1000 Words

I’m home. In Hong Kong, that is. “Home” has been a loosely defined term the past three years, but tonight, it’s Hong Kong.

It feels good to be home. My parents welcomed me with open arms and a home-cooked meal. I explained a lot of what I learned, what I ate, what I did, and other stories to my mom. Then I re-explained it to my dad, who was in the other room and a little deaf. That’s okay, the fact that he was curious meant that he cared.

On my flight home, I sat next to a two parents and their about-three-year-old daughter. The father had a strong Hong Kong vibe, while the mother had a gentle Thai vibe. For the first half of the flight, all I heard from the father was, “Don’t touch the newspaper, it’s dirty. Don’t play with the water. I told you not to play with the water, you’re so bad. You’re all wet.” I wanted to tell the dad, “You don’t want her to do this, don’t want her to do that. How about asking her to do what you want, instead of telling her what she’s forbidden from doing?”

I caught myself projecting my own father issues onto him and held my tongue. Instead, just as I am trying to do with my own father, I observed the man. I watched what he did right. Sure, he’s not the best of communicators—only popping up from reading comics on his iPad to scold his daughter—but he’s teaching her the only way he knows how. And he eventually played some two-player games on his iPad with her.

Even his “bad” behavior could be seen as “good”. From what I know about women, they tend to use their fathers as role models for the men in their lives. So this man was setting the bar: his daughter’s future boyfriends will be able to set boundaries. These men will not be pushovers; perhaps they will even be strong leaders.

I viewed my own father’s strictness in a different light. He’s strict with me, but it’s to make sure I lead a successful life. He’s teaching me values, though he’s also imprinting a lot of fear into me. Perhaps, as one of the men in my old circle said, “Good fathers create a lot of shadows in their sons.” (Shadows are beliefs about ourselves that we hide or suppress, usually like, “I’m useless”, “I’m unlovable”, etc.) Maybe a father, a good father, is supposed to scare the shit out of their son, so that when they face the real world, with real dangers, the son will be ready to tackle these dangers head on.

My mom’s going back to New York in a few days. I’ll be left alone with my dad for a month. There is trepidation. But I also feel hopeful that we can spend some father-son time. Perhaps we’ll hike together. Perhaps he’ll give me fatherly advice. Perhaps I’ll listen, with compassion instead of judgment.

Ram Dass said, “If you think you are so enlightened, go and spend a week with your parents.”

It’s amazingly humbling to be in the presence of my parents. When I’m out with peers, I see all the ways they are controlled by their emotions, unlike me. When I’m at home, my parents remind me, I’m no different.

Of course, I am also humbled by the sheer magnitude of their achievements: coming to the US without any money and unable to speak the language, creating a comfortable life, raising two sons.

Without their sacrifices, I wouldn’t have been able to explore my existential crisis.

After all this time, I still cannot escape my genetic past. “Escape” isn’t the right word. I feel that I should learn and grow from my parents, that’s right. But eventually I should be able to grow beyond the limiting beliefs that have been imposed upon me. I’m impatient. I want to grow strong. I want nothing to stand in my way.

Perhaps I’m viewing this the wrong way. Are my parents in my way? Is anything in my way, or do I have imaginary obstacles that I keep working on overcoming?

The problem with limiting beliefs is that they tend to be invisible to the owner.

I guess this limiting belief, this shadow, would be that I believe I’m weak, and I will do anything to prove that I’m not. I will go as far as creating obstacles to overcome, even if they don’t exist.

I view the fact that my parents can still trigger an emotional reaction out of me as a sign of weakness. If I accept this, I no longer need to overcome it.

I do not accept my own weaknesses. I grew up scared and powerless, trapped in my life’s circumstances (girlfriends, money, parents, jobs, travel). Now that I’ve to overcome some weaknesses, I’m addicted. Whenever I find a weakness, I must squash it.

I can’t swim. I must learn. I’m scared of asking Paul for a job. I forced myself to do it.

There is another way. The middle path—finding balance between two extremes. Instead of suppressing my urge to overcome my fears or succumbing to it, I can observe it. Then, when the urge has lost its grip on my actions, do.

Act with wisdom, not with compulsion.

I recently read the famous quote, “A picture’s worth a thousand words.” So I decided to increase my 750 word minimum to 1,000. One thousand words is a lot. I felt like the last few paragraphs were squeezed out with great effort.

It’s interesting what I squeezed out. Forcing myself to write more and more about one topic gave me different insights into myself.

I was forced to go deep.

I’m grateful for:

1. Mom’s cooking.
2. Mom’s hypermobile genes.
3. The great friends I made in Koh Samui, including the staff who got me a coconut seed. Now if only I had a place to plant a coconut tree!
4. The stewardess who assembled a vegetarian meal for me on-demand.
5. Both counter staff who moved my flights ahead, so I could return to Hong Kong earlier.