Living alone in China🇨🇳 | 30, no friends, no marriage | Bookstore & Groceries

to wait for a bowl of comfort. Today's breakfast is pear and snow fungus soup paired with steamed corn. No one reminds me to eat breakfast and no one tells me to drink more water. So, the first lesson of living alone is learning how to parent yourself. I like to sit by the window while I eat. Outside is an endless sea of high-rises. I wonder how many souls just like mine are hiding behind those densely packed windows. After 30, I noticed my social circle shrinking at an irreversible speed. There were no dramatic fallouts. Everyone just shifted onto

different tracks in life. The friends I used to sing karaoke all night with are now busy raising kids, dealing with in-laws, or buying houses and cars. And here I am, still in the same place, guarding this quiet freedom that might look a bit lonely to outsiders. I'm not married. At 30, society somehow makes you feel like that's a crime. The pressure from family, the sympathetic looks from peers, even the occasional probing glances from strangers. They all used to give me anxiety, but now, putting on my headphones and having my breakfast, I feel like this

friendless peace is actually an expensive kind of freedom. I no longer need to attend meaningless dinners just to fill a void or pretend to care about certain topics just to fit in. In this moment, in this tiny apartment, I'm completely free. Eventually, I decided to go out for a walk. The bus in Shenzhen is the perfect slice of the city to observe. Everyone has their head down, glued to their phones. We are so close physically, yet light-years apart mentally. I love sitting in the back, watching the trees and office buildings pass by. Living and working

here, it's easy to fall into the illusion that you are just a tiny cog in this massive machine. The buses here used to have ticket conductors, but now it's all automatic QR codes. People get on, get off, completely detached. Sometimes I wonder, in this fast-paced era, will I also be replaced by something more efficient one day? But I'm still trying to explore what I love, holding onto my little stubborn ways, even if I'm the most ordinary person in this city, even if no one is waiting for me when I get off. I still want to enjoy this long ride, this

feeling of floating, of being on the way and belonging to no one but myself. Whether I'm wandering around a mall or traveling to a new city, I always love to check out the local bookstores. There's a magic here that instantly calms the mind. I saw the book of answers on the counter. The cover says, "Resolves everything happening in your world." I don't really have any urgent problems to solve. I think I just want to find a little bit of certainty. I silently asked it my questions. Will they actually be solved? I don't know. Maybe life just doesn't come

with an answer key. Flipping through these cute stationery items and study guides, I felt like I was back in school. Back then, life was simple. Exams, moving up a grade, following the steps. As long as you work hard, the future seemed as clear as a textbook. But life at 30 is more like a journal with no table of contents. table of contents. As students, we were so carefree. We never really thought about what being 30 would look like. We imagined this grand future, but the reality is the study guides are still here in the bookstore, and we have become

the ones being tested by life. by life. In the corner of the store, I'm always drawn to these miniature worlds. These delicate palm-sized houses. Every tiny chandelier lights up. Every little chair is perfectly placed. They look so stable, so worry-free. In this space of just a few square inches, life seems eternally still and happy. happy. For a long time, my concept of home has been blurry. Every time I pack my bags to move, it's a harsh reminder that I'm just living under someone else's roof. The landlord's taste, the peeling walls, the strict rules

against putting nails in the wall. They constantly remind me, this place isn't mine. mine. Staring at that miniature bedroom model, a strong urge washed over me again. I want a house of my own, too. Not a marital home for a wedding, and not an asset for investment. I just want a tiny little place that belongs entirely to me. me. I want to cover the walls with art I love without asking anyone for permission. permission. I want to install a wall motion sensor light in the hallway. So, even if I come home late by myself, there's a light waiting for me.

waiting for me. I want to fill the balcony with plants and watch them grow under my own patch of sunlight. of sunlight. 30, unmarried, no kids. According to the traditional script, I probably shouldn't be chasing a home right now. But, exactly because I'm alone, I need a castle to weather the storm even more. People say houses are for families, but I believe a house is for the soul. Even if buying a place in Shenzhen still feels out of reach, this desire for a home gives me a new, tangible motivation. motivation. I want that little bit of security that

comes with real estate. It will be my hardest shell against loneliness and the softest backdrop for my dreams. Looking at the delicate music boxes and carousels, carousels, these seemingly useless little objects somehow pierce right through my heart. They remind me that the little girl living inside me never left. Even though I'm 30, even though I'm facing life's storms alone, I can still get butterflies over a cute diorama. Just like when I was a kid. Life might not have answers, have answers, but these moments that make your heart skip a beat, that's

the meaning of it all. all. That little girl stood in front of the display for a long time. Watching her, I thought to myself, sometimes happiness really is that simple. Leaving the bookstore, I stumbled upon a row of Ultraman kiddie rides. They were flashing with colorful lights. Watching the parents putting their kids on the rides, it suddenly hit me. I no longer expect Ultraman to fall from the sky and save me. If monsters show up in my life now, I have to learn to defeat them myself. myself. I guess that's the biggest price of turning 30. We finally

realize that heroes are fictional and the only person who can save you is you. Even so, walking past those flashing lights, I still slow down my steps. If only to catch a glimpse of the version of me that used to believe in fairy tales. I passed by rows of claw machines. Behind the glass were countless brushes with empty eyes. I watched people happily dropping coins in, trying to grab a tiny bit of luck with a cold metal claw. It's so much like our lives in Shenzhen. We're always separated by a transparent barrier, staring at those seemingly reachable

prizes, fame, success, or a perfect relationship. perfect relationship. We press the button over and over. We fail over and over. Yet, we can't bear to walk away. In Shenzhen, you see display cars everywhere in the malls. These exquisite metal islands, wiped so clean there isn't a single fingerprint on them. They wait here quietly, waiting for a soul to take them to find another possibility in life. I think if I had a car, it would will be my mobile safe house. But in comparison, I still prefer wandering around the supermarket. Here, all the emptiness is

filled with tangible things. tangible things. Seeing the neatly arranged milk in the fridge and the colorful snacks on the shelves gives me a grounding sense of belonging. belonging. I bought two bottles of discounted milk and pick out a few of my favorite foods. The process of picking out groceries is really just me planning my happiness for the next few days. This process of buying things is admittedly feeling some kind of void inside. When you live alone, you have to learn to use material abundance to offset the spiritual quietness. Carrying heavy

shopping bags home, the sun is slowly setting. It's the gentlest, yet most melancholic time of day in Shenzhen. I saw this building on my way home. It looks like a bird cage and also a tiny flower bud. flower bud. What do you think it resembles? Step inside and you can hear clear birds chirping. chirping. It brings such a wonderful feeling. I'm heading home and caught a beautiful sunset on the way. Dinner is simple. Some braised snacks I picked up from the supermarket. The crunchiness of the lotus root paired with some refreshing fruit. Listening to the

crunch of the lotus root in my mouth, I suddenly thought, this is life, isn't it? At 30, I've learned to stop waiting for someone else's invitation. someone else's invitation. What I want to eat, when I want to eat, where I want to eat, it's all up to me. Some people say living alone is a form of escape, but I think it's an active choice, a choice to face true solitude, a choice to build a universe of my own. Even without marriage, even without friends, I have a complete life that belongs entirely to me. I don't need to change my taste for anyone and I

don't need to compromise my mood for anyone. This freedom might have a bitter hint of loneliness, but its base note is sweet. The city lights outside are starting to flicker. It's still as busy as ever. This is what my 30 looks like. If you're also living alone in this city, I hope you take good care of your stomach and take good care of your heart.