I have two songs about mothers: one titled "妈妈 (Mama)" by Vanness Wu and the other "听妈妈的话 (Listen to Mama's Words)" by Jay Chou. In the first song, Vanness thanks his mother for working so hard, for having done so much for him, for the family, because raising him was not an easy task. It's about how he's grown up now, how he's finally realized how much work his mother has done, and he's telling her that it's okay, she can rest now, because he will take care of the family. The second song is Jay's advice to little children, telling them that they should listen to their moms because they'll understand later on, when they're grown up: they'll know why they run faster and fly higher than the other kids. Looking back, they'll cherish everything about their mother. He tells the little kids to listen to their mom and grow up fast so they can protect her.
Both of these songs have made me tear up. There's nothing more I've wanted since college to be able to take care of my parents. What they say about growing up and realizing how much your parents have done for you--it's true. It makes me grateful and regretful at the same time, because I feel like I could have, should have done so much better. I'd love to relive middle school or even high school, redo those years knowing what I know now. (But isn't hindsight always 20/20?)
I realized, while fixating on my own determination not to disappoint my parents, the different ideas of "care". V takes care of her family by being with them, by sharing their emotional pain, by physically taking care of them by cooking or helping with their workload or just with her presence alone. P is the same way. She takes care of her parents by shouldering more of their burden so they have a lighter load. She is on call for them, any time, because she prioritizes them above everything. It's incredibly touching to see.
When I encounter cases like that, I wonder if I shouldn't be more like them. I want to be there for my family, whether physically or emotionally. I want to be able to take care of them like that; it's an especially important duty as I grow older, and so do my parents. (I hate the reminders that they're human and that they age. It really terrifies me sometimes. But that's for another time.) But, in practice, my family doesn't work that way. Our system of care is an altered form of protection: I don't want you to worry about me, because it will add to your stress, so I will carry my own burdens and fix my own problems.
I don't tell my parents about the details of my life, like some of my friends do. I know most people aren't sharing every detail--"I went out partying last night, Mom, and got hit on by a creepy forty-year-old!"--with their parents, but mine know even less. They probably don't know what classes I'm taking next semester. I don't tell them when I stress out about my grades, about law school applications, about work or the sorority. Why? Because I don't want to worry them. They have enough going on as it is. The same is true in return. I don't know the day-to-day happenings of my family. I don't know when they're worried about the little things, like one of my brother's classes, or the big things, like family problems in China. Sometimes it hurts to find out after the fact, because I wanted to be there for them when they needed me--but they don't tell me these things to protect me; there's no need for me to worry about it when I can't do anything, when I should be focusing on my academics, they say.
The reason this system works is because of trust. My parents trust me to be responsible for my own life now: they trust me to choose my own classes, that they won't be frivolous but will fulfill major requirements; they trust me to take care of myself, to eat and sleep and wear a coat as needed; they trust me to do my best. It makes me want even more to never disappoint them, because this trust was not easily won--nor, I sometimes feel, entirely deserved. But I try, and I hope that one day, they will have every reason to boast to all their friends about me, because I graduated early, because I entered a prestigious law school, because I secured a well-paying job and was successful and happy and capable of taking care of them. I want to give them bragging rights to make up for a high school career that was not shoddy by any means (I'm not entirely out of touch with reality; a 1510 + 800 SAT score is at least one thing they can talk about, even if it really ends up having little relevance on the rest of my life), but was not nearly as spectacular as it could have (should have) been.
I take care of my parents by making sure they never have to worry about me, and making sure they can be proud of me, and making sure I can take care of them financially in the future.
Sometimes, though, I still want to take care of them physically and emotionally too. Let me be there.
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