Out of my many wonderful childhood memories, there are two specific ones that I hold particularly dear – there are my fondest, most cherished moments as a child that I can remember till this day, and will probably remember for a very long time after. I can still remember and picture the happenings of these two memories in my mind, as if a silent, old projector is playing in my head. The two memories are of the Ladybird Children Series storybooks and fried rice. The former ties me closely to the memories that I shared with my father, and the second, with my mother.
For as long as I can remember, I have always loved reading because I love imagination. Whenever I am reading a good book, it always feels like I am living in a double reality – the reality of my life and the reality created by the author. And I love that process of transportation; it calms me, makes me far more attune to my inner self, and much more aware of my own surroundings. In a good novel, the setting of the sun is never just the setting of the sun. The narration carries the interplay of colours, light and shadows, of emotions stirred, of sighs and laughter faintly heard. With the love of reading eventually came the desire to write – whether this was a learned tool or a gifted talent, I do not know. But I know that I love writing, and throughout school and university, there have always been people who saw potential in me. I can remember the very moment when it all began. It all began on my ninth birthday. I knew that my father was going to get me a present – I just did not know what. I was waiting anxiously at home and standing by the front gate, which at that time, seemed extremely big, as I could not reach the lock. I remember my father’s car turning into the front porch. It was an old, magenta coloured Proton, a local Malaysian brand. Till this day, I could still picture him coming out of the car, carrying a large package wrapped in gold and silver glitter paper. I was so happy and excited. I took the package. While I don’t remember saying “thank you”, my father probably would have made me say it by saying, “No manners! When you get something, what do you say?” “Thank you, Papa!” I went inside, ripped open the package and there it was – 30 children’s storybooks from the Ladybird Children Series. And I did not do anything else for the whole day but read: Rapunzel, Thumbelina, Beauty and the Beast, Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk etc. I know most of the English children fairy tales because of this particular day. I finished all 30 books in less than 5 days, and I asked my dad to buy me some more. Those books are still in my parent’s house in Malaysia. When I turned 24 last year, my dear friend Anna got her mother to bring a gift for me from Sweden. Again, this gift came in silver glitter paper, and when I opened up the gift, I was transported back to the time when I celebrated my ninth birthday. It was a German children’s book entitled “Eine Geburtstagtorte für die Katze”. She gave me this particular gift because I was into my second month in learning German. Again, I could not stop smiling.
When I was in primary school, we had recess for half an hour between 10.30am to 11am, and often we would either bring food from home or buy food from the canteen. I remember one particular afternoon, after coming back from school, where I went up to my mother and told her that I would like to have fried rice to eat during recess time the next day, and she said yes. Reflecting back, as a child, I never really did bother to ask how things that I want come about, or how much effort it takes to give me the things that I want, as long as I get them in the end. My mother has always worked full-time, and by the time my brother, my sister and myself were of schooling age, we did not have a nanny or a babysitter. My parents couldn’t afford them. Thus, when I asked my mother for fried rice to bring to recess the next day, it meant that she had to get up extra early in the morning, (1 husband and 3 school-going children, and she works full-time: she already has to wake up pretty early), to prepare the meal. And this was not just any simple fried rice, where one would simply dump oil into a hot wok and fry up the rice with some soy sauce and that’s that. Fish cakes, prawns, onions, spring onions, and the perfect combination of dark and light soy sauce, with the rice cooked to perfect – not too wet and not too dry. I remembered feeling very proud of my mother when I took out my container and sat with my then two best friends in school during recess. I opened up the container, and my friends peered over and said in Mandarin, “很好吃啊！好香哦!” (That looks really yummy and smells really good!) And I replied, “当然！我的妈妈炒的！” (Of course! My mother made this!) I have lived overseas for 5 years now, and this year will be my sixth. While I miss the food back home, as there is no substitute for good Malaysian food, I think I definitely miss my mother’s cooking more. In my current circumstance, with no family or children, I find it difficult to manage my own life, let alone wake up in the morning to make fried rice. Only as an adult could I imagine and understand, at least a little better than I was a child, the sacrifices that responsible and loving parents make in order for their children to grow up in a loving, stable home.
I have been thinking a lot regarding parent-child relationships, mainly because of my transition into adulthood and my parents’ transition into retirement. It seems now that the dreams, hopes and wishes that I’ve had growing up are looking reasonably realistic and are achievable. Much of the things that I would like to do, and to a certain degree, what I feel I’m called to do, involves spending a reasonable amount of time overseas. When I left Malaysia, I was 19 years old and brought with me a very different worldview. Living overseas has changed a lot of my previous conceptions. Growing up does that as well. So I am a very different person, culturally in particular, to the person I was at the airport in Kuala Lumpur 5 years ago. The worldview that I carry with me now, my Weltanschaaung, has changed dramatically. Despite of the person that I was, I am, or who I will be, my parents will always remain my parents, but the dynamics of the relationship, I think, changes. The commandment to honour and to obey parents are important themes throughout the Bible in matters of family structure. Ephesians 6:1-3 states:
“Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honour your father and mother – which is the first commandment with a promise – that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth”.
Filial piety is a virtue that runs very deep in many Asian cultures. In school, we were taught that that the responsibility of a grown-up adult is to take care of his or her parents in their old age, as parents have given up much of their lives to care for us: time, money, effort, sacrifice, anger, frustration, tears and exasperations etc; parents go through so much to provide the best that they can for their children. Thus, it is a must that we honour our parents by caring for them when they are old, and could no longer care for themselves. To send our parents to an old folks home is the biggest sin that a son or a daughter can do towards parents. This mentality is stoked and driven into us when we were growing up mainly through education and the media. This tradition has its origins within Chinese philosophy, first documented in literary form by Confucius, who put filial piety, 孝, as the most important virtue in Chinese morality, and the foundation of any functional and civil society. As a Chinese, to obey our parents and to honour the traditions of our ancestors are values that must transcend all else. Thus, in Asia, the generational structure of the family is honoured, and we are taught, as young children, the importance of showing respect to elders. The Chinese education system emphasizes this through respect for teachers, by training us to stand up whenever a teacher enters a classroom, and to greet the teacher with a heavy bow, and then chanting as a class, “老师早安”(Good morning, teacher). If we did not bow low enough, or chanted loud enough, we were made to repeat the ritual again. Elders have the right to discipline the younger, and this is also often shown through the use of force and pain. I remember, till this day, a classmate of mine crying his heart out when we were 10, because he scored 68 in English, which meant that within the hour, he was caned 16 times. Now all these may seem extreme, and even violent, particularly in the Western context that encourages parenting through talking, time-outs, grounding and quiet corners. In New Zealand, what I went through as a child would have been considered abuse, and every single teacher in my primary school would have been liable for prosecution. But one must understand the worldview, the Weltanschaaung from which this practice comes from. There is a Chinese saying back home: “the person who canes hurts more than the child who is receiving it”. It is strongly held that through strict discipline, a child would be able to achieve his or her full potential. And it is the charge of the parents to do their utmost best, to sacrifice whatever needed, to ensure that their children have as much opportunity to excel and to live a good life, usually in the monetary sense. And when the parents are old, it is the responsibility, nay, the duty of the child to care for his or her aged parents, to provide for their material needs and to honour and respect them, until they pass. It is not uncommon to have three generations living within one roof in Malaysia, not because the men are mama boys, but it is out of respect, duty and filial piety towards his parents.
In reconciling the culture from which I was raised with my current worldview, I have to admit that I struggle constantly within myself, not because I do not honour or love my parents, but that I choose to not care for them in the manner that I was taught to. And I did so by choosing to stay overseas and by making plans to possibly go and live in other areas of the world. This would entail several long years of being abroad, and I am no where near ready to be home. I had to ask myself, with all honesty, the reasons for my decisions. There are several, and I must admit that some of them are my own personal (selfish?) dreams, but the main reason why I choose to stay is because, after prayers to God and consideration of many factors, staying overseas felt like the right thing to do for the moment. Now I dare not say that this is definitely the will of God for my life – whether it is His will or not – I, ultimately, was the one who made the decision to stay, and I need to have ownership of that. And I don’t think God works in narrow, one-way streets either. Often people talk about God’s will as if it is some fixed term plan for investment at a bank, where the route is certain, and the beginning and end are fixed. Not that I understand, in any manner, how God works, but for those who believe in His existence and sovereignty, must also acknowledge that He listens, He hears and He is flexible enough to change His mind. I guess what I’m ultimately saying, is that I don’t know whether my decisions are definitely right in the sense that this is what I’m suppose to do, but I am living my life as it unfolds, and I’m trying to make decisions the best that I can. I am just sad that by choosing to do so, it seems that I have gone against the Asian culture of filial piety, because I am not at home, taking care of my parents in the way that I was raised and taught to. To quote Rainer Maria Rilke,
“Be patient towards all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers, which would not be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions.”
In thinking about all of these issues within my inner self, I was reminded of what the prophet Simeon said to Mary when she brought her son to the temple for the first time for circumcision, as per the Jewish tradition: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Again, I do not confess to know what Mary’s thoughts were, and I can only take an educated guess. But I derive my deductions from observing and feeling the heart of my mother, who would only want the best and the greatest good for the children that she has brought into the world. And I think for Mary, that would be no different. And it would be difficult, I think, for a mother to accept that the children that she has protected, nurtured and guarded for so long would end up putting themselves in danger zones for the rest of their lives, or at least, a mother’s interpretation of danger zones, which is very, very broad. For my mother, me being overseas is considered as a terrible danger zone because of the distance and her inability to be by my side if any danger or mishap were to befall on me. At the age of twelve, when Jesus stayed at the temple for 3 days, while his earthly parents were frantically looking for him all throughout Jerusalem, He said to his anxious-stricken parents, “Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” Pondering on this really hit a point to me as to whom I ultimately owe filial piety to, and this is above the filial piety that I am to show to my earthly parents. When in the midst of fulfilling His Father’s will on the cross, Jesus looked at his earthly mother, and then to his disciple John, and said, “Dear woman, here is your son. (To John) Here is your mother”.
I will always remember Ladybird Children Series and fried rice, and a lot more than that. I am who I am because of the love, devotion and sacrificial efforts of my parents, who are also broken people, but trying their best to be good to me. And I hope that God will give me the wisdom and the know-how to honour and obey my parents. And if I am purposed and destined to live my life for God by throwing myself in parent-defined danger zones, I can do naught else but pray for the strength to show filial piety to my heavenly Father.
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” – Abraham Lincoln.
Action and Faith 