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pulp diction:
A Conversation on Womanhood
“China and Japan may someday go to war,” said Yifei, placing her Uniqlo
bag beneath the table. “But when the time comes, you’re going to have
to decide between us and them.” She then proceeded to order her favorite
ramen dish at the Ajisen where she’d taken me for dinner. I also noticed that
her daughter was clutching a stuffed Doraemon, and that her ringtone was a
section of a song by J-pop band AKB48.
? If these things all seem at odds with her vocal nationalism, they shouldn’t.
Her anti-Japanese sentiments are not rooted in war grievances or territorial
disputes. “They don’t know how to treat their women,” she said. “You can
buy their things, listen to their music, make friends with them. You just can’t
marry them.”
? She punctuated her thought with a series of anecdotes about friends of
hers who had dated Japanese men, stories she’d seen or heard from places
she couldn’t remember, and general feelings of oppression she’d felt in
situations of varying degrees of relevance. I listened politely and agreed where
I thought the conversation warranted. But the irony of the situation remained.
Here sat a single parent divorcee of 29, who never tired of bemoaning the
discrimination and abuse she suffered at the hands of society. She desires
nothing more than a replacement father for her daughter, the realization
of which is nearly impossible due to her age and parental status. And yet to
worsen the situation still, she is heavily critical of all men. Chinese men are
too selfish. Japanese men are too misogynistic. African men are too unstable.
American men speak too much English.
? “But don’t you think that discounting so many men like this will not
improve your chances at finding someone?” I asked.
? She was quiet for a long time. “Being a woman in China, you can never
be too careful who you allow into your life. You, of all people, should know
that.”
? We finished our meal quietly, with occasional small talk about her young
daughter and how it is important that she start learning English soon or else
it’ll be too late. We parted company not long afterward. We met again about
a week later, under the blinding hospital fluorescents of an outlet clothing
boutique. I’d nearly forgotten the conversation we’d had the prior week until,
holding a pair of pants against my frame, she yelled to the sales person, “Do
you have this in a larger size?”
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