The 996 Culture in China
Last night, I broke up with the girl I had been seeing for a month (at least, that’s what I thought.) Mostly for selfish reasons, but also for being fair to her. No wonder I felt liberated, and I hoped that she did too.
She’s originally from Beijing, but spent the last seven years in Dallas, “having the time of my life,” she said. But due to COVID-19, she returned to China, and landed a great job in Shenzhen. We hit it off right away; our connection was pretty organic. I told her about the music fest I once attended in Uptown Dallas, while visiting my younger brother, and she mentioned listening to the podcasts I usually listen to during my workouts.
For our first date, we went out for dinner on a Saturday night, in the SeaWorld area, which was situated right in between my and her apartment. When I mentioned to her how close my place was, she said, “I’m not coming home with you, but I have a better idea,” she held my hand, and we walked towards the sea. “This is where I run after work,” she said. We walked for the next 30 minutes along the sea, it was beautiful, it was picturesque, it was perfect. The walk led to her residential area, I kissed her good bye, and took the subway home.
The next morning, I invited her for brunch. Unlike my previous date from hell, she enjoyed everything on the platter. We spent the rest of the day exploring the city. It was the perfect weekend. I wanted to see her again, so I suggested we meet after work on Tuesday. “I work 996,” she said. I had to look that up. The three digits describe a punishing schedule of 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week. That’s 72 hours a week, often with no extra pay. Overwork has long been prevalent in China, often viewed as a hallmark of dedication and long-term success.
How is that going to work? I wondered. I go to bed around 10 p.m., and wake up at 5:00 a.m. It felt like we lived in two different worlds. We knew we had to get creative to make it work, so I invited her for a sleepover on Thursday night. By the time she got to my place, it was 11:30 p.m., but we were thrilled to see each other. That night, we went to bed at 2:00 a.m. We knew it wouldn’t work in the long run, but we wanted to give it a shot, especially because sex was so good. You know the first time you sleep with someone, the sex is usually mediocre, because you don’t know each other’s body that well (that’s why I believe one-night stands are overrated.) But in our case, our first time was incredible, and it only got better.
In the next few weeks, we tried everything we could to make it work, but her 996 routine wasn’t sustainable for us. Now, if I really wanted to make it work, I could have sacrificed a few things (my creative work, my morning routine, my social interaction with my friends), but I didn’t want to do that. I know it’s selfish, but I if I didn’t take care of myself, eventually I would be left with nothing to give. So, I broke up with her.
“I’m not in a good mood, I’m going to bed,” was the last WeChat message I received from her. Then something unexpected happened today. While I wrote this blog post, my phone rang. It was her. “What are you doing?” She sounded pleasant (which surprised me.) “Writing, at home, with a glass of wine,” I said. “About what?” She asked. “Just stuff, you know,” I lied. “Guess what? I’m downstairs, come get me,” she was thrilled. I wasn’t. I saved the draft of this blog post, shut down my laptop, and went downstairs.
She wore a sexy silk top with spaghetti straps. Her hair gave out invigorating aroma of lavender and Abyssinian oil. She looked into my eyes, it was like gazing at the stars for the first time. Get it together, I checked myself, she’s here just to clear the air, I refuted. I don’t know what is it about breakup sex, but it allows you to be bolder in bed, leading you to more sexual satisfaction. It allows you to lose your inhibitions because you’re less afraid of judgement or reaction because the relationship is ending. It’s almost therapeutic.
The next morning, we went for Cantonese dim sum, and then a walk by the sea (same path that we took during our first date,) but this time we didn’t hold hands. “The next time you break up with me, we can try dim sum at this amazing place in the Futian district,” she held my hand. “There won’t be a next time,” I looked into her eyes. And she let go of my hand.
In the past, there were times when I dragged on despite knowing quite well that we were past the end of our story; stumbling like the rolling credits on a black screen, because I kept telling myself, but the sex is so good, or what if I don’t meet anyone else, or it’s going to be awkward seeing her on Monday. So, I kept on suffering, and so did the girl. But this time, I didn’t want to repeat that cycle again, so, I let her go.
Whatever was blocking my view of reality, I had to acknowledge that the source of that blockage originated within - and was being mirrored back to me by what took place outwardly. Everything that happened between us was a reflection of what I felt on the inside - and those feelings needed to be accepted and allowed to be expressed themselves. Those feelings were my honesty.
