03.

 

To My Parents, 

a long-awaited letter 

I just finished watching So Long, My Son (2019), and I have a lot of thoughts. Although the movie focuses on a couple's relationship after a depressing event, I found myself thinking about my parents and my future self a lot. This movie captures their lives for 30 years. Towards the end, the scene starts with the couple, both whose hair turned grey with streaks of white; their faces filled with wrinkles; their hands no longer smooth. Yet again, I thought of my parents. The whole movie was already sad, but I couldn't take it—I burst into tears. I had thought of my mom and my dad. They have never lost me physically, but I've lost them many times. The day I decided that their advice was no longer useful; the day their words started becoming naggings that will eventually dissolve into the surrounding, as long as I don't pay attention. The years of being rebellious are long over, but there are still days where I lose them even more. I wonder if they have ever mourned the version of me where I would always look up to them or always listen to what they have to say. 

I would seem like a terrible child now, but the truth is, as I grow older, the more I can joke with my mom and the more I can talk with my dad. As a Chinese, I was pretty much raised with the mindset that talking about my emotions was not the best. My parents had allowed me to come to them always, but I felt it was embarrassing and unnecessary. This movie had made me realise that not every parent gets to grow old with their child growing old too. I'm thankful to be able to see them grow old, but that's a big fear of mine. Just like the couple in the movie who seem to live boring lives after the event, what will I do when my parents leave? Am I being a bad child if I grieve too early? 

So Pa and Ma, thank you. I know that I will have to make the same mistakes sometime down the road. I will tune your voices out sometimes. I will ignore your texts that involve finding something in the freezer and defrosting it. I will lie to avoid scoldings. But I will still try my best to live out a life where you don't need to grieve for who I was. I will try to be a better child. You may never know, but every time you ask me to stick some pain relief patch on your back, my heart breaks a little. I know I joke about purposely putting them wrongly, but truly, my heart breaks. I never realised how old you have become. Ma, the days where you complain about your white hair make me feel this pain that I never knew existed. And Pa, the days that you used to boast about your amazing genes of never having to dye your hair (and indeed you have not dyed your hair before) are over. Small greyish streaks of hair are starting to appear. 

I used to wonder what my future would be like, and I still don't know what it would be like. In a generation of women who have decided not to have children, I still want them. They are not my priority, but it would be nice to have them. Perhaps it's because I want to know what it's like to be my mom. Every movie I watch that involves mothers in the plot, I find myself crying. I wonder what it's like to be a mom—to be my mom? But more than that, I wonder what it's like to be my dad. And I guess I'll never know. But as long as I can remember my parents (which will be my whole life), I will always have a love letter written for them—even if I don't realise it. Every word, every interaction is a letter of gratitude and love to them.