by Yisa
A wholesome take on Asian familial love and how the way I express my own love connects me to my heritage
For Mom, Dad, Sofie-An, Jonas, & Ash
A couple years ago, my mom wanted the entire household to try something new: say “I love you” after any and every goodbye. She had been inspired by one of those clichéd hypotheticals that one would see in a movie: a character dies (tragically), prompting another character to lament and cry, “but I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” or, “I never told them I loved them!” To prepare for the instance in which an unexpected tragedy might befall any one of us, Mom insisted that we couldn’t end up like those characters, who forever regretted the words left unsaid and the feelings never conveyed. For this action to become a truly meaningful habit, Mom emphasized that it was in the especially trying times—when we were frustrated with each other or “too busy” with our daily lives—that taking the time to say “I love you” and affirm each other was essential.
And so, we all tried to implement what we thought would be a “slight” change into our daily routines.
As it turned out, saying “I love you” –whether it was at the end of a phone call, in person, or via text–was more awkward than we had anticipated, and I began to wonder why it wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. The task was easy for me to remember, but actually following through and saying it was somewhat of a challenge. As whatever conversation we were having approached the end, I would mentally recite the short phrase in my head, and I could feel my heart rate increase. I would take a breath and give myself a little mental shove: ~“I love you,” I would offer, weakly, as if I feared the response. Pathetic, I would think to myself.
On the other hand, saying “love you!” or using the word “love” with friends or objects–“I love you so much!!” or “Oh, I LOVE this and that!”–rolled right off the tongue and required little to no deliberation, so why did saying “I love you” to my family feel strange? After all, this was my family! Did my discomfort at expressing affection and saying that little phrase mean that I didn’t care enough for my family members? What did that say about me as a daughter? I was frustrated. This issue would unsettle me whenever I thought about it, and I wondered how I could let them know I loved them if I couldn’t say it to their faces…
Right then, a thought occurred to me: When did I start focusing so intently on love that could only be expressed in words?
Only after reminding myself that saying “I love you” was not the only way to convey love did I remember that there are countless ways to show love, and I had already experienced many of the ways in which my family had already done so in such subtle yet also such magnanimous ways.
The Bible’s timeless definition of love came to mind:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8a)
I framed my parents within this context, and everything became so much clearer. Sure, they don’t literally say “I love you” to my face a whole lot, but they prove their love to me and my siblings through their actions and the way in which they live. Every day, they devote themselves to their livelihoods as doctors who take care of their patients, as tireless guardians who watch over their children, and as inspiring role models who never fail to demonstrate what it means to be selfless, loving, and strong people in a world that could use a little more intentional kindness and love. Maybe the devil works hard, but I know my parents work harder.
For my parents, who immigrated to the United States and have Asian parents of their own, I know that this more conservative way of showing love didn’t start with them. It reaches so much farther back, to the times before their parents, and to that of their parents’ parents before them. There’s nothing wrong with saying “I love you,” but simply saying it is not enough. If there’s no action behind that love, is it true? Is it genuine? Can it stand the test of time? In this day and age, the phrase, “I love you,” is simultaneously used too much and too little; “too much” in the sense that it is directed toward who or what doesn’t deserve it, and “too little” toward the people who do. Perhaps that’s why this more active form of love across Asian cultures is so beautiful.
Though it’s not verbally affirmed all the time, I know that love is always there. There’s no pressure for me or the people I love to say “I love you” to each other because I can see that they love me, whether it’s when my mom calls me from home to tell me the latest family news, through the Statistics for Dummies book that my dad sent me when I told him I was struggling to understand the concepts, or in my family’s intermittent care packages filled with snacks and various items I forgot to bring to college from home. If I were to substitute a phrase from my parents that I value perhaps even more so than “I love you,” I would say that the phrase would be “I am proud of you.” Hearing that means–at least in some way–that I have made good use of their sacrifices to become someone whom they can be proud of.
Personally, I don’t like to spend time explaining myself to other people: I like to demonstrate who I am and what I stand for every day through my actions. I refrain from saying “I love you” as a standalone phrase unless I truly mean it. That phrase is reserved for people to whom I can prove I love. That’s how I was raised by my parents, and that’s how they were raised by theirs. Every kind favor, warm hug, or check-in about my well-being reveals the beauty of our kind of love that isn’t just through words, but also through action and sacrifice.
As personal as this piece is, I know this isn’t just something that happens to me. While writing this piece, I thought about all the YouTube videos like “Asian Parents React to I Love You,” as well as the social media pages like “Subtle Asian Traits” that sometimes delve into the ways Asian parents convey love. I’ve discussed the topic with my Asian friends, and I’ve seen texts and heard stories about how their parents don’t often use “I love you.” Instead, their love often comes across as an inquiry or request:
“Are you hungry?”
“Text me when you get home.”
“It’s cold outside! Take a jacket.”
“Do you have enough money?”
“Don’t drive too fast.”
Now, I’m a first-year student at UC San Diego, a university that lies eight hours away by car from my hometown. Though life is busy, I try to call home or message my family about my day when I can. Whenever I feel stressed or overwhelmed by life, I keep my head down and get to work with the knowledge that I can get through whatever I’m currently facing, and that my family is behind me, supporting me from home. I can’t see them every day, nor can they see me, but I know that I couldn’t have gotten to where I am without their love and support. In the moments leading up to our goodbyes at the end of each call or text, I still think about when and how I want to say those three words. Honestly, even after all this time, I feel some awkwardness when expressing my love and gratitude to them in that way.
“I love you,” I say.
I hold my breath.
“I love you too!” They reply.
I smile.