BEIJING, Dec. 9 -- A recently-concluded 33-episode TV series titled Dwelling Narrowness (Wo Ju, which literally means "snail home") has become the talk of the town. The hit TV series centers on two sisters' struggles in a fictional metropolis modeled on Shanghai. Guo Haiping is obsessed with buying a house of her own, and her younger sister Haizao tries to help her by becoming a government official's mistress.
It strikes a chord with viewers by putting several sensitive issues under the spotlight. Of these, soaring housing prices triggers the most passion. Many sympathize with Guo Haiping's monologue:
"Each night I sit at the window and stare into the street lights. I cannot help but marvel at the various lives people live in this wonderful metropolis.
"I don't know about others. But for me, every morning when I wake up, a cluster of numbers pops up in my mind: 6,000 yuan ($880) for mortgage, 2,500 yuan for daily expenses, 1,500 yuan for my daughter's kindergarten, 600 yuan for socializing, 580 yuan for transportation, 300 yuan for property management, and 200 yuan for water, electricity and gas.
"The numbers force me to battle on and leave me no time to think about the future. Actually, I have no future. My future is the present. "
Scriptwriter Liu Liu says anyone like Guo Haiping, who occupies a small office cubicle, gobbles inexpensive lunches, relies on public transportation, and tightens her belt to pay the mortgage, will find traces of her life reflected in the TV series.
The multitude of online comments confirms how resonant this situation is. For instance, a netizen writes in the Tianya online forum: "I have heard and seen too many similar stories in real life: Young lovers break up because they cannot afford an apartment; married couples quarrel and fight over their limited daily expenses; and young women leave their poor boyfriends for rich married men."
An ongoing survey by portal Sina.com shows that 73 percent of the 27,602 people polled see the series as an accurate reflection of reality, and 61 percent find the portrayal of "house slaves" to be authentic.
"House slaves" (fang nu) refer to those who lead an extremely frugal life in order to pay off their mortgage, as in Guo Haiping's case, surviving on boiled noodles seasoned only with salt.
According to a survey by the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, the top three reasons the Chinese save are: to pay for their children's education, to prepare for their retirement, and to buy a house.
The desire to own a house is deeply rooted in the Chinese psyche. For many, living in a rented house doesn't give the same sense of security and happiness.
But skyrocketing house prices have been hitting urban dwellers hard, especially in big cities. A small apartment can quickly drain the savings of a dual-income family and, sometimes, even those of their parents.
Says director Teng Huatao: "A house represents all the material temptations for which people come to big cities".
"In the series, I wanted to establish a fundamental value, that the betterment of life can be realized only through arduous efforts."
Businessman Han Gang owns a house in downtown Shanghai, but never calls it his home. "I have paid too much for it," he says. "[It has come] at the cost of my love."
Five years ago, Han graduated from college and landed a job at the same company as his girlfriend Dong Jun. They concealed the fact they were lovers, because company rules did not permit the employment of a couple.
To make more money, Han immersed himself in work and spent little time with Dong. In the meantime, Dong sensed the boss's affections for her.
She told Han about it and suggested they tell the boss about their relationship. Han said something to her then that he still regrets, although he is convinced he wasn't wrong.
"I work so hard, just to make enough money for a house and then marry you. Now that things are on the right track, why can't you be more patient?" he told Dong.
He didn't realize he had hurt her. She thought that all he cared about was money and the house. "But for me, marriage and house were inseparable," he explains. "I couldn't see myself marrying my loved one in a rented house."
Han became even busier with work, while Dong, disappointed with Han, fell in love with the boss. When Han finally had enough money for the down payment, Dong said yes to the boss's proposal.
Han left the company, started his own business, and bought his own house. All is smooth sailing now, except that he never feels at home, alone in his house.
Zhang Xiang and Li Wenjun, on the other hand, are quite happy to live in a rented house. In fact, they have been living in a rented one since they got married a year ago.
"Home is where love is; that is the most important thing," they say.
Zhang and Li got together when they were at college. When they decided to marry, they couldn't think of buying a house given their combined monthly income of 5,000 yuan.
They chose not to turn to their parents. "We felt that insisting on something that was beyond our abilities could not bring us any happiness," explains Zhang.
They say they may be poor but are content, and derive pleasure from their simple, everyday routines: going to work together in the morning, cooking together after work, taking a walk after dinner, cleaning up over the weekend and doing up their home themselves.
Li says she doesn't believe a woman's sense of security rests on owning a house. "It's definitely good if we have our own house. Since we don't, we see it as our goal and find happiness in its pursuit," she says.
"We made the choice of renting a house instead of buying one, because between a mere house and a substantial home, we prefer the latter," Zhang says.
Qin Lifang, 35, used to tell her friends, "If you believe you can be happy getting married in a rented house, then stick to it." That was until seven years ago when her landlady asked the couple to leave before the lease expired, despite knowing that Qin was pregnant.
In the beginning, Qin did not care much about owning a house, as long as she could live with the one she loved. That's why she got married and happily moved in with her husband into a 30 sq m unfurnished rented room.
But the incident seven years ago made her realize how important owning a house is, especially with a child on the way.
After weighing their options, the couple settled on an incomplete apartment. They expected to move in soon after the baby was born, but only made it three years later because the developer ran into money problems. The only saving grace was that the house price tripled during those three years.
Now Qin's son is a first-grader and her husband's business is developing steadily. She dreams of a bigger house, with a more spacious bedroom and a sun-drenched balcony.
She knows there is still a long way to go before paying off the mortgage. "But I hate this rootless feeling," she says. "For a comfortable haven in a city teeming with strangers and competitions, I am happy to be a house slave."
Xinmin Weekly and Commercial Times contributed to the story
(Source: China Daily)
