My therapist called me out for being a hypocrite
Showing empathy for my immigrant elders
In front of a Filipino restaurant with my parents. Defs recommend this place for boodle fight!
My therapist said something that really made me stop and think.
We were talking about my older Filipino family members and how they bug me about my career/life/piercing choices (lol, yes, my nose ring is still a topic of conversation), and I said something along the lines of, “I just want them to understand where I’m coming from.”
To that, Danielle (my therapist) said: “Why don’t you validate their feelings and try to understand where they’re coming from?”
This response left me kinda shook. I’m always talking about empathy and how we need to understand people’s backgrounds and hear their stories. And while I was frustrated that my family wasn’t hearing or empathizing with me, I—a person who started a whole fricken podcast based on that idea—was sitting there realizing that I wasn’t hearing or empathizing with them.
I’m not trying to be someone who talks about how something is important then goes ahead and does the opposite. So, for the past couple weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about my family’s point of view.
First and foremost, when expressing their opinions about my choices, for my family, I know that they are coming from a place of love. When they are telling me to reign in my dreams and get a job with benefits, or when they’re asking me when I’ll have kids and where my boyfriend is (nowhere, the answer is my boyfriend is nowhere), or when they’re telling me to take my nose ring out, as annoying as it may be, I know that these comments are coming from a good place.
Shortly after I got my nose pierced, I asked my dad to show me how to change my oil. He said only if I take out my nose ring. It’s not coming out, so I made an appointment at Canadian Tire. The next morning I walked outside to this. Joe cannot be mean, and he just wants what’s best for me.
My family bugs me on these specific topics because they are trying to guide me toward what they think will be best for me. And while we may disagree on what “best for me” means, I am lucky my wellbeing is important to them.
The next thing that I need to understand is that there are generational differences at play here.
For my older relatives’ generation, they generally believed that a good life for someone my age meant a house, a marriage, probs a kid or two, and a secure, forever job with full dental coverage. (Noticeable piercings or tattoos were defs not included in that lineup, as that could negatively impact getting a job etc.) That’s what my mom had at my age, it worked out well, so that’s what my family naturally thinks will work for me.
While I can appreciate all of those things, the place that I am at, and the place that a lot of people in my generation are at, is different.
We grew up with the Internet, and with that, we’ve grown up looking at endless options. Unlimited potential partners on dating apps, countless career fields and jobs on LinkedIn, so many great places to visit and different experiences to be had on Facebook and Instagram. We’re blessed with options, but it can certainly make decision-making difficult. I, and many other people in my generation, are spending this time exploring and trying to figure out what options we feel will fit us best.
(Not to mention, the homeownership dream has been totally disrupted, since houses nowadays are like a million dollars—that sounds like a hyperbole, but actually though, the housing market is wild.)
And while I would love for my family to be understanding of this, I also need to empathize and recognize that their pressure is well intentioned and comes from their own generational experiences.
With my family, there is also this whole added layer as my older relatives are immigrants.
When my parents and aunts and uncles were in their late teens to twenties, they left the Philippines and everything they knew to start fresh in a completely different country. For many of them, they left behind their parents, their friends, and even their kids for some periods of time, in hopes of starting something better in Canada. And it’s not like they had money or resources or options or safety nets to fall back on like I do today; they were grinding with nothing. That life must’ve been so hard. I can see—amongst all that change, uncertainty, loneliness, and scarcity—why security would be the ultimate dream.
Also, my parents were part of a culture where the expectation was to financially contribute to their parents. My culture includes massive student loans and staying at home. My parents got caught in a crappy middle where it’s all give. (Sorry, guys. I will repay you some day.)
Plus, going from a relatively poor (though still wonderful) country to one of the richest in the world, the older generation of Filipino Canadians was just so grateful to be here. Fewer options than my generation coupled with gratitude for whatever opportunity came their way probably really simplified their decisions.
Taken from my mom’s Facebook. Canada filters on Canada filters. They’re just so happy to be here.
Since I was born in Canada, I have the resources to browse around. And while I am grateful to be here, since I haven’t experienced anything but this life, I find it harder to choose something and be happy in it. The older generation’s sacrifices and my upbringing here have allowed me to be pickier, thus, causing me to take a little bit longer to find my way than what they’re used to.
Also different than what they’re used to is my generation’s desire to express and be ourselves.
I was watching a video by Hasan Minhaj the other day. In that video he was talking about Asian names, and how, when people pronounce them incorrectly, rather than teaching the proper pronunciation, we’ve historically just accepted the mispronunciation or even taken on different, more western names. Hasan talked about how, to the disappointment of his dad, he used his time on The Ellen Degeneres Show to teach Ellen how to say his name properly. Hasan wanted Ellen to learn, while his dad didn’t want him to make a fuss. That difference, Hasan says, comes from our generation’s desire to live, and our parents’ need to survive.
Start at 15:22 for the part of the video that I’m talking about.
When my family came to Canada, they wanted to fit in. Not because they’re boring conformists, but because that’s what they needed to do to survive.
In order to be accepted, to get a job, and to start a life, they needed to assimilate.
Picture every time you were new to a team or a workplace. Of course you probably wanted to fully be yourself in those situations, but you also had to learn and adapt to the ways of that environment.
That’s what my family had to deal with for every aspect of their lives.
I’m sure they loved their Filipino culture and wanted to maintain that as much as possible, but, especially in the 80s, blending in was probably the easiest way to build a foundation, to get ahead, and to avoid racism.
When my family was busy adjusting to this huge life change, self-expression—say through nose rings or correct pronunciations of traditional names—did not equate with fitting in, nor was it a priority when there were bigger challenges to address.
FYI, my last name is actually supposed to be pronounced like Hingco, not Gingco.
Now for your girl, I was born here. So, I never had to worry about all the things my family had to worry about when they immigrated. I don’t need to adjust my culture, because Canada’s culture is my culture; I naturally fit in here because I was born a Canadian.
This is my Uncle Boy, my dad’s older brother. Some older relatives are more understanding of my generation.
Others, not so much. But that’s OK, I can empathize.
With that weight off my shoulders, I can focus my attention on self-expression. I have the capacity to cause a fuss if someone wants to be ignorant toward my background. I can take my time searching for the ideal job and partner. I can put a ring in my damn nose.
And while I feel that I have the right to take this path and have certainly gotten mad at the people who’ve questioned it, I’ve realized that it helps to try to understand where they’re coming from.
Now that I’ve written it all out, I’m definitely less annoyed at my family and feel kind of bad, if anything. Don’t get me wrong, the nose ring stays and the careful hunt for my job and guy still continue. But the generational and cultural headbutting can now come to an end.
What I’ve learned/some realizations:
The older generation needs to be understood as well;
I’m trying to live, and my parents were trying to survive; and
Empathy is the key, man.
I feel like I had to include this. My parents have a ton of selfies and travel pictures. These are just a few. It is hilarious and dorky—and also goals.