such embraces, tender and warm, become a sanctuary from society’s injustices.
It’s in those arms you find the comfort no other place can offer, creating a longing for home at every moment of sadness, seeking someone who understands and supports you through every hardship, echoing the comforting back pats and reassurances of your mother: “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here.”
So, the absence of a home compels you to create a new one, though ironically, when girls get married, they become “homeless.” Having left home, Lan faces the stark reality of creating her own space of belonging, as her family has turned their collective back on her, even during the New Year celebrations. Should a family really act this way? Can’t they welcome you back with open arms?
Opening the hotel room door, Lan exchanges smiles with Wen, a silent vow between them. They might not have a traditional home but, together, they are determined to build a haven filled with love and understanding. This time, Lan believes, they will always have each other: forever a family.
Copyright © 2024 by Huina Zheng
