I was telling Z that one of my hopes for Australia is that I land a wealthy partner. I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own and that I’ll eventually make enough money, but still I worry. I’m afraid of my future kids seeing the kind of poverty I did. Given how almost all the wealthy white boys I’ve met at Timeless Lijiang have had eyes on me at some point and that I’m an Ivy League bitch, I think it’s a feasible goal.

Z laughed. We’ve all been hoping the same for you, she told me. We all want you to land a 金龟婿. Marrying into wealth sets your finances forward by at least ten years.

She, my other Chinese friends, and my immigrant friends understand because we, children of second and third world nations, have heard stories of hardship from our parents or seen them ourselves. But these are admissions I largely keep to myself because so many would judge and call me gold digger. In this world, being a poor woman of color as a sin in of itself. Gods forbid you use means other than the education system that excludes people like you to find a way to survive.