Here is a typical story of idolizing the West, of believing the Western moon is especially round. Over the past few decades, countless such people have been seen: Over a decade ago, an elderly couple in Shanghai sold their only apartment, scraping together over 3 million RMB… to send their daughter to study in Canada. After graduation, she stayed there, married a white man, and had two mixed-race children. 以下是一個典型的崇洋, 西方月亮特別圓的故事，過去幾十年看到這樣的人不計其數: 十幾年前，上海一對老夫妻賣掉唯一的房子，湊了300多萬…

Back then, the old couple stood at the mouth of their Shanghai alley, watching the movers load their large furniture onto the truck, piece by piece emptying their entire home. They were full of anticipation, paving their daughter’s path across the ocean. The 3 million RMB nearly drained all their savings; they even gambled away their future. At that time, their daughter stood among the crowd, smiling and saying, “I’ll give you the best life.” That promise became the source of their initial courage, and now, their deepest thorn.

From then on, they began a life of renting and moving from place to place. During those years, some people asked if they regretted it. They would wave their hands dismissively, smiling and saying, “If our child has a promising future, what does our hardship matter?” Their words were full of pride, carrying a long-term trust in the future. They firmly believed their daughter’s happiness was their own happiness. But that trust increasingly resembled an empty shell. As time stretched on, phone calls became fewer and fewer. Greetings shifted from the initial “Mom, Dad, you’ve worked so hard” to “I’ve been quite busy lately, let’s talk next time.” Later, even the sound of her voice became rare from the telephone receiver. In her family in a foreign land, the daughter gradually faded from their lives.

Now in their seventies, the old couple’s health is declining, and medical expenses are like a bottomless pit. Coupled with monthly rent of several thousand RMB, their pension is stretched unbearably thin. The boundaries of their life are narrowing, like a silkworm’s cocoon tightening around them. They tried contacting their daughter, asking her to visit, even pleading just for a long-distance call to prove she still remembered their years of upbringing. But the replies were always brief, distant excuses: “Work is busy,” “The kids are clinging to me,” “I can’t get away.” The words spoken were always “inconvenient,” but between the lines, there was no trace of “difficulty.” The daughter’s voice was always gentle, but her attitude was as cold as a winter windowpane. On the other end of the line, the old couple were like two lost travelers, sensing the end of life’s journey, unable to find their harbor.

They began to doubt the decision they once took such pride in—selling their home to send their daughter abroad. Because in Shanghai, life without one’s own apartment is now incredibly difficult. Rents have nearly tripled over the past 20 years; even young people struggle, let alone elderly retirees living on pensions. That house, which was their parents’ foundation for living, had long since turned into their daughter’s tuition, transformed into bricks and mortar in a foreign land. What they thought would buy reunion now seemed only to have bought a life of mere subsistence.

“Raising children for old-age security” has been a fundamental principle for millennia in tradition, a pillar of family ethics. But this principle has been torn to shreds in the era of globalization. Especially in the context of cross-border marriages, parents’ expectations appear pale and insignificant, even becoming abandoned burdens. In a foreign land, culture and family structures are redefined. For the parents, after their daughter married in Canada, she had her own husband, children, and family; her new, seemingly glamorous identity essentially severed the bonds of kinship back home. The traditional center of gravity collapsed, the modern span lengthened, resulting in the parents’ endless sighs of longing.

👉 Behind this incident lies a sting that prompts us to reflect on family. Setting aside the hardships of this old couple, the whole society faces similar issues: The once highly-anticipated act of “sending children abroad,” how many people are now quietly reassessing it? From the 1980s to the 1990s, the intention to go abroad carried a halo; it was a goal many families strived for. But today, generation after generation of “left-behind elderly” are competing for limited eldercare resources, and the complications of past choices are gradually being exposed. The curbstone hit by a walking stick while grocery shopping, the shrinking social circle due to medical costs, the silent solitude at home—these don’t just constitute life’s inconveniences but a kind of撕裂 identity困境 (torn identity dilemma).

👉 Tracing the roots, in the 20 years since globalization unfolded, countless families have enjoyed the opportunities and hopes it brought, becoming beneficiaries. But does “a better future for the next generation” necessarily mean sacrificing the parents? Perhaps most of the time, it’s hard to find a completely flawless methodology. Over the years, the old couple did receive remittances, a few letters of greeting. But money can buy medicine, letters can hardly dispel loneliness, and what’s missing behind it all is the interweaving and warmth of human connection and blood ties.

👉 The old couple never blamed their daughter. They would even tell neighbors on the phone, “Her career is going well, and her two children are very well-behaved.” But every night, when streetlights stream through the window of their rented room, they remain two solitary figures, quietly reminiscing about the era when she was still “by their side.” By the dining table, their daughter’s childhood schoolbag still hangs on the worn corner of a chair. The old recording of the TV series “Shanghai Beach” plays from the radio. Sometimes they are lost in thought, sometimes they whisper: “When a person goes far away, the heart follows and goes far away too.” At the end of the story, life never gave them much respite. They even began to wish they could hang a painting of their own on the rental wall—as long as the frame was steady, then everything would seem less rushed.

以下是一個典型的崇洋, 西方月亮特別圓的故事，過去幾十年看到這樣的人不計其數: 十幾年前，上海一對老夫妻賣掉唯一的房子，湊了300多萬……

送女兒去加拿大讀書，畢業后女兒留在那兒嫁給了白人還生了兩個混血寶寶。

那時候，老兩口站在上海的巷口，看着搬家公司將大件傢具裝上車，一件件抽空整個家。他們滿懷期待，為女兒鋪設遠洋的路。300萬幾乎掏空了所有積蓄，甚至連未來都賭了進去。彼時，女兒站在人群中，微笑着說：“我會讓你們過上最好的生活。”那句承諾，成了他們最初的勇氣源頭，也是如今最深的刺。

從此，他們開始了租房輾轉的生活。那些年間，也曾有人問他們後悔嗎？他們連連擺手，笑着說：“孩子有出息，我們苦一點算什麼。”這句話滿是驕傲，帶着對未來的漫長信任。他們堅信，女兒的幸福就是自己的幸福。只是，那份信任越來越像一紙空殼。時間拉長，電話越打越少，問候語從一開始的“爸媽你們好辛苦”變成“最近挺忙，下次再聊吧”。再後來，連電話聽筒中都鮮有聲音。女兒在異國他鄉的家庭里，漸漸消失在他們的生活里。

老兩口如今70多歲，身體越來越差，藥品花費多得像無底洞。加上每月幾千塊錢的房租，他們的退休金被壓得透不過氣。生活的邊界越來越窄，像是蠶繭逐漸收緊。他們試過聯繫女兒，請她回來看望，甚至只求一個長途拜訪來證明她還記得養育之恩。可得到的回答永遠是簡短疏離的理由：“工作忙，孩子纏着，走不開。”說出口一直是“不方便”，字裡行間卻沒有一點“困難”。女兒總是聲音溫柔，態度卻冷漠得像冬日的玻璃窗。而電話另一端的老兩口，卻像兩個迷失的旅人，察覺生命的盡頭，無法尋回他們的避風港。

他們開始懷疑那個曾讓自己驕傲的決定–賣掉房子，讓女兒出國。因為在上海，如果沒有自己的房子，如今的生活可謂寸步難行。租房的價格在過去20年裡翻了近三倍，年輕人尚且難熬，更別提靠退休金生活的老人。而那個屬於父母安身立命的房子，早已變成了女兒的學費，落成異國的一塊磚瓦。那些原以為能換回團圓的付出，現在看來只能換來生活的苟且。

養兒防老，是傳統中千百年來的底線，也是家庭倫理的支柱。可這條底線，卻在全球化時代被撕扯得七零八落。尤其在跨國婚姻的語境下，父母的期待顯得蒼白而不起眼，甚至成了被遺棄的累贅。在異國他鄉，文化和家庭結構都被重新定義。對父母而言，女兒嫁到加拿大後有了自己的丈夫、孩子、家庭，光鮮的身份從本質上隔絕了國內的親情聯結。傳統的重心崩塌，現代的跨度拉長，成就父母思念無盡的嘆息。

👉事件背後刺痛着我們對家庭的思考。拋開老夫妻一家的坎坷，整個社會都在面對相似的問題：曾被寄予厚望的“送孩子出國”，如今被多少人悄然重估？在上世紀80年代至90年代，出國意圖曾帶着光環，是許多家庭的努力目標。可到了今天，一代代“留守老人”正在爭搶有限的養老資源，曾經的選擇逐漸暴露併發症。買菜時拐杖磕到的路邊石，藥費開銷壓低社交範圍， 孤寂的家中一片沉默，構成的不只是生活不便，而是一種撕裂的身份困境。

👉追根溯源，在全球化鋪開后的20年裡，無數家庭都曾享受過它帶來的機會與希望，成為得益者。但“下一代更好的未來”是否一定意味着犧牲父母？或許多數時候，我們很難找到全然無瑕的的方法論。這些年來，老夫婦也收到過匯款，收到過幾封問候的信。可錢能買葯，信卻難解孤寂，而這背後，缺失的正是人情血脈之間的交織和溫度。

👉老兩口從未怪罪女兒，他們甚至會在電話里告訴鄰居：“她事業做得好，兩個孩子也很乖。”但每個晚上，當街燈從出租房的窗外灑入，他們仍是孤影兩個，靜靜回憶那個她還“在自己身邊” 的時代。餐桌旁，兒時女兒的書包還掛在破舊的椅角，港劇《上海灘》的老錄音從收音機里響起，他們時而出神，時而低語：“人走得遠了，心也跟着走遠了。”故事的盡頭，生活始終沒有給他們幾分緩和的喘息，他們甚至開始奢望能在租房牆上留一幅屬於自己的畫 — 只要畫框穩當，那一切就顯得沒那麼倉促了。