The story of one of China's million migrant workers

The main reason why I moved to China was to learn Chinese. After having traveled to China (for work) and felt the frustration of not being able to communicate well with the Chinese people I interviewed during my trips (I always had to use a translator and I felt I never got any ’real’ answers… almost as if my questions got lost in the translation), I felt that I wanted to learn the language in order to really be able to understand the country/ the culture/ the people.

After almost 2 years of studying I feel I am maybe half way. And really, what a difference it makes just because I am now able to ask those questions myself. I almost feel as if I am getting 'the other side of the story' now when I can (pretty much) communicate with anyone, without having to use a third part. 

Yesterday me and a Chinese friend went for a foot massage. As always when I go for a massage, I almost enjoy talking to the masseur more than the actual massage. This time was no exception. The young boy rubbing my feet was from Shaanxi and was over the moon when he realized how well we could actually communicate. I told him about where I am from, and what my country is like (and for once I didn’t hear things like: ‘ah your country is so good. You guys have so much money’) and he seemed genuinely interested. What was more interesting, however, was to hear about his life.

He’d grown up in a very poor family in Xi’an of Shaanxi. He had to drop out of school at a very young age in order to work and support the family. He headed straight to Guangzhou and the factories where he worked for 6 years, not returning to his family even once (!). Then, the financial crisis resulted in him being laid-off, and he had to go somewhere else in order to find a new job and keep the money coming.

He ended up in Suzhou and found a job as a masseur at the spa where I had gone to. He works there every day, 7 days a week, 8.30am-10-11pm, and then he has a few hours of free time. He said that after work he enjoyed going to night markets and that he rarely went to bed before 2am in the morning, only to get up 4 hours later.

One could think that he told his life story with a depressed, sad voice, but actually, it was quite the opposite. He was positive and happy and said he was lucky to have found a job. He also said he thought sleep was overrated and that he didn’t need so much of it.

The Chinese girl that I had come to the spa with (who is a complete opposite to this migrant worker from Xi’an: her parents have bought her a flat where she can live without wasting a penny) was listening to the boy’s story with moderate interest. Once he had finished she said:

-Only 4 hours sleep? I couldn’t do that. I need at least 8.

And the boy replied:

-When you are under a lot of pressure you can definitely do with only 4 hours.

The thing with the boy’s life story is that it is definitely not unique. Millions of Chinese migrant workers share similar experiences. Still, I cannot help but feeling for the boy. It’s a strange feeling, something between admiration and sadness. I’m sad that he has to live so far away from his family, but I admire him for all the work he’s doing just to support them.

Also, hearing a story like this really makes you ponder. There he is, having almost nothing, being far away from his family and STILL smiling and feeling happy/lucky in life. And there I am, complaining about trivial things such as the heat and about my boss spitting too much… I know the contrast is too big to even be compared but I don’t know. It still gives you something to think about. And that’s kind of nice.