A Letter to My Parents
Mom and Dad:
Remember in June when I lost a friend? There I was, 19 years old and sticking to your side like I hadn’t done since I was young, grasping at any and all distractions to keep me from having to stare the fallout of miscommunication in the eye. We never talked about it, but I think you knew that I couldn’t lean on people like I would have if the world hadn’t fallen to pieces, and so you took their place with an ease that caught me by surprise.
Growing up, I had taken note of how the breadth of our conversation topics kept waning until, at some point, all we would talk about was school and what was to come after it; I thought that was how it was and how it was to remain for the foreseeable future, merely accepting it as an unshakeable fact. I never took the time to reflect on my part in forming our divide or how I could bridge it—even when shelter-in-place orders had been enacted and we were all home, it took the pain of breaking off a friendship to finally draw me out of my room and reticent tendencies.
But despite the distance my teenage years had forged between us, you were still prepared to share your wisdom and perspective-shifting experiences at a moment’s notice. I asked about your lives, about all you did before and after you moved across an entire ocean, and though it wasn’t your intention, hearing about the sacrifices you made and hardships you endured worked to largely eclipse my own troubles.
Though I had some half-semblance of an idea about how difficult it was for you two to make the move from China to the United States, my guesses landed far from the truth. If it weren’t for your telling me, I wouldn’t have fathomed how many nights you stayed awake, Mom, wishing that your parents lived only a mere train ride from you again, or that you, Dad, took the risk of going to Stanford without being able to pay your tuition and were faced with two options: knock on every professor’s door to hunt down work or be forced to return home. You two always seemed to stand so tall that I could hardly believe you ever felt that low.
And beyond all of the experiences you’ve gone to great lengths to make sure I won’t share, you both have lived lives full of moments that transcend generational differences. You’ve loved, you’ve lost, you’ve done your best to shape your own roles in the world, and, though this hasn’t been apparent to me, you’ve never been sure of what the future would bring. It’s difficult to accept and appreciate advice from those who don’t seem to understand, so it was all too relieving to know that, despite the numerous disparities in our lives, you still did.
It’s to my wholehearted chagrin that I hadn’t bothered to ask you much about yourselves before, as if you had no stories to tell and no lessons to offer, but I’m glad to have heard them now. They did so much to humanize you because while knowing of your successes has molded my own ambitions, being aware of your pain and failures acts as an assurance that your paths were not paved in perfection and that my stumbles are not death sentences.
You work so hard to give me shoulders to sit on, bringing me that much closer to attaining my goals, and you care so much in ensuring I don’t fall off. Thank you for bearing the burden and remaining so stalwart year after year and for spending lost time with me. I hope to make you proud, and I can’t wait to see you again.
