I have crises of confidence sometimes. I wonder if people look at me and underestimate me because I'm small and short. I wonder if people see me act cute and silly (and hear me whine) and think less of me. I wonder if they find out about my passion for cheesy Asian pop music and dismiss me as flighty, frivolous, young.
I think that's part of why I work so hard sometimes, to prove them wrong. (Another large part is for my parents, naturally, but you've heard that one before.) Of course, this could be my paranoia speaking; there could be no "them" to look down on me--and even if there were, they shouldn't matter. I shouldn't worry so much about the opinions of people who don't know me, since "those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind", after all.
Still, a part of me takes pride in being able to tell people that I'm a double major with a minor, that I'm graduating a year early, that I'm going to law school. Somehow, it makes me feel like I'm proving their assumptions wrong, that despite what they think, I have accomplishments I can take pride in. It should be the case anyway, I know. I can be proud of myself without having to prove myself to anyone. But this is how I am: I validate myself according to others. (I really shouldn't.)
I'm a paradox. I want to be both cute and endearing as well as respected and admired. I want to be doted on while at the same time being treated as an independent, capable, accomplished adult. I like to be hugged and cooed over, to be teased affectionately, but I want to wow people at the same time. I look with envy at the girls who walk around in their peacoats and matching outfits (scarves, gloves, hats), and their clicking heels (boots or otherwise). I want to be able to be perfectly put-together like that, all the time--to look professional and feminine and like I can handle anything that comes at me. Part of me wonders if they sacrifice comfort for fashion, but another part of me thinks it might be worth it. Then another part of me thinks that I only think that way because I'm insecure about myself--body, height, personality, accomplishments--and I feel like the only way to assert myself as a female adult is to dress like one. Honestly, if I had confidence, I wouldn't worry so much about appearances because I would trust the world to be able to tell exactly how much I was capable of.
But I don't know how much I'm capable of. I wonder if it (everything) is enough. I wonder if I will be treated like a child for the rest of my life. I can't help feeling that way when I'm reaffirmed in my fears every time I go home--outside of my parents, who are excused for treating me like a child (in some ways), every adult I've known since I was in eighth grade will forever treat me as if I'm still in middle school or (possibly) high school. I will forever be young, naive, inexperienced--and perhaps in comparison to them I am but it's an oppressive feeling to be treated as if you are eternally in eighth grade.
I'm not sure how to resolve this contradiction in my needs, but at least I can tell you that no matter my childishness (it's interesting how that word has negative connotations whereas "childlike" conveys something much more positive), I am not a child. I may still be growing up, but I am also grown up.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
reflecting yourself in the world around you
It's true that you choose your friends and that they reflect the kind of person you are. Many of my friends are Asian and many of those who aren't are at least interested in Asian culture--I never realized how true this was, how much I took it for granted, until I came into work last night with some bubble tea and was asked by at least three different people (co-worker, customer, and manager) what it was.
Not only had they never had it, they'd never even heard of it.
With globalization so prevalent in the U.S. (the "melting pot" of cultures) and especially while attending such a liberal, diverse university, I'd made the mistake of thinking that everyone had equal exposure to cultures that I had. It's not true. They don't know all that I know, that I take for granted--and the same is true in reverse. What do I really know about French or Norwegian culture, for example? I have no French or Norwegian friends. I have no friends who are so immersed in those cultures that they would teach me by virtue of acquaintance.
Sometimes it's startling to realize how different my frame of reference regarding the world is compared to other people's. It's difficult to take a step outside of the box and trying to see yourself from the outside looking in, rather than from the inside looking out. The viewpoints are startlingly different. (It's like finding out you're in a clique. What, really? When did this happen?)
This was a reminder to me to pay attention to the world outside of my ostensibly open-minded and broad perspective of Western vs. non-Western cultures. There is more to the West than just U.S., and there is more to non-Western culture than just Asia. While I may have an advantage over others in my knowledge and familiarity with aspects of Asian culture, there is still a whole wide world out there of knowledge I don't have, and could learn.
Reach out. Teach what you know and be receptive to everything you don't.
Not only had they never had it, they'd never even heard of it.
With globalization so prevalent in the U.S. (the "melting pot" of cultures) and especially while attending such a liberal, diverse university, I'd made the mistake of thinking that everyone had equal exposure to cultures that I had. It's not true. They don't know all that I know, that I take for granted--and the same is true in reverse. What do I really know about French or Norwegian culture, for example? I have no French or Norwegian friends. I have no friends who are so immersed in those cultures that they would teach me by virtue of acquaintance.
Sometimes it's startling to realize how different my frame of reference regarding the world is compared to other people's. It's difficult to take a step outside of the box and trying to see yourself from the outside looking in, rather than from the inside looking out. The viewpoints are startlingly different. (It's like finding out you're in a clique. What, really? When did this happen?)
This was a reminder to me to pay attention to the world outside of my ostensibly open-minded and broad perspective of Western vs. non-Western cultures. There is more to the West than just U.S., and there is more to non-Western culture than just Asia. While I may have an advantage over others in my knowledge and familiarity with aspects of Asian culture, there is still a whole wide world out there of knowledge I don't have, and could learn.
Reach out. Teach what you know and be receptive to everything you don't.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
looking back and looking forward
So it's 2008 now.
This is the year I graduate and, hopefully, attend law school. It's strange to reflect on the past year; as I was doing so, I realized that I have a tendency to separate my years by the academic calendar, rather than the solar calendar. When I said a month ago, for example, that I hadn't seen M since last year, I meant that I hadn't seen her since my sophomore year: May 2007. It hadn't been an actual calendar year, of course.
When I include my spring semester of my sophomore year, and the summer, 2007 seems much longer than it does otherwise. I've grown a lot this year because I think it's one of the things you can't help; you end up a little wiser every year, if only because life happens to you. Life happens and you learn.
Though not perfect by any means, I really think the previous semester has been one of my best. Not academically (there were still two Bs more than I would have liked) or even socially (there could have been a lot less drama in a lot of areas), but overall, it was a good semester. I remember most of it fondly: work was fantastic, because I had fun and grew closer to people and got a raise; I met new friends that I grew immeasurably close to; I had fun with my non-academic time; and I learned how to study. That's probably the most key experience of my semester--learning how to manage my time, how to step out of my comfort zone and talk to professors, how to be more effective when I took notes, how to find a place that maximized my studying capacity...
I pulled a few all-nighters, yes. I stressed out, yes. But I really think I learned how to manage my time well this past semester and that made me happy. Certain sacrifices were required, whether in sleep or in free time or in getting to read books for fun, but I think they were worth it.
There are still a lot of areas in my life and in myself that I would like to improve, but 2007 was good to me. I started off the year in a state of panic, in dismay, but I grew over the summer and throughout the fall semester. I had a wonderful December. I ended the year happy with my growth as a person, which is something that did not come easily to me before. I still have doubts and anxieties and clawing, consuming fear of inadequacy sometimes, but I am much happier with who I am now than I was a year ago.
What else could I ask for? I hope 2008 will bring more of the same.
For all my joking protests, I don't really mind growing up, even if it takes some effort.
This is the year I graduate and, hopefully, attend law school. It's strange to reflect on the past year; as I was doing so, I realized that I have a tendency to separate my years by the academic calendar, rather than the solar calendar. When I said a month ago, for example, that I hadn't seen M since last year, I meant that I hadn't seen her since my sophomore year: May 2007. It hadn't been an actual calendar year, of course.
When I include my spring semester of my sophomore year, and the summer, 2007 seems much longer than it does otherwise. I've grown a lot this year because I think it's one of the things you can't help; you end up a little wiser every year, if only because life happens to you. Life happens and you learn.
Though not perfect by any means, I really think the previous semester has been one of my best. Not academically (there were still two Bs more than I would have liked) or even socially (there could have been a lot less drama in a lot of areas), but overall, it was a good semester. I remember most of it fondly: work was fantastic, because I had fun and grew closer to people and got a raise; I met new friends that I grew immeasurably close to; I had fun with my non-academic time; and I learned how to study. That's probably the most key experience of my semester--learning how to manage my time, how to step out of my comfort zone and talk to professors, how to be more effective when I took notes, how to find a place that maximized my studying capacity...
I pulled a few all-nighters, yes. I stressed out, yes. But I really think I learned how to manage my time well this past semester and that made me happy. Certain sacrifices were required, whether in sleep or in free time or in getting to read books for fun, but I think they were worth it.
There are still a lot of areas in my life and in myself that I would like to improve, but 2007 was good to me. I started off the year in a state of panic, in dismay, but I grew over the summer and throughout the fall semester. I had a wonderful December. I ended the year happy with my growth as a person, which is something that did not come easily to me before. I still have doubts and anxieties and clawing, consuming fear of inadequacy sometimes, but I am much happier with who I am now than I was a year ago.
What else could I ask for? I hope 2008 will bring more of the same.
For all my joking protests, I don't really mind growing up, even if it takes some effort.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
it's not easy being a girl
I wonder if I don't sometimes make feminists cry. Why? Well, I wouldn't mind growing up and being someone's housewife, for one. My mom tells me I'd regret it, but I don't think I would. I like being domestic, as strange as it may sound: I like cooking and cleaning and caring for children. Well, to an extent, but to an extent where I'd be willing to stay at home if my husband was okay with it and if he made good money.
I like chivalry too. I think "ladies first" is a wonderful tradition, and I think guys should hold doors open for girls and pay for dates. In return, girls should look pretty and flatter the guy and generally be pleasant company (your sex is a weapon if you know how to use it right). I don't think guys are superior to girls, no, but I think that we're different, and thus we can't be equal in all respects.
Guys have superior physical strength, fact of life. I'm okay with that. I'd like to know how to defend myself and how to change my own tire (though everyone I've told that to has only laughed at me and told me to call AAA instead), but I'm okay with relying on a guy for that too. I can be independent without turning down offers of help, can't I?
I wouldn't mind being rich and powerful by my own right. I wouldn't mind being the adored eye-candy hanging off some hot guy's arm either, really. As long as I was adored, you know. Love puts a different spin on things.
I wonder if this is making some people reconsider what they know of me. I'm not misogynist, I promise, though sometimes I think I'd rather have been a guy. One particular instance of this is: can girls even pop and lock? Am I wasting my time tryiing to master this? Man.
I like chivalry too. I think "ladies first" is a wonderful tradition, and I think guys should hold doors open for girls and pay for dates. In return, girls should look pretty and flatter the guy and generally be pleasant company (your sex is a weapon if you know how to use it right). I don't think guys are superior to girls, no, but I think that we're different, and thus we can't be equal in all respects.
Guys have superior physical strength, fact of life. I'm okay with that. I'd like to know how to defend myself and how to change my own tire (though everyone I've told that to has only laughed at me and told me to call AAA instead), but I'm okay with relying on a guy for that too. I can be independent without turning down offers of help, can't I?
I wouldn't mind being rich and powerful by my own right. I wouldn't mind being the adored eye-candy hanging off some hot guy's arm either, really. As long as I was adored, you know. Love puts a different spin on things.
I wonder if this is making some people reconsider what they know of me. I'm not misogynist, I promise, though sometimes I think I'd rather have been a guy. One particular instance of this is: can girls even pop and lock? Am I wasting my time tryiing to master this? Man.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
building a social hierarchy
I was studying for my Geography midterm tomorrow today. In the East Asia chapter of my book, I read about China, Japan, and Korea and their various economic, cultural, and social constructs. As I was reading, I thought about Japan's senpai-kouhai system, Korea's sunbae-dongsaeng system, and then wondered why China didn't have something like that.
This whole idea--it's probably a cultural thing, structured by an Asian society and way of thinking, and I understand that. What makes me marvel is how I've been influenced by this culture even an entire ocean and continent away, because I want that kind of social hierarchy structure. I want to be someone's 姐姐, someone's お姉さん, someone's 언니 or 누나. I want to be someone's 先輩 or 선배. Furthermore, I also want to be someone's 妹妹 or 後輩, 동생.
Is it unnatural? Shouldn't we stress equality for all? It certainly seems to be the Western viewpoint, especially in the United States, but I don't see how supporting a lowerclassman-upperclassman, junior-senior hierarchical system contradicts the belief of equality. Truth be told, people are not equal: we are too different, and our age and experiences and personalities set us apart from each other. We may be equal in that no one of us is worth more or less than any other of us, but we are not equal in regards to experience. That is why we do accord respect to "those who came before", to our seniors. That is why I think this social construct is not necessarily a bad thing--not scandalous or outrageous or oppressive or demeaning. It might even be beneficial.
And I want it. I want that kind of system of support and encouragement, of mentoring and advice, of respect and submission. I want this kind of structure in my life, where I know exactly where I fit in, exactly where I stand in my relationships with other people, especially those I don't know well (since, obviously, family and friendship transcend this basic hierarchy).
I wonder what someone thoroughly Western would think of this opinion. I've shared these thoughts with people before (V and A, off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are others), but they were all Asian. They were both familiar with the type of relationship structure I was talking about and in general agreement with my opinion. I really do think it's an Asian mindset, the result of cultural influence. Am I wrong? Am I strange for wanting this?
This whole idea--it's probably a cultural thing, structured by an Asian society and way of thinking, and I understand that. What makes me marvel is how I've been influenced by this culture even an entire ocean and continent away, because I want that kind of social hierarchy structure. I want to be someone's 姐姐, someone's お姉さん, someone's 언니 or 누나. I want to be someone's 先輩 or 선배. Furthermore, I also want to be someone's 妹妹 or 後輩, 동생.
Is it unnatural? Shouldn't we stress equality for all? It certainly seems to be the Western viewpoint, especially in the United States, but I don't see how supporting a lowerclassman-upperclassman, junior-senior hierarchical system contradicts the belief of equality. Truth be told, people are not equal: we are too different, and our age and experiences and personalities set us apart from each other. We may be equal in that no one of us is worth more or less than any other of us, but we are not equal in regards to experience. That is why we do accord respect to "those who came before", to our seniors. That is why I think this social construct is not necessarily a bad thing--not scandalous or outrageous or oppressive or demeaning. It might even be beneficial.
And I want it. I want that kind of system of support and encouragement, of mentoring and advice, of respect and submission. I want this kind of structure in my life, where I know exactly where I fit in, exactly where I stand in my relationships with other people, especially those I don't know well (since, obviously, family and friendship transcend this basic hierarchy).
I wonder what someone thoroughly Western would think of this opinion. I've shared these thoughts with people before (V and A, off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are others), but they were all Asian. They were both familiar with the type of relationship structure I was talking about and in general agreement with my opinion. I really do think it's an Asian mindset, the result of cultural influence. Am I wrong? Am I strange for wanting this?
Sunday, December 9, 2007
let's enforce that 2m personal bubble, shall we?
Today I would like to share with you my thoughts on Public Displays of Affection.
Sometimes, I think it's cute--this is in limited quantities of hand-holding and hugs and maybe a quick kiss on the cheek or on the mouth. Something fleeting and small, but indicative of great depth of feeling. That's sweet and makes me want some affection like that for myself.
Sometimes, I think people need to remember that they're in public and that not everyone around them wants to see just How Very Close They Are. You might be sleeping with each other, but I don't care, and I don't want the fact shoved in my face with your groping and your teasing body language and your multitude of endless, sloppy kisses. I'm not that interested in being a voyeur, thanks.
And sometimes, I think people need to get the fuck off each other and get back to studying for their exams. Hey, you want sit down at the table right across from me in Davis? Fine. You want to start making out in front of me for half a freaking hour? I am less okay with this. I am so much less okay with this that I am tempted to look up facts about STIs and read them aloud, or maybe find a painful description of some disgusting medical procedure and read that out loud. If you came to Davis to study, then study, and if you came here to grope each other, FIND ANOTHER FUCKING TABLE. You don't even have to get a room. You just need to remove yourself from my table and from my sight. Find a convenient shelf fifty meters down, if need be, but leave the sanctity of my study table alone.
There might be thoughts about my personal comfort level of physical affection later, when I am less inclined to throw sharp, heavy objects at people whom I hope fail their exams because they will be spending all their time thinking about sucking face and not pre-1600 Russian history or organic chemistry.
Not that I'm vindictive or anything. What gave you that idea?
Sometimes, I think it's cute--this is in limited quantities of hand-holding and hugs and maybe a quick kiss on the cheek or on the mouth. Something fleeting and small, but indicative of great depth of feeling. That's sweet and makes me want some affection like that for myself.
Sometimes, I think people need to remember that they're in public and that not everyone around them wants to see just How Very Close They Are. You might be sleeping with each other, but I don't care, and I don't want the fact shoved in my face with your groping and your teasing body language and your multitude of endless, sloppy kisses. I'm not that interested in being a voyeur, thanks.
And sometimes, I think people need to get the fuck off each other and get back to studying for their exams. Hey, you want sit down at the table right across from me in Davis? Fine. You want to start making out in front of me for half a freaking hour? I am less okay with this. I am so much less okay with this that I am tempted to look up facts about STIs and read them aloud, or maybe find a painful description of some disgusting medical procedure and read that out loud. If you came to Davis to study, then study, and if you came here to grope each other, FIND ANOTHER FUCKING TABLE. You don't even have to get a room. You just need to remove yourself from my table and from my sight. Find a convenient shelf fifty meters down, if need be, but leave the sanctity of my study table alone.
There might be thoughts about my personal comfort level of physical affection later, when I am less inclined to throw sharp, heavy objects at people whom I hope fail their exams because they will be spending all their time thinking about sucking face and not pre-1600 Russian history or organic chemistry.
Not that I'm vindictive or anything. What gave you that idea?
Friday, December 7, 2007
you're the only one i want
I meant to make an endeavor to rediscover my holiday spirit last night but studying for today's Philosophy exam took precedence over listening to Christmas music and writing Christmas cards. Now that I've more or less completed my studying, I turned to trawling the internet for Asianified Christmas songs that would put me back in the spirit of things. I have a 526MB folder of Christmas music in English and instrumentals (15 versions of "Carol of the Bells" - why, yes, it is my favorite holiday song, why do you ask?), but despite importing it back into my iTunes mid-November, it did very little to sweep me away with the usual holiday cheer.
There's just something about Kpop songs that makes the most traditional Christmas songs so much more fun - probably because I am on a huge Korean music kick at the moment, but I love their (attempts at) English, the mandatory rap break, and how utterly poppy everything is. I've always been a pop girl at heart and I'm no longer afraid to admit it. I don't like most hardcore rock, metal, alternative, emo, punk, whatever music. Some of the songs aren't bad, but those are the exceptions that prove the rule: I'm a cheesy pop music lover and it's good this way. I like it loud, cheerful, fast-paced, fun to dance to. Even better if it happens to be Christmas-themed.
What does that say about me? Your taste in music is supposed to reflect your personality, isn't it? Well, I assume it means that I have little patience for overly-tragic, sad, slow songs (again, exceptions that prove the rule, but on the whole, they tend to annoy me because I lose interest in the dwelling on heartbreak). It means I like to be entertained, that I like to feel good, and that I think focusing on the more cheerful things in life beats lingering over the bad things. It means I occasionally like to (pretend to) be more hardcore than I usually am, maybe displaying a side most people wouldn't expect (especially when I'm angry or frustrated). It means that I don't mind not being able to understand the lyrics to what I listen to, that it's the music and the beat that matter more (though I've realized knowing the lyrics to a song can really transform the way I understand or appreciate the song). It also reflects the importance I place on nostalgia: there are a few songs I would never like the way I do if they weren't attached to very sharp, specific memories.
I also tend to like songs more and more if I've heard good things about them, if I listen to them a lot, or if I really like the performances.
(OIn a completely different note, I've been typing so much in Word for final review and essays that it's become instinct to hit Ctrl+S every few minutes, which I've caught myself doing just now and also on AIM last night.)
There's just something about Kpop songs that makes the most traditional Christmas songs so much more fun - probably because I am on a huge Korean music kick at the moment, but I love their (attempts at) English, the mandatory rap break, and how utterly poppy everything is. I've always been a pop girl at heart and I'm no longer afraid to admit it. I don't like most hardcore rock, metal, alternative, emo, punk, whatever music. Some of the songs aren't bad, but those are the exceptions that prove the rule: I'm a cheesy pop music lover and it's good this way. I like it loud, cheerful, fast-paced, fun to dance to. Even better if it happens to be Christmas-themed.
What does that say about me? Your taste in music is supposed to reflect your personality, isn't it? Well, I assume it means that I have little patience for overly-tragic, sad, slow songs (again, exceptions that prove the rule, but on the whole, they tend to annoy me because I lose interest in the dwelling on heartbreak). It means I like to be entertained, that I like to feel good, and that I think focusing on the more cheerful things in life beats lingering over the bad things. It means I occasionally like to (pretend to) be more hardcore than I usually am, maybe displaying a side most people wouldn't expect (especially when I'm angry or frustrated). It means that I don't mind not being able to understand the lyrics to what I listen to, that it's the music and the beat that matter more (though I've realized knowing the lyrics to a song can really transform the way I understand or appreciate the song). It also reflects the importance I place on nostalgia: there are a few songs I would never like the way I do if they weren't attached to very sharp, specific memories.
I also tend to like songs more and more if I've heard good things about them, if I listen to them a lot, or if I really like the performances.
(OIn a completely different note, I've been typing so much in Word for final review and essays that it's become instinct to hit Ctrl+S every few minutes, which I've caught myself doing just now and also on AIM last night.)
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
the different definitions of filial care
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)