A Love for Generations
By: Alice Liu
Tags: Family, Asian American, Love, Parents

Parental love may not be the first thing you think of when you think about love, but it can be foundational in beginning to understand and experience love. For me, that was definitely the case, but growing up, I also struggled to define what love was with my parents.

My mom and dad grew up in Taiwan and immigrated to the States in the mid-80s. By that time, their cultural values had long solidified from their own familial experiences and the societal norms they grew up with. Their concept of love was hard — rooted in survival, familial pride, and tradition — as opposed to the Western concept of something soft and warm. Love was not doled individually but simply in the air of the home. It didn’t need to be explicitly said because it was in every action — the food cooked, the scolding, the strict rules, the structure of the household.

They carried these values with them and once they had me, my parents infused a lot of the same values into my upbringing, though to a much lesser degree. Some of the traditional values once upheld were discarded because my parents adapted with the times and to the new community they were in. For example, both my mom and dad were much more involved in my schooling and in general more open and communicative with me than their parents were with them. Despite the changes they made, as a child the parental love I experienced felt fairly indirect compared to those of my classmates.

The love I imagined involved coming home to baked cookies, warm sweaters, and comforting figures who asked me about school and hugged me on bad days. I knew that my parents cared — they always made sure I ate and encouraged me to take on extracurriculars, but we rarely spoke about my social life or matters of the heart. I think communication to that depth was a little uncomfortable and not exactly typical in daily life for them; meanwhile, I had incorporated “I love you” early on into my vocabulary thanks to Barney. TV, movies, and classmates shouting the words as they slammed the car doors on school mornings also reinforced these professions of love as commonplace.

Growing up in America, it seemed that one of the primary ways to build relationships and express oneself was through direct, verbal communication. From Socratic seminars to long phone calls, I relied on words to build trust, respect, and understanding in the classroom and among friends. My relationship with my parents however, was not built on words and because of that certain details were left unfilled; but when I looked at friends’ relationships, it seemed to be those details that mattered. Their parents knew what tests they had coming up and helped them prepare, or who they had a crush on and tried to give relationship advice. Could my parents and I have a foundation of love without those daily details? It hurt because it seemed like they never got to know who I was, what I cared about, and the people who mattered to me. If they didn’t know these details, did they even really know me?

It’s true that my parents don’t know me as well as some of my friends and probably never will, but I’ve realized, that is okay. Through this thought exercise, I’ve learned a lot about what I need to feel loved and supported and what my own definition of love is. While I do still wish occasionally that they could support me in the ways I would want, I have come to understand and accept that they have a different concept of love. Similar to their experience of parental love, our relationship was built on struggle and sacrifice — their love for me was in the things they did and the things I have. It took me a while to feel what I could not hear and to realize love was in the freedom they gave me to choose who I was. They may not know all aspects of who I am but they raised me with values and morals to be someone who others love and more importantly, I can love; and that is more than I could have asked for.