I don’t understand sometimes why people have kids. What their true reasons are. Supposedly, at a point in your life, you want to pro-create to feel like your life is worth something. So then maybe it’s a selfish reason. I know that in Asian culture, having children means having someone to take care of you, to give back, and it’s expected that this happens. Loving is not enough. The pure emotion of caring for someone unconditionally is just not enough. It has to be proven or demonstrated through the acts of giving either in favors or household chores, or later in monetary means by buying things for your parents. Sometimes it’s by giving your family name a positive reputation by being successful. What the hell is being successful anyway? Having a big house? Making a lot of money? Being on national TV? Playing golf? The Laotian community thrives on gossip and I’m sick of it. I want out.
What first-generation children experience is something that isn’t easily understood, especially if your parents are not native English speakers that constantly rely on you. To interpret everything. To make calls, read mail, be their voice when possible. I cringe at the strong opinions of those who feel that people who can’t speak the language should not be allowed to live in this country. The United States is seen as this land of opportunity. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my parents fleeing Communism in Laos allowing me to have a better life. And here I am, just waiting on the day to flee from them. I am thankful for what I have but sometimes, I wish life didn’t have to be this way.
I constantly feel like I am living these two lives side by side. There’s the free life I want to have, to just do as I please and be an American kid. Is that so much to ask for? But then I’m tied down to this other life that reminds me that I can’t just do that. At the end of the day, I have a home that I return to where I’m supposed to be a good daughter that brings home good grades, cleans the house, and does as told. Parents and kids are never on the same wavelength. For 22 years, there have been arguments, tears shed, and misunderstandings, not to mention the overly-abused guilt trip that gets tossed around. Perhaps it’s true that I will never understand the mentality of what my parents want for me until I have children of my own some day.
I write today to vent and to share a lifestyle that is less common. As always, comments are welcome, but please know I’m not looking for a solution.
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