Prelims

Birmingham, UK, 7 June 2014

‘You are more than welcome to stay in my place. I’m making five-spices-slow-cooked beef tonight, the Chinese way!’

Bolin, in her late thirties, led me to her kitchen as she started cooking:

I make Chinese food most of the time, even after having lived here for 11 years. Fortunately my husband has a Chinese stomach, and my sons like my cooking, too. I will never get used to British food!

Food is usually a topic which opens conversation in China. Here in Bolin’s Birmingham home, we quickly agreed upon the superiority of Chinese cooking over British cooking; this (perhaps biased) opinion is shared among most of the 33 Chinese migrants I interviewed in various parts of England.

‘So, are you used to other aspects of the British life now?’

“Well, I’d say yes. My husband is English, my children have become just like any other British children. So I’ll have to adapt. I know many Chinese friends who do not want to change their lifestyle, but I think if you decide to settle in a place, you’d better change yourself to suit the local life—makes life easier”.

Suddenly the front door opened and Bolin’s two sons rushed in, followed by Bolin’s sister-in-law, a young woman with few words who quickly disappeared from the kitchen. The boys were aged 7 and 8, they briefly exchanged school news with their mother in English and then were told to go and get changed. One of them gave me a curious look, smiled and said ‘A-yi! (Auntie)’ before skipping out.

Bolin laughed:

“See, that’s the only Chinese word they remember now. My parents looked after them for 5 years, they could speak more Chinese when they were little. Look at them, they are completely British now, there is hardly any Chineseness in them. I tried to teach them Chinese, but they don’t use the language, they forget quickly”.

‘Where are your parents now?’

‘They went back to Shanghai a couple of years ago, after the boys started schooling. It was difficult to renew their visa. Also, the British lifestyle doesn’t agree with them, especially the food and the weather. Eventually they want to retire in a more familiar environment. They miss the boys so badly though, they looked after them since they were born, but I doubt if the boys will remember their Chinese grandparents in the future. I’m the only child. My parents can only see their child and grandchildren on a computer screen these days. Sometimes I feel I haven’t been a good daughter to them. Ai…’

Chinese people often sigh with a long ‘Ai’ when they do not know what to say but still want to express their feeling of disappointment, helplessness, confusion or anger: perhaps a combination of them all. ‘Ai’ is an ambiguous expression, it can be used at the beginning of a sentence to set the tone of what the person is about to say; in the middle of a sentence to indicate a change of meaning (like ‘but’); or at the end of a sentence to politely end a topic, which seems to bring a negative emotion to the conversation.

I tried to cheer Bolin up by mentioning her sons: ‘Your boys are lovely, are they enjoying their school?’

‘Yes, they are doing well in school.’ Bolin’s cheerfulness came back:

‘Especially the younger one, I really want him to become a lawyer. I was a lawyer in China before I came to study in England. I gave up my career as lawyer, but I hope my son will become one, a better one. Well, who knows what they will become in the future?’

Bolin had been a lawyer in China for three years before she decided to do a Master’s degree in Birmingham. She was planning to return and work in an international law firm in Shanghai after the degree. ‘I was naïve, I thought if I could study abroad for a year, my plans will be realised. But life changes faster than plans.’

Upon her graduation, Bolin found great difficulty in readjusting to her life back in China. Her second attempt to leave China was more of a lifestyle choice.

Later that night, after an extensive 3-hour interview, I asked Bolin if there was any possibility that she may return to China in the future.

After my sons grow up, if my parents become ill and need my care, I will move to China for as long as they need. I will quit my job if it comes to that. However, I need enough savings to be able to do that, and I can’t leave my sons when they are so young. That’s why I’m working hard to pay off the mortgage and to prepare for anything that may happen to my parents.

‘Do your parents want you to return?’

‘Yes and no. It’s very complicated. My parents said they would support my decision. I have always been their centre, I took it for granted that my parents would always be there for me, all I need to do is to tell them my decision.’

Shanghai, China, 27 September 2014

When I met Bolin’s parents in Shanghai three months later, they told me that they had hoped for their daughter’s return until the birth of their grandchildren. ‘I wish I had another child, so I can keep one near me, then I don’t need to worry that much about whether Bolin stays in England or not. Ai…’

Bolin’s mother turned away to hide her tears. Bolin’s father changed the topic to supper:

‘Do you like dumplings? We have many dumplings ready in the freezer. They are not supermarket dumplings, we handmade them with fresh vegetables and pork. Let’s boil some—quick and tasty!’

He explained to me during supper that they usually make a hundred dumplings to freeze and eat a dozen of them each day: ‘We don’t bother with a lot of cooking these days. It’s just the two of us, not much appetite. We like dumplings anyway.’

Bolin’s parents live in a 3-bedroom flat located in a pleasant area of Shanghai. The flat was once owned by Bolin’s paternal grandparents. As we were having dumplings, the former owners’ portraits, which were hanging on the wall near the dinner table, became a blur in the hot steam. Bolin’s father bore many similarities to the man in the portrait:

‘My father was a soldier. He was strict, but open-minded. I was also strict with my daughter. I finished high school on June 1, 1966. Four days later the Cultural Revolution began, I couldn’t go to university, so when my daughter was born, I swore I’d raise her to the highest standard.’

Bolin has been the pride of her parents since she was a child. I listened to the achievements she made, from winning a writing prize in her primary school to securing a place in one of the top universities in China. I also heard her parent’s critical remarks about the sometimes lack of obedience from Bolin to the older generation, as well as their disappointment of not being near their daughter and grandchildren.

‘We are most likely to end up in an old people’s home here,’ declared Bolin’s father, who was in his late sixties, ‘It’s just not feasible that we move to England.’ Bolin’s mother agreed:

‘We can still look after each other, and we have some relatives here. I’m sure they can give us a hand when needed. But everybody is getting old, what would one of us do if the other one dies first? These are the questions for the future. We have no answer now.’