Love in a Shanghai Summer

8: Lose Face (丢脸)

Word of the day: Diūliǎn (丢脸)

Literal translation: To lose face.

Definition: In China, the term "face" refers to more than just a body part. It refers to a person's dignity, self-respect, honor, and influence. Often, the face a person shows to society is different from the face that he reserves for himself. In the case of diūliǎn, to lose face means to bring shame to oneself. The implication is that action will cause the other person to think lowly of you.

Example: 我太丢脸了 (Wǒ tài diūliǎn le) - I am so ashamed.

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September 1st

Today was when she and Wu Chen planned to register their marriage today. That was until he tossed aside all their carefully laid out plans. Yiwen chugged wine straight from the bottle she was holding. In the last two months, she had consumed more alcohol than she did all of last year.

"Cheers," she toasted the wind.

Riding her temporary euphoria, Yiwen flew off the couch and spun around the room. She attempted a pirouette and ended up crashing into the wall. The last drops of liquid sloshed all over her silky black lingerie, leaving sticky patches of burgundy on her skin. Her back slid down the cold concrete until her lace-clad bottom touched the floor. She placed the empty emerald bottle beside her and leaned her head back.

When Yiwen was young, her mother had insisted she take ballet classes twice a week. Every Saturday and Sunday, when other kids played at the park, Yiwen dedicated half a day to learn how to move with grace. The other half, she spent with private tutors who worked on her English. In a country of 1.3 billion people, every advantage over the competition was necessary.

Yiwen wondered if all that hard work really paid off. At the moment, everyone else seemed to be racing ahead, while she fell farther behind. Also, what was the point of all those ballet lessons? As soon as Yiwen entered the corporate rat race, she realized this was a world with no room for music nor dance. All she'd done was trudge ahead, beating off competition, while she looked for the shortest path to the top. Learning some martial arts would have been more beneficial. Then she could defend herself against the assholes of this world.

At the shrill sound of her ringtone, Yiwen crawled towards the coffee table to check her phone. With eyes that refused to focus, it took several attempts to slide her fingers over the screen to answer the call.

"Whachyu want?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. Then came a barrage of words spoken at a volume that almost burst Yiwen's eardrums. "Wang Yiwen? Is that how you speak to your mother?"

She put the phone down and looked around for her wine.

"I've been trying to reach you all day. Why weren't you answering my calls?"

Instead of replying, Yiwen got up and zigzagged her way to the discarded bottle. She picked it up and held it above her mouth. When no liquid fell, she made her way to the kitchen in search of more.

"Wang Yiwen, can you hear me? Wang Yiwen," she heard her mother's garbled shout.

Yiwen rolled her eyes then opened the fridge. She scanned its meager contents, which consisted mostly of skincare products. Luckily, she spotted a lone can of beer behind her face masks. Goodness knew how long it's been there, but at the moment she didn't care. Flicking the tab open, she took a gulp, then another. On her third sip, her phone rang again. Yiwen tried to ignore it, but her mother was relentless. Her ears began to hurt.