Two months ago, I read an article on Songket Alliance that really resonated with me;
I should not and would not expect my kids to return the ‘favour’ and the cost of raising them; nor will I make them feel indebted to repay me by demanding a monthly allowance once they start earning, or expect them to take care of my bills and household necessities when I am old and weary. If I have raised them well as a person, they will do this readily without me having to ask them to, and in some cases I’ve heard of (horror!): by emotionally blackmailing them through the use of “I’m your mother/we’re your parents” card.
This Is Us is a beautiful series that centered on the Pearson's family as they unraveled their lives, struggles, losses, and sacrifices. I tend to have a soft spot when it comes to parenting and family in general. This is probably the second series that I've completed watching and bawled to at almost every episode. And I grew with it as I sat on the couch every night after work, binging one episode after another until I realised that it's time for bed again. I've always read beautiful reviews about the series but I always thought I've already had too much on my plate but damn, it broke me.
I've been quite open with how I felt about my family and parents with my friends, but never really quite talked about it with my own family. I guess this is normal? Even when I saw Marissa last year, I told her something and it was probably the last time I've ever heard myself said these words: "We just don't communicate. We don't know how to."
My parents never really knew how to communicate with us directly or effectively. We never sat down to discuss serious matters or have a family meeting, well not properly. I went through a period where I hated Facebook and Whatsapp. I hated what it did to us as a family. I hated Whatsapp for giving the platform for everyone to say things that were better confronted in person. Sometimes my parents still prefer to convey their feelings and thoughts via Whatsapp and Facebook, and indirectly forwarded photos or copy pasted stories. We have always been expected to read between the lines.
Nonetheless, I love my parents but there are days.. days that I couldn't.
In order to have a functional relationship with my parents, especially my mom, it would require a certain mental and emotional adjustment. Growing up, I've always felt bitter about my childhood. The affection that I have for my parents never came in naturally, rather rationally and only because.
My parents were both teachers, and I know that I didn't understand it then, but I do now. It's exhausting having to handle other people's children during the day and then expected to spare whatever energy they had left for their own kids at home. My dad is a man of few words, but my mom, she has all the words to either make or break your day. She has a tendency to let some of her words slipped when she's tired and stressed, and very often this almost always made me feel bad for my mere existence.
Even so, my parents are good people. They are.
As the second child out of six, the expectation put on me has always been heavy, but I never quite received the support I needed to succeed. Some parts work very strangely in our household. I grew up feeling detached from my family and myself. I was raised not to put myself in front of their needs and that's why being selfish often feels more like a guilt than self-fulfilment. My parents' way of explaining their expectations is always in a form of comparison, and this is the worst part because words cut like knives and wounds don't heal overnight. I'm always hurt.
I have cried nights, months and years trying to grasp the meaning of it all. Why were my parents so hard on me? Why am I not enough? Where is the love in this emotional and verbal abuse? Why me?
I was raised to be both hard and soft. Sensitive and stubborn at most. On top of it all though, I was raised to be independent. I had to go around and tried to make sense of life myself. I sat observing my family at the dinner table, and on every trip we've been to. I had to make mental notes of who they are, what ticks them off, and how to handle them when things go wrong. I didn't have the time to understand me and that's why I've been so critical of myself.
However, my parents worked very hard to give us a good life. We moved to our own house in 2002, provided us with private educations, food, clothing and so on. On the surface, we always seemed to have it all. We never came from a wealthy family. The fluctuating financial struggles we get from time to time have taught me to be financially wise and cautious. My parents have always poured out their concerns to me, even when I was very young, making it so emotionally hard to digest. I didn't know what I was supposed, and I didn't understand why they had told me everything. We had sold lands over lands just to make ends meet. My parents sometimes had to borrow money from their sibling, just so we could eat. And as soon as I had my own allowances, I had to give up the last of it so I could feed my siblings. I was 11 when it all started.
Imagine the rage and negativity that filled me over the years. I had to give up what I had for others, but why were they still so hard on me? Had I not done enough? I became angry and bitter. I hated my existence, and I was so mad at my parents. I was too young to go through all that. I was miserable and had always been so hard on myself. My mental health worsened and I got severely depressed over the years.
When I graduated, my parents weren't satisfied with my results. My degree was just a piece of paper and I would never make it to my Masters and who would want to hire a linguist, right? I have always been very stubborn, and I never wanted to be a teacher yet I've received a few offer to teach and turned them down immediately. This pissed my parents off. Being a teacher is a noble profession, and I would hate it to teach other people's children with my lack of skills in teaching, and understanding of the subject. I was and still am not in a position to be a good teacher.
Months passed, and I received both a job offer and an offer to do Masters in Management. I chose the first because it was only logical and a more responsible decision. I was lucky to land that job, but unlucky to have worked in a horrible place. I've talked about my forced resignation here.
As the second child out of six, the expectation put on me has always been heavy, but I never quite received the support I needed to succeed. Some parts work very strangely in our household. I grew up feeling detached from my family and myself. I was raised not to put myself in front of their needs and that's why being selfish often feels more like a guilt than self-fulfilment. My parents' way of explaining their expectations is always in a form of comparison, and this is the worst part because words cut like knives and wounds don't heal overnight. I'm always hurt.
I have cried nights, months and years trying to grasp the meaning of it all. Why were my parents so hard on me? Why am I not enough? Where is the love in this emotional and verbal abuse? Why me?
I was raised to be both hard and soft. Sensitive and stubborn at most. On top of it all though, I was raised to be independent. I had to go around and tried to make sense of life myself. I sat observing my family at the dinner table, and on every trip we've been to. I had to make mental notes of who they are, what ticks them off, and how to handle them when things go wrong. I didn't have the time to understand me and that's why I've been so critical of myself.
However, my parents worked very hard to give us a good life. We moved to our own house in 2002, provided us with private educations, food, clothing and so on. On the surface, we always seemed to have it all. We never came from a wealthy family. The fluctuating financial struggles we get from time to time have taught me to be financially wise and cautious. My parents have always poured out their concerns to me, even when I was very young, making it so emotionally hard to digest. I didn't know what I was supposed, and I didn't understand why they had told me everything. We had sold lands over lands just to make ends meet. My parents sometimes had to borrow money from their sibling, just so we could eat. And as soon as I had my own allowances, I had to give up the last of it so I could feed my siblings. I was 11 when it all started.
Imagine the rage and negativity that filled me over the years. I had to give up what I had for others, but why were they still so hard on me? Had I not done enough? I became angry and bitter. I hated my existence, and I was so mad at my parents. I was too young to go through all that. I was miserable and had always been so hard on myself. My mental health worsened and I got severely depressed over the years.
When I graduated, my parents weren't satisfied with my results. My degree was just a piece of paper and I would never make it to my Masters and who would want to hire a linguist, right? I have always been very stubborn, and I never wanted to be a teacher yet I've received a few offer to teach and turned them down immediately. This pissed my parents off. Being a teacher is a noble profession, and I would hate it to teach other people's children with my lack of skills in teaching, and understanding of the subject. I was and still am not in a position to be a good teacher.
Months passed, and I received both a job offer and an offer to do Masters in Management. I chose the first because it was only logical and a more responsible decision. I was lucky to land that job, but unlucky to have worked in a horrible place. I've talked about my forced resignation here.
I was not financially ready to be unemployed, and that fell heavy on me and my family. I have facilities to pay off but had no money. I took several part time jobs all at the same time, and was still indebted. I was poor. I didn't have the heart to ask money from my parents because I've known their struggles for years, but I never understood what it's like until then. Oh the shame, and guilt that filled me only pushed me harder to rather lose sleep so I could lessen their burden. I was a burden to them then, and yet my dad was so nice to help me. I have always overlooked this.
I hated myself for overlooking their efforts to make sure that we're alright.
When I did find a temporary job, the salary was only enough for me to cover my facilities. It would mean I had to sacrifice feeding myself over lunch. My mom would always cook something in the morning for my packed lunch. Yet, I've overlooked this for years. She did care for me and knew I was making an effort to get myself back on my feet.
I now have a stable job albeit unsecured. Sometimes my parents would still drop some hints here and there for us to share our income and I am not trying to be stingy or greedy but it sucks to see an empty bank account at the end of every month, and not being able to save. The number of cats has grown from 1 to 5, and almost 8 now. Everyone has long assumed that it was my responsibility to take care and feed all of them, but they never considered how much money this has cost me over the years. It's not simply about buying food and litter, it's also spending hundreds of dollars every time they get sick. So I've still been portrayed as the ungrateful one because of my choice to be stingy with my money but often overlooked for the amount of time I'd sacrificed having nothing to eat for an entire week so I could feed a household and a bunch of cats.
But is this post about me or my parents? I don't know.
I guess everything that has been going on in my life has taught me plenty. I learned to appreciate my parents, the nights they couldn't sleep soundly because they had run out of idea on where to find money, or having to make their children understand that we had to live on rice and egg for a while. As tough as they have always been with me, I'm glad I've learned not to put my pride and ego before them although I could've had.
I guess there is some sort of a balance in all these. You get what you give, you take what you get, you take what you deserve. It is confusing but it also makes sense. You can't expect someone to take care of you when you barely had taken care of them. Or something like that.
So my point here is that everyone has their own struggle, and sometimes we overlook that. There are so many people who are so good at putting on a mask. Everyone always seems alright on the surface. Especially your parents. Although you can't fulfill their demand for a monthly allowance, the least you could do is stop asking them for money. If you are capable of finding a job, whatever it may be, and however much you could earn, at the very least you have lessened their burden even if it's not so much of a difference. Everything can be made simple, it's always just us who tends to complicate our circumstance. Isn't that so?
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