Until a few years ago, I thought the same. They made that decision, not me. I shouldn't have to burden myself with any obligations and should get to just reap the benefits for me and my children alone.
But something changed somewhere.
I now see my parents in a whole new light.
There is a book "Factfulness", in which the author lists a matrix for four income levels. My parents started at level 2. I still remember their parents houses: the makeshift kitchen with dim lighting, the four walls and the hole they named a bathroom, the leaky faucets at the ends of pipes ran across the house and exterior to the uneven, unpainted walls.
The sacrifices they must have took to change their socioeconomic standing and subsequently my own can never be requited. I now fit somewhere along the fourth level. I can't help but feel immense gratitude when I see them now. I now try to give them all that I can so they enjoy the time they have left. And I wish I had the foresight in my earlier years to tell them how I appreciate their efforts but then again, those stubborn bastards loved to argue then.
I don't know what I wanted to communicate saying all this so excuse me while I text my mother.
Thanks for sharing. I saved your comment because it’s something I can see myself coming back to.
I can definitely relate to your story. Child of first generation immigrants. We had to move back to Hong Kong when I was 9 because my dad died and it was too difficult for a single mom in a new country to support us. When I was 18, I took advantage of my citizenship and moved back.
The constant pressure to find a way to take care of my mom has always been difficult for me, especially because it sometimes feels at odds with pursuing personal truths. I can go work for the bank, make sure mom is taken care of, but lose my own life. In my twenties, I spent some time living an “alt” lifestyle, working as a musician, and hanging out with B-listers in Beverley Hills. But I could never really enjoy it, not just because it was vapid, but because finding a way to truly secure a future for my mom was always in my mind. It was like wrestling with two sides of the American Dream. And no one around me could relate.
As I’ve gotten older the balance between “serving the parents” versus myself has become fuzzier. It’s obvious now that making sure my mom can enjoy the rest of the time she has is the right thing to do. But in turn, her expectations of me have relaxed. She understands that she’s raised a free, independent adult, and in the culture we live in, that’s a virtue.
It’s all so complicated, as I’m sure anyone who has had a similar upbringing would know, and the details are so specific to each person. But it’s good to know that it’s a common human experience.
But something changed somewhere. I now see my parents in a whole new light.
There is a book "Factfulness", in which the author lists a matrix for four income levels. My parents started at level 2. I still remember their parents houses: the makeshift kitchen with dim lighting, the four walls and the hole they named a bathroom, the leaky faucets at the ends of pipes ran across the house and exterior to the uneven, unpainted walls.
The sacrifices they must have took to change their socioeconomic standing and subsequently my own can never be requited. I now fit somewhere along the fourth level. I can't help but feel immense gratitude when I see them now. I now try to give them all that I can so they enjoy the time they have left. And I wish I had the foresight in my earlier years to tell them how I appreciate their efforts but then again, those stubborn bastards loved to argue then.
I don't know what I wanted to communicate saying all this so excuse me while I text my mother.