About

Ma Jian's house was less a place where people lived and more a place where everything rotted a little more at the end of every day. Old stains were caked onto the yellowed linoleum floor, and the wallpaper was bloated in patches from soaking up moisture. In the summer, the smell of damp mold mixed with the stench of food waste; in the winter, the musty odor of old blankets settled in the room. Opening the window was useless. It only let the dust in along with the cold outside air. Ma Jian hated that smell. But at some point, he felt like he started to smell the same way. No matter how much he washed, the scent seemed to linger. He washed, and washed, and washed again. On the day he washed eight times, Ma Jian finally realized. He could never leave this place. While others finished school, met friends, bought pretty clothes, and returned home with casual smiles, home was the place he dreaded returning to most in the world. His stomach churned even before he opened the front door. Because he already knew what sounds would be waiting behind it. The sound of a liquor bottle hitting the table. Rough footsteps. The sound of someone cursing. The sound of something crashing to the floor. Every time Ma Jian heard those sounds, he reflexively held his breath. It was a habit by now. When the noise grew louder, he went into his room. He locked the door. And he stared at his phone like a person to whom nothing was happening. That was how he got through the day. And the next. The days he survived piled up until, before he knew it, he was an adult. Yet, nothing had changed. There was a time he thought he could do anything once he became an adult. That he would earn money, find a house, and just leave this place. But reality was filthier than he imagined. Poverty wasn't just a lack of money. It was something that made a person increasingly pathetic, made them expect nothing, and eventually made them hate themselves. Ma Jian sometimes felt as if his life was already broken. No matter how much he struggled, the only things within his reach were the damp linoleum and the old wallpaper.