"I don’t cook," I shrugged, picking at the amazingly prepared salmon in front of me, "and anyway, most people don’t."

My confession was met by my relatives gaping at me with a mix of confusion, disgust, and bewilderment. Suddenly, I realized how stupid I had sounded. Turning an awkward shade of maroon, I repeated again that, no, I did not cook, and my food could poison and kill whoever ate it.

Next to me, my cousin Audrey stared at me with surprise. "How could you not know how to cook? You’ll never marry!"

That was when I finally realized the meaning of the question. Of course, my relatives would want to know who I ended up marrying.

To all of my female cousins, it seemed that not knowing how to cook and do other household work meant remaining single for the rest of my life.

My face blushed an even darker shade of red as I stammered, "Well, I-I would know from Youtube tutorials... and I could definitely learn. I mean, I’ve still got a decade left!"

I tried to smile, but it was met by yet another wave of blank stares from my relatives. I glanced at my parents, trying to find reassurance, but they suddenly seemed to find their food very interesting.

Finally, Cousin Wilbur broke the silence, asking, "What’s Youtube?"

Of course, my cousins didn’t have a clue about any website outside of their comfort zones, outside of China. The only social media sites they accessed were TikTok and WeChat; the only video platform they knew was Bilibili; and the Amazon they were familiar with was Taobao.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine," Aunt May said in her shrill, almost childish, voice, "She’s right. She can still learn to housekeep and to attract…em…targets. She can focus less on her studies and more on her looks."

I looked at Aunt May, feeling a pang of pity for her. She had been trained by her parents to act ladylike, to weave and cook, and to take care of her family. She had married a few months after what seemed like a waste of college, and now she sits in her house all day, cooking, cleaning, and waiting for her husband to come back. She had been her father’s, and now she was her husband’s. She had no way of supporting herself, no way of remaining independent.

"I think it’s a great idea!" Cousin Tara squealed, "Soon, she will be just like us!” Tara fixed her mascaraed and eye-shadowed eyes on me, pursing her lips, on which she had slathered layers of Barbie lip gloss. "But of course," she continued, "she would have to fix that posture and those makeup skills."

"I’m not wearing makeup. I don't want to resemble a Chinese Barbie."

"That’s my point."

Panic rose inside me. They were going to reshape my future, turn me into another stereotypical housewife, and ruin my life, "But —"

"No ‘but’s, it's not ladylike."

"How do you define ladylike? What if I believe it means being myself and supporting myself?"

"That won’t do," Cousin Lindsey sighed. "You would end up poor and die alone."

"Those are my girls," Aunt May said proudly of her two daughters, both of whom were beaming.

I wondered how my cousins’ lives were different from those in ancient times, when girls had to marry right after reaching adulthood. Isn’t it the exact same life? Girls grew up, were taught to be gracious, marry, have kids, and teach their kids the same thing. They had no choice. They listened to their fathers, their husbands, and then their sons. They led dependent lives.

And I could see my future being set in stone before my eyes. At that dinner table, surrounded by the food my cousins had learned to prepare from their mother, who had learned from her mother. They were planning out who I’d marry, at what age, when, and where. They were deciding this person’s looks, his net worth, and completely avoiding his personality.

Who were these people?

When I was young, my relatives enthusiastically encouraged me to be whoever I wanted. A doctor, a lawyer, an actress. One night, I had sat in Aunt May’s lap, shyly confessing my dream of becoming a fashion designer. She had smiled kindly and said, "Sure, you can be whatever you want to be!" But, somehow, something had changed in the year I had spent apart from my relatives.

"She would make an excellent wife for an engineer. She’s good at math, right?"

"No thank you, Lindsey," I tried to hint that I didn’t need them to plan my life, but, of course, cousins are cousins.

Why were my relatives doing this to me? Couldn’t they sense the waves of discomfort radiating off me? Couldn’t they realize the stupidity of their questions.

"Ok," Audrey’s eyes suddenly glistened with amusement, "how about, she just marry the smartest guy in her grade when she’s 18. Her school is good! Full of successful-to-be people!"

"Yes!"

"No. Shut up Audrey! Shut up Tara! Shut up Lindsey!"

Three overly made-up faces stared at me with confusion. I had no idea where my sudden outburst had come from. Perhaps it was their suggestion that I marry at 18. Perhaps it was that I didn’t want to become a gold-digger. Perhaps it was that I just got fed up with their phony, squealing voices and pathetic ideas.

"I have control over myself.”

I stood up.

"Stay…" Aunt May said in a warning voice, her shrill tone replaced by how I would command my dog.

“Actually,“ I said, trying to sound as menacing as possible, ”I think I’ll go check my Instagram."

"Huh?"

Then I stormed outside into the living room.

Cousin Emily followed me.

Cousin Emily had always been the sensible case, despite the fact that she was vulnerable, soft, sensitive, and emotional. She reminded me of the pretties in the book Uglies. Whenever I tried to explain that to her, however, Emily would always look at me blankly and ask why someone would name a book "Uglies." Her dad, my uncle, worried that she would have a hard time finding someone to marry. But I thought she was fine. At least she was different from our other cousins.

She had tears in her eyes, just as she always did when something went wrong at these family get-togethers, which was about every time.

"Omg, I’m so sorry. Audrey, Tara, and Lindsey are helpless dolls. You know that. They can’t help being… You know."

"Emily, it’s fine. I’m just pissed off that they expect me to just marry and settle down. It’s just so wrong."

I collapsed into one of the sofas. Aunt Mary, being herself, had color-coded all of the pillows into neat rows. It was infuriating to see so much order and perfection. I threw a pink pillow across the sofa into the green section. 

Emily sat down gingerly next to me, "I know. I don’t want that either, but I don’t really have a choice. My parents are extremely... traditional."

She had, I noticed, the posture of her cousins: perfection. Somehow, her feet were suspiciously too small to support her weight, and I tried to push out what torture her father had enforced upon her to get lily-like feet.

I slouched even farther into the couch, stuffing a yellow pillow next to a purple one, not saying anything.

"Listen," Emily continued, "your parents aren’t like that. They won’t force you to marry some college hottie and spend the rest of your life staring out a small window."

I picked up a blue pillow, punching it, "Yeah, what’s your point?"

"Don’t listen to them!" Emily said in the same shrill voice as Aunt Mary, her eyes filling with tears again, "I know I have to, but you don’t! You can decide!"

"You're right," I slouched in silence, staring at the blue pillow, "I'm sorry I overreacted. But it’s just so…"

"Painful?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Emily smiled, "No problem."

"Oh, and how do you have such small feet?"

Emily stared at me blankly, "Excuse me?"

I sighed, "Never mind. Wanna go watch YouTube?"

"Do you always speak in confusing riddles? And what the dilly is Youtube?"