I was in the middle of a battle with my teammates when Messenger kept flashing across the screen.
"Where do you work?"
"Import and Export Department, DragonTech Corporation."
"Is the salary good?"
"Enough for me to get by."
The messages were from the man my mother had been trying to set me up with for months. After endless persuasion, I'd finally given in and added him on Facebook. His name was Phuong.
"An! Hurry up and save me, where are you?"
"Coming, relax. I still have plenty of health."
Kim Chi's voice shouted in my headset, demanding backup in the game. I quickly closed Messenger and returned to the battlefield, but it was too late. Her character was already dead. Before I could react, mine was wiped out too.
"For God's sake, what are you even doing today?"
Her voice made me jump in my chair. I yanked off my headset and grabbed my glass of water, taking a sip before scrolling back to Messenger. No new replies. Bored, I started scrolling through my feed.
That's when I saw it:
"Does marriage these days need to be built on financial stability? Should a man choose a wife with savings? Or is it enough if she can just support herself? So conflicted!"
It was posted by none other than Phuong Nguyen, the same man who'd just been messaging me. I hit Unfriend without hesitation and went back to my game.
This time, Kim Chi yelled again.
"Focus, An. Let's actually play properly now."
So I did. With my irritation gone, I played with full force, charging ahead with reckless energy until we raked in loot and victories. Kim Chi laughed wickedly.
"If only some rich, handsome guy were in here watching you fight. He'd be smitten for sure."
"Yeah, right. Who'd want a plain warehouse clerk like me?"
"Don't worry. Life has its turns. One day, your Prince Charming will show up."
After the match, I logged off and wandered into the kitchen for a snack. My mother was mopping the floor, her expression already sour.
"Lift your feet."
"…"
"Don't step there either, I just cleaned."
"…"
"Honestly, you have no consideration at all. Thirty years old, and on your days off all you do is play silly games. No classes, no books. And you wonder why you've achieved nothing. At this rate, who would ever marry you?"
"…"
"Has Phuong contacted you yet?"
"Yes."
"Oh, wonderful! So you've spoken to him? What do you think?"
"We exchanged three messages. Then I unfriended him."
"You—!" She threw down the mop. "Do you think you're some prize, turning your nose up like that?"
"I'm not picky. He was the one mocking me. I'm just a low-level clerk with a dull job. He made that clear enough."
She sighed heavily.
"If this doesn't work out, I'll find another match. But you need to help yourself too. At least try to move up to a better position. You can't stay a warehouse clerk forever. Your income will never improve. I can only carry you so far—after that, it's on you."
"Yes, Mother. I'll try."
"Try? I've never seen you try."
"…"
I had no answer. The truth was, she wasn't wrong. I had long since given up fighting her judgments, her daily criticisms. Every decision of my life bore her mark. My degree, my job, even the very company I worked at—DragonTech—had been chosen through her connections, passed along through layers of acquaintances until I landed a job as a warehouse assistant. Hard work, little recognition, and hardly enough pay to feel accomplished, even at a prestigious firm.
Her eyes said it all: You've never tried.
Maybe she was right. Under her constant scrutiny, my will had withered away. I stopped asking myself what I wanted, what I needed. She judged for me every single day. After years of this, I'd grown numb to it.
Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Next Monday after work, come straight to Hospital A. We'll visit Aunt Tu."
"She's still there?"
"She's doing daily physical therapy. It's easier for her to stay. She's done a lot for our family. You need to show your face. I'll come from home, you come from the office."
"Alright, Mother."
Back in my room, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The heaviness settled in again. Thirty years old, and still every corner of my life was dictated by her. My major in college? Chosen by her. My job? Arranged by her. And now, even my future husband was supposed to be chosen by her.
"When," I whispered to the ceiling, "when will I ever get to live my own life?"