I was having a conversation with him about how he was treating me like a kid even though I was in my late twenties. I had written my parents a letter about my appreciation for them, and also some strains we have in our relationship. Not very many parents will take the extra steps of putting their kids through math prep school, weekend Chinese school, SAT classes, and college. I hope we can cultivate an adult-to-adult relationship through better communication and understanding. I know it is not easy for you to think of me as an adult, but the reality is that I am grown up now and I can make my own decisions, big or small. My father called me after reading my letter.
For My Asian Mom, Feeding Me “Everything” Was An Act Of Love
What Would My White Family Think About Anti-Asian Racism? | Time
Skip navigation! Story from Home. Once upon a time , my mother told me when I was a child, a spoiled merchant lived at the bottom of a tall mountain. Grains of uncooked rice fell on the floor when he cooked, but he never bothered to pick them up. At the top of the mountain lived his neighbor, a monk.
The Talk My Chinese Parents Never Had With Me
When one young woman asked for life advice in an online forum she got supportive messages from all over the world. I never thought that when I posted about how lonely I felt on social media that I would get responses from all over the world. All of a sudden, I had people giving me advice and offering to be my friend, and many of them said they felt the same way too, from time to time. I was feeling really lost when I wrote an anonymous essay in a Facebook group called Subtle Asian Traits. I felt that the people in the group might be able to understand me, because we're all from a similar cultural background.
F or the last year, and especially since the devastating Atlanta-area murders on March 16, many of my Asian American friends have been sharing deeply personal, painful stories of talking with their parents and elders, pleading with them to take care, being exhorted to be careful in turn. Would they understand why I cried when I told my own Korean American daughters about the spa shootings? Would I have reached out to them during this past hard, heavy week, or held back, uncertain of how to share my fear and rage as the only Asian in my white family? My parents loved and would have done anything within their power for me. But one thing they struggled to do, at least fully and consistently, was to see and understand me as a Korean American woman.