and achievement; she could not even imagine such a link. But then she kept noticing more and more women who looked immaculate in their dress, and, what’s more, she noticed that they often carried bags that looked as though they contained serious life items instead of beauty accessories. Often, these impressive-looking women would take out papers or a book from their sleek bags and read them in the bus with an air of purpose, and even if they were reading mere novels, Phoebe could see that they were absorbing the contents of the words the way high-achieving people do, all the time working, working, in a way that was steely yet elegant. It reminded her of a girl at school who always came first in class, the way that girl read books with a determination that no one else had. All the teachers said she would go on to great things, and, sure enough, she got a job as a quantity surveyor in Kuantan. Gradually, Phoebe realized that the reason these women looked so beautiful was that they had good positions in life; she could not deny that the two thingswere inseparable. Which one came first, beauty or success, she did not know.
She started taking notes on the type of clothes they wore, how they styled their hair, even the way they walked. When she compared this to her own way of dressing and behaving, it became clear why she had not yet been able to find a decent job in Shanghai. No one would look at her and think, That woman is going to astound the world with her abilities, we should give her a job. No, she was not someone you would even look at twice on the bus, never mind give a job to.
She knew she was not a mediocre person, but she looked like one to the outside world. This was not her fault, she thought; it was also because of where she lived. Every day she was surrounded by mediocre people who dragged her down into their sea of mediocrity. She had found a room in an apartment block not far from the river, which she had thought would be beautiful and prestigious. A girl she had worked with in a mobile-phone-keypad factory in Guangzhou had a childhood friend who had gone to work in Shanghai, and she had a good job working in an office. The girl’s apartment was just one room, but it had a small washroom and a space to prepare simple meals. The girl’s name was Yanyan, and in her text message she said that Phoebe could stay there for free until she got a job—surely it wouldn’t be long before Phoebe found a good position. When Phoebe looked at the address, she saw that it was close to the center of town, a nice area near some famous attractions that foreign visitors loved, and by the banks of the river about which people wrote love songs. The room was on the tenth floor, so she imagined magnificent views of this great metropolis that would inspire her with the spirit of high achievement. Every day she would wake up and breathe the intoxicating air of excellence.
But when she came out of the subway station, she found herself in a low-class shopping center full of small shops that sold everything in bulk—clothes, mushrooms, teapots, pink plastic hair clips, fake sneakers. She stood for a minute trying to work out the right direction. In front of her was a row of shops with makeshift beds outside them—there were people stretched out on each one, everyone getting a tattoo. She walked past them, looking at the huge rose being tattooed on a man’s arm, its petals reaching around his biceps; an eagle on the nape of someone else’s neck; a manga kitten on a young woman’s ankle. As Phoebe crossed theroad toward the apartment block, the pavement was black with grease from the dozens of stalls selling skewers of grilled meat and squid. It was hard to walk properly because of all the discarded skewer sticks, which made her feel unstable in her heels.
In the entrance hall there was a small wooden booth where two watchmen sat, drinking tea from their plastic flasks. They did not even look up when Phoebe walked in; they did not
She started taking notes on the type of clothes they wore, how they styled their hair, even the way they walked. When she compared this to her own way of dressing and behaving, it became clear why she had not yet been able to find a decent job in Shanghai. No one would look at her and think, That woman is going to astound the world with her abilities, we should give her a job. No, she was not someone you would even look at twice on the bus, never mind give a job to.
She knew she was not a mediocre person, but she looked like one to the outside world. This was not her fault, she thought; it was also because of where she lived. Every day she was surrounded by mediocre people who dragged her down into their sea of mediocrity. She had found a room in an apartment block not far from the river, which she had thought would be beautiful and prestigious. A girl she had worked with in a mobile-phone-keypad factory in Guangzhou had a childhood friend who had gone to work in Shanghai, and she had a good job working in an office. The girl’s apartment was just one room, but it had a small washroom and a space to prepare simple meals. The girl’s name was Yanyan, and in her text message she said that Phoebe could stay there for free until she got a job—surely it wouldn’t be long before Phoebe found a good position. When Phoebe looked at the address, she saw that it was close to the center of town, a nice area near some famous attractions that foreign visitors loved, and by the banks of the river about which people wrote love songs. The room was on the tenth floor, so she imagined magnificent views of this great metropolis that would inspire her with the spirit of high achievement. Every day she would wake up and breathe the intoxicating air of excellence.
But when she came out of the subway station, she found herself in a low-class shopping center full of small shops that sold everything in bulk—clothes, mushrooms, teapots, pink plastic hair clips, fake sneakers. She stood for a minute trying to work out the right direction. In front of her was a row of shops with makeshift beds outside them—there were people stretched out on each one, everyone getting a tattoo. She walked past them, looking at the huge rose being tattooed on a man’s arm, its petals reaching around his biceps; an eagle on the nape of someone else’s neck; a manga kitten on a young woman’s ankle. As Phoebe crossed theroad toward the apartment block, the pavement was black with grease from the dozens of stalls selling skewers of grilled meat and squid. It was hard to walk properly because of all the discarded skewer sticks, which made her feel unstable in her heels.
In the entrance hall there was a small wooden booth where two watchmen sat, drinking tea from their plastic flasks. They did not even look up when Phoebe walked in; they did not
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