I used to feel extremely weird saying “I love you” to my parents in Vietnamese. I can count on my fingers the number of time I said it out loud. And it feels just as strange to be on the receiving end of it.
Maybe it’s part of how we Asian expressed love through anything but words
You know the 5 love languages by Dr. Gary Chapman? Words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch. I only got two: acts of service, and gifts. They talk a lot about those Vietnamese refugees who fled their own country and struggled to build a life in America. I don’t deny that. Thing is, the people who stayed did not necessarily have an amazing life either. An ended war doesn’t mean lives and homes of millions are magically rebuilt and we just move on.
Our parents were born during the war — witnessing destruction and loss. They grew up seeing the years of reformation — experiencing scarcity and at times, poverty.
Our parents worked, saved, and spent most of it sending us to school overseas, probably so that we will never have to go through what they once did. You know, I used to hate my dad for never spending that much time with me as he is now with his granddaughter. Yes, call me a jealous aunt, but seeing my father loving and caring so much for my niece, I was wondering why I didn’t get it. It felt unfair, and I felt deceived, as if he was giving me a subpar version of love while he is capable of so much more.
It took a few months and a couple of conversations with people for me to realize one thing:
My father has always been capable of love, he just never had the choice to show it all back then
It was hard to make ends meet in Hanoi — a new city that my family moved to and barely had any connections. He had 4 kids to raise, and he didn’t want us to live a life where we felt like didn’t have options. He went to the South of Vietnam alone to work for a few years, away from us.
Every time he was back, dad would bring me gifts and take me out to buy whatever I wanted. He rebuilt his career and somehow, gave us the means to live comfortably, study overseas. And even until now, my father tells me that I could do whatever job as long as I’m happy and healthy, because he’s always got my back.
I don’t know exactly what it took for our parents to get here, but one sure thing is their sacrifice was made through time, efforts, money, and some point, probably even morals. Amid all of this, how could one have time to say I love you, hang out with their kids, hug and see them off to bed every evening?
His love was not perfect, but he did the best he could.
And that’s the most important thing to me. Whenever my dad says “love you” in his text, I just reply with a bunch of heart emojis. The other day, when I texted him: “I love you lots” for the first time in 26 years, he didn’t say much, and it’s okay. It’s okay that when the other says I love you, neither of us are comfortable saying it back, because deep down, we always do.
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