Ordinary Life and Breathing Space

Many people, besides working,
spend their evenings playing games or having a drink,
and chat briefly with friends on WeChat
about unimportant things.

They don’t really have any grand expectations.

It’s not that they “have no ambitions,”
they’ve just converted their ambitions into
the small slice of happiness they can bear.

During the day, they’re dulled by time, performance metrics, moods, and rules,
and at night, they just want to
give themselves back for a little while—

Even if it’s just
winning a game,
having an inexpensive drink,
zoning out on the sofa,
or casually replying with
“haha,” “yeah,” “maybe another time.”

And many moms,
their workday doesn’t really end.

At home, they still handle household chores,
doing laundry, cooking, tidying up,
putting the day back in order.

They switch between different roles—
a pillar for their children,
a supportive partner,
“the responsible one” in their parents’ eyes,
an employee who has to control emotions at work,
occasionally pretending everything is fine in front of friends.

They shuttle between school drop-offs and pick-ups,
homework, parent groups, and daily chores,
navigate compromises, patience, and communication in their marriage,
and constantly adjust their measures between friends’ messages and leaders’ demands.

Sometimes they exchange a few words with friends on WeChat,
not deep,
not solving anything,
just to confirm
someone still remembers you exist.

Few people ask if they are tired,
because all these roles are bundled together,
assumed to be
“things you should naturally be able to do”.

Their breathing space is even more fragmented—
after the kids fall asleep,
leaning on the bed scrolling WeChat or Douyin for a few minutes,
the screen isn’t bright,
yet it’s enough to
let the world be quiet for a moment.

They don’t expect these things to change their fate,
they just hope they
won’t drain them any further.

Many people ridicule this kind of life as “boring” or “lowly,”
but the truly frightening thing has never been ordinariness,
it’s—
having even this cheap breathing space taken away,
and still being required to smile while understanding the world.

Most people don’t ask for much:
not grand narratives,
not distant ideals,
just that at the end of the day,
they can quietly tell themselves:

and still be able to say:

Today,
I survived too.