Family phobia
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Before sending her off five years ago, Luo's parents gave her 50,000 yuan, more than half their life savings. That enabled her to survive for two years on a meager salary, sharing a two-bedroom apartment with five other people.
Because of her parents' money, she was able to return home for Spring Festival in her first two years in Shanghai.
"But I felt really sad while buying stuff for my parents before returning home, because I was using their own savings to buy them gifts," says Luo.
"And I felt even worse when I got home and saw my cousins who lived near home, making about the same amount as I did but living much more comfortably."
She hasn't been back for three years and doesn't plan to return this year, because "I simply can't afford it."
It would probably cost 5,000-6,000 yuan altogether if she went home, about three months of salary "and that's simply impossible," Luo says.
Her parents kept asking her to come home for a visit and promised to pay her way. "But I can't force myself to do it. How can I dare spend their money when I'm already 26 years old?"
Another reason to stay away is to avoid the pressure to get married that always arises during home visits. As in many places, the tradition in Luo's hometown is for the son to leave and make his fortune, while the daughter usually marries someone close home and takes care of her parents.
Now that she's 26, Luo is expected to fulfill her responsibility as a daughter to marry; and at 26, she is considered old for a woman from the village.
"They sent me pictures of many young guys from our town and asked me to meet them when I go back," Luo says.
"So I'm not going back."
'I won't be shown off as a successful product'
Unlike Luo, 32-year-old financial consultant Jack Ma isn't too worried about money; his pretax salary is around 20,000 yuan.
"Basically, I hate the whole process of my parents showing off how successful and great I am - the biggest achievement of their lives. And I don't like visiting everyone in the hometown just to hear the same compliments," Ma says.
"Because deep inside I know it's not true. To my hometown friends and relatives, I'm making a high salary, but in Shanghai, I'm still a struggling white collar."
Ma was the only one in his remote village in Anhui Province to be admitted to prestigious Shanghai Jiao Tong University 14 years ago. He worked diligently to stay in this city, which he called "a big dream for a villager from a peasant's family like me."
Without going home for the entire four-year stretch, he did it - landing a highly competitive position in a state-owned bank shortly before graduation.
"It was mazing when I went back for the Chinese Lunar New Year for the first time after graduation. The villagers all called me a genius, 'a phoenix out of a chicken's nest,' a model for their children," Luo recalls.
They asked him to check over their children's homework, to find jobs for them, to bring them fashionable products from Shanghai and to give them free room and board when they visited the city.
It went on and on, and Ma got scared.
"I'm tired of being called a model, especially when I'm struggling so hard in the city," he says.
For the past five years, he has invited his parents and grandparents to visit him in the city for the holiday. He pays, and it's a small price to avoid all the requests and pressure that comes from togetherness.
Because of her parents' money, she was able to return home for Spring Festival in her first two years in Shanghai.
"But I felt really sad while buying stuff for my parents before returning home, because I was using their own savings to buy them gifts," says Luo.
"And I felt even worse when I got home and saw my cousins who lived near home, making about the same amount as I did but living much more comfortably."
She hasn't been back for three years and doesn't plan to return this year, because "I simply can't afford it."
It would probably cost 5,000-6,000 yuan altogether if she went home, about three months of salary "and that's simply impossible," Luo says.
Her parents kept asking her to come home for a visit and promised to pay her way. "But I can't force myself to do it. How can I dare spend their money when I'm already 26 years old?"
Another reason to stay away is to avoid the pressure to get married that always arises during home visits. As in many places, the tradition in Luo's hometown is for the son to leave and make his fortune, while the daughter usually marries someone close home and takes care of her parents.
Now that she's 26, Luo is expected to fulfill her responsibility as a daughter to marry; and at 26, she is considered old for a woman from the village.
"They sent me pictures of many young guys from our town and asked me to meet them when I go back," Luo says.
"So I'm not going back."
'I won't be shown off as a successful product'
Unlike Luo, 32-year-old financial consultant Jack Ma isn't too worried about money; his pretax salary is around 20,000 yuan.
"Basically, I hate the whole process of my parents showing off how successful and great I am - the biggest achievement of their lives. And I don't like visiting everyone in the hometown just to hear the same compliments," Ma says.
"Because deep inside I know it's not true. To my hometown friends and relatives, I'm making a high salary, but in Shanghai, I'm still a struggling white collar."
Ma was the only one in his remote village in Anhui Province to be admitted to prestigious Shanghai Jiao Tong University 14 years ago. He worked diligently to stay in this city, which he called "a big dream for a villager from a peasant's family like me."
Without going home for the entire four-year stretch, he did it - landing a highly competitive position in a state-owned bank shortly before graduation.
"It was mazing when I went back for the Chinese Lunar New Year for the first time after graduation. The villagers all called me a genius, 'a phoenix out of a chicken's nest,' a model for their children," Luo recalls.
They asked him to check over their children's homework, to find jobs for them, to bring them fashionable products from Shanghai and to give them free room and board when they visited the city.
It went on and on, and Ma got scared.
"I'm tired of being called a model, especially when I'm struggling so hard in the city," he says.
For the past five years, he has invited his parents and grandparents to visit him in the city for the holiday. He pays, and it's a small price to avoid all the requests and pressure that comes from togetherness.
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