As I wrote in my previous post, the rather sombre legal wedding and the fact that I still carry my old name around with me but not a wedding ring make me feel like I am in some kind of wedding limbo, where I know I am legally married but I simply don’t feel like a wife at all.
Aside from the aforementioned cultural differences, there are probably two other reasons for this lack of major life change feeling; one is that we still live apart to the dismay of pretty much all our Chinese relatives and friends, who simply cannot grasp the concept of a married couple choosing of their own free will to live in two places. That’s 21st century romance for you! #livingthedream. I mean we still have the rest of our lives to pester each other and assign blame for who ultimately messed up our future kids, so what’s the rush people?! In the meantime, we both get to work in seriously amazing jobs and find personal fulfilment, plus enjoying our freedom but without the hassle of having to go out on dates with weirdos because Chinese society feels we are nothing if we are single. Hooray to long distance relationships!
On to the final reason I do not feel at all like I am a married woman; it might just be down to genetics. I am a clumsy, confused schlub. Mr. Li has a saying for me, whenever my mind is preoccupied with other things or I do or say something silly he says I am “in the clouds”, and thatis true. I have my own little world in my head and quite frankly it is probably not the most grown-up of worlds.
A wife, or so Hollywood tells me, is someone sophisticated who can always wear high heels, looks gorgeous the minute she steps out of bed, throws amazing dinner parties with matching crockery sets and has a cooking island in her ridiculously clean, white and oversized kitchen.
I on the other hand cannot walk five minutes in anything but flats, have on occasion worn my sweat pants to the office because unlike in London, here that won’t necessarily get you fired (have I mentioned I love my job?!), my last dinner party ended with drunken videos of Soju-fuelled renditions of Ghost by Ella Henderson, which might be one of the most amazing songs of all time but should not, under any circumstance, be performed by myself, the killer of harmonies, and finally, my cooking island is neither clean nor oversized, nor an island for that matter. But it is white, so check on one of my wife list items.
At least I am capable of making this butt-kicking pancake, so one more wife point for me! Though come to think of it I own neither a whisk, a measuring jug or a spatula, making this a rather free-style effort. Oh dear, I have a long way to go…