What I inherited from my mother
I read once that it takes only two questions to really know a person: What do they respect most about their parents? What do they despise most about their parents? In these two questions, we have insight into what a person aspires to be and what they run away from.
When I was a child, there was a popular drama series, 真情 (A Kindred Spirit), playing on television. My mother watched it often, and she asked me to join her because she felt that there were good life lessons to learn from it. The show came on after my bed time, so I was always happy to watch because it meant I could stay up late.
I was probably seven then, and the first thing my mother taught me was that not everyone will like us, and it's okay. There was a character in the show that others disliked (or perhaps her romantic interest did not reciprocate her affections, I forget), and my mother pointed to her behavior. She told me that we shouldn't be desperate to earn other people's affection or attention. We can let go and move on if they don't like us.
As I grew older, my mother noticed my independence. She commented that I enjoyed being away from home, signing up for every school trip that meant I could be away for a day, a weekend, a week. She said that I could figure things out on my own. She told me a story about two friends from her youth — one friend was independent like me, and the other friend always needed help. They were both romantically interested in the same guy, and he chose to be with the one who needed help. She worried that I'd be like the independent friend — unchosen.
My mother described her younger self as a bookworm, preferring to stay home reading instead of going out socializing with friends. But her family always questioned why she was home, pressuring her to go out — so she did.
She married late, at 28, for a woman of her culture and generation. My dad was quite the catch; her family was impressed. My dad was handsome, healthy, and wealthy. In her words, he worked hard and was good to his parents, and she thought it was enough. It wasn't. She told me that it's important to find a partner I enjoy conversing with.
My mother loved working — being productive, learning, doing interesting things. But with three young unruly children, her father and my dad decided that nannies weren't good enough. She needed to quit her work, stay home, and care for us. She was miserable.
My dad was frugal. Without her own income, my mother was entirely dependent on my dad. They argued often over money. I saw him cry once. She accused him of never giving her enough, of being detached from the reality of how much things cost. He named her 錢錢, accusing her of only loving money. She told me that after she clothed us, she didn't have enough to clothe herself. Enough for the bills and the kids, but there was nothing left over for her. I grew up watching their relationship deteriorate. As a teen, I didn't ask for money. I wore the same clothes to school daily. My friends gave me bits of their lunch. V's mom sometimes packed a little extra for me.
When my sister was 10, my mother completed college and received her bachelor's degree — the first in her family. She said she needed it for when she went back to work, because it's been a decade. And back to work she went. She had an income again, beholden to no one.
Today, my mom has a closet full of luxury handbags. She said she was curious, but doesn't care for them really. She gifted me a few recently; I declined the Chanel.
So what do I respect most about my mother? In her 20s, she lived with family, as first-generation immigrants do. They had to move often, and she was tired of all the moving. So she worked three jobs, saved for four years, and bought a home for her family. The first home they owned. The home I grew up in — with my grandparents, my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. Before they saved enough to move out to their own homes.
What do I despise most about my mother? Everyone thought she was well because my dad was wealthy. She was not, and she did not tell anyone. She wanted to save face and pretended that things were well — upbeat and joyful outside with others, miserable and angry alone at home. She was two-faced, and I hated it. I was a real Holden Caulfield about it.