Learning How to Love
Over the years, I’ve romanticized the idea of love by collecting images in my head from hundreds of movies and TV shows I’ve watched. It made me excited to seek that same kind of love for myself in the future. I looked forward to having relationships that made it feel like the warmth of the sun and the pure joy of seeing flowers bloom in the springtime. Looking back at it, I had unrealistic expectations – life definitely didn’t look like the movies.
My parents, both immigrants, also taught me what they thought love was in their own parental ways. Some of it was carried on from their own childhoods, leaving out the more brutal parts – being beaten, kicked out of the house, not being able to play sports, etc. Nonetheless, they fulfilled the role of being parents very well, even thoughI don’t think our ideas of love quite lined up.
A lot of us are familiar with that kind of “unspoken” love language we have with our immigrant parents, and I totally understand the weight of that silence. However, I’ve also begun to understand why it remains so unspoken. Of course, you have to be empathetic of immigrant parents. Wanting a better life for your children and relieving them of childhood struggle seems like the only kind of love you would ever need.
But I was a little selfish as a kid. I only focused on the things I wasn’t given instead of the things I should’ve been grateful to have. I couldn’t repay my parents the same way they helped me either – through paying for bills, groceries, and other material things. All I could do was show my gratitude by saying “Thank you,” and it never felt like enough. Certainly, they felt the same way sometimes.
“You don’t appreciate the things I do for you.”
“Some people are grateful to have a roof on their head and food on the table.”
“It’s tough love.”
I always listened when Mom and Dad told me stories about them and their more traditional parents – the good times and the bad. They went through similar things that I have, and reacted in the same ways sometimes. It seemed like they would understand how I feel since they were once my age, but I didn’t feel that way. I just constantly felt like I was letting them down.
They constantly held me to high expectations – taught me to never lie, read books and play less video games, and look at people when they’re speaking to me. They expected things to go well for me, and for the most part, it did. I just think that with this perfectionist mentality, it made me a little less human. I wanted to feel okay being human sometimes.
As I got older, I began to understand my parents a little more, and with that, I started to understand myself more and become more aware of my needs. Parents could give you a lot of things, but they can’t give you everything. It’s unfair of you to ask and it’s unfair to them to be held to those expectations. That’s why people have different relationship dynamics in life, between friends, family, peers, pets, etc. Each one has a specific purpose in your life, so don’t overwhelm one by expecting them to fulfill the roles of another.
You seek for certain things in a partner that you didn’t get as a child. For me, that was quality time, physical touch, and words of affirmation. My parents seemed to be more of acts of service and gift giving type of people, which was totally fine – they were very good at it. But I did continue to seek this kind of intimacy in someone else, because they weren’t things I could give myself. Trust me, I tried to. I’m just not that kind of person, and that’s okay.
I craved this kind of intimacy – the kind of intimacy that made me feel things, feel more human. I became extra sensitive to things like someone telling me to have a nice day, them telling me that I looked beautiful, them holding out their hand to me when I looked anxious, or even them brushing my hair out of my face. For some reason, I just felt like I didn’t deserve it.
I needed someone to remind me that money isn’t everything, or that it was okay to take a break if you’re not feeling like yourself, or that it didn’t feel like a chore to spend time with me. I wanted someone who showed me the love that I always saw in movies. That’s the kind of love I was searching for, and I finally found it.
It’s another level of intimacy when you find all of these great things in someone, and they went through a similar thing with their parents. They understand you. It’s the best feeling ever. Not only does one accept you, but you don’t feel the need to explain to them why you are the way you are.
I’ve started to accept certain things about myself that I hadn’t before. I got to reshape my idea of love and admit to myself that I definitely deserve it. I created my own love language with someone who was also trying to learn what it was. I’m glad that I’ve started to cherish things like making mistakes and always being forgiven. I’ve learned to slow down and take life in and make it what I want it to be, instead of letting it rush past me.
For the record, I didn’t write this with the purpose of putting my parents down – I’ve grown out of that phase. I wanted to let them know that I finally understand them, after all of these years of trying to get them to understand me. I get that I wasn’t the easiest daughter to deal with, and I’m glad you never gave up on me. You never taught me Tagalog, but I’m glad you taught me the language of true parental love.
And to my first real valentine, thank you for teaching me that it’s okay to open up and be vulnerable. Thank you for allowing me to find the best parts of myself with you and holding my hand through it all. I hope I’ve given you the same fulfillment that you have given to me. We might not have been dealt the best hand, but we found our way anyway.
To all three of you, thank you for teaching me how to love.
