I hadn’t even figured out what I was going to do when everything suddenly became worse.
My mother came to me herself.
She looked at me for a long time before asking,
“What are you going to do?”
Then she told me something I never wanted to hear.
“If you really love me, you should help me.”
“If you won’t, then I can’t take care of you anymore.”
Her words were cold.
They didn’t sound like the mother I had known all my life.
But she meant every word.
Her voice was calm and firm.
“I won’t be young forever,” she said.
“In another two years, I’ll be too old. Even if I beg people to help me, no one will want me anymore.”
I knew she was telling the truth.
Lately, my mother had been putting more and more powder on her face.
But no matter how much she used, it couldn’t hide the wrinkles beginning to show.
She was getting older.
She was also too tired to keep dealing with one man after another.
She wanted to find one man who would take her in and let her settle down for good.
The owner of a steamed-bun shop in town was willing to marry her.
As far as my mother was concerned, it was the only real chance she had left.
If she accepted him now, at least she could secure a place for herself.
But I wasn’t a little child anymore.
I couldn’t simply follow behind her wedding sedan the way I had years ago.
I couldn’t just accept whatever happened to me.
I had to think about my own future.
Then my mother told me there was another choice.
“If you help me,” she said, “I won’t have to marry him.”
“You could earn the money instead.”
“We could support ourselves.”
I wanted to help my mother.
I really did.
I wanted to earn enough money so she wouldn’t have to sacrifice herself again.
But I knew exactly what kind of work she meant.
The moment I understood, I felt cold all over.
My hands began to shake.
I was still young.
How could I live the way those women on the streets did?
How could I sell myself just to keep us fed?
For a moment, my mother seemed heartless.
But I knew the truth.
Life had been even crueler to her than she was being to me.
Money had forced her into choices that no mother should ever have to make.
And she wasn’t forcing me.
That was the worst part.
She left the decision entirely in my hands.
Either I sacrificed myself and stayed with her, helping her keep us both alive…
Or she would leave with another man, and the two of us would go our separate ways.
I looked into my mother’s eyes.
There were no tears in them anymore.
Years of poverty and suffering had already used up every tear she had.
I stood there in silence.
I didn’t know what to choose.
I didn’t know which choice would hurt less.
For the first time in my life, I understood that sometimes there is no good choice.
There are only two different kinds of pain.