The life trajectory of an older brother resembles a series of continuously missed traffic lights; every choice he made brushed past the opportunities of the era, leaving listeners with nothing but a sigh.
In 1980, after graduating from high school, he faced two paths: becoming a clerk at the street office or taking over his mother’s job at the factory. He found the street office tedious and believed that the working class had status and that learning a skill was more practical, so he chose the factory. In hindsight, if he had gone to the street office, he would likely have retired at the deputy department level with a generous pension, living a comfortable life.
In the mid-1980s, at the age of 25, he was noticed by the factory director for his ability to write and draw, who wanted to transfer him to the management bureau for 'transforming workers into officials'. However, he calculated that the monthly bonuses of dozens of yuan from the factory were more substantial than the 'clean government office' of the bureau, so he politely declined the offer. It was only later that he realized that if he had gone to the bureau, he would likely have become a middle manager in a large state-owned enterprise, and at the very least, he wouldn’t have faced unemployment.
In the early 1990s, original shares were issued within the system at one yuan per share, and his family could get over 10,000 shares. However, he was afraid that this 'virtual item' wouldn’t be listed and would lose money, so he eventually transferred his shares and made a little profit. Within two years, the stocks were listed, opening at over 20 yuan, missing out on an opportunity to increase several times.
Around 1995, when housing reform reached their system in Beijing, based on years of service, a two-bedroom welfare apartment could be bought for a maximum of 30,000 yuan. However, he was fixated on the bank interest rate of over 10%: saving 30,000 yuan for a year would earn 3,000 yuan, meaning buying a house would actually result in a loss; renting a public house only cost dozens of yuan a month, totaling just a few hundred yuan a year. Now, that house, if it had ownership rights, would be worth several million.
In 2000, when the unit was losing money, they were given two options: keep the job with the lowest living allowance or buy out their years of service for a few tens of thousands and be laid off. He chose the latter, wanting to start his own business, but ended up losing everything in less than a year. Later, the unit was reformed into a super large state-owned enterprise through mergers, and all the laid-off employees returned to their positions, except for him.
In 2009, when his wife's family’s homestead was demolished, each person was entitled to a 50 square meter relocation house based on their household registration. Other families had already moved their registrations, but he felt that doing so was like 'marrying into another family', which he found embarrassing; not only did he not move his own registration, but he also had his wife's registration moved out. In the end, the demolition compensation and relocation house only went to his father-in-law, and their family of three gained nothing.
Now, his son, in his 30s and unmarried, lives with the family of five cramped in an old, dilapidated two-bedroom apartment without ownership rights. The unit had long transferred ownership rights to the asset company, making it impossible to buy. His older brother asked a few times if it would be okay to gather a couple of hundred thousand for a down payment to buy a house for his son. Where could they buy? What about the current public housing?
I didn’t even know how to respond and could only let him choose for himself. Having made too many mistakes, I just hoped this time it would be right. It turned out that life is full of choices, and often, it is truly more important than hard work.