rambling journal: parents, reflections, Week One

relationships are dynamic and ever-changing based upon circumstance and development (or regression). happy moments and tragedies and even the dull, humdrums are constantly influencing the way that we interact with our various *others*. i'm generally not one to cut anyone out of my life, but, it happens--sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose.

that can't really happen with our parents though, can it?
ok, sure--we can cut our parents out of our lives and not allow them to have access to our comings and goings. we can stop them from talking to their grandkids or disregard anything they have to say about our financial decisions or romances or religious choices. we can coldly or dramatically vow to never see them again. scream. slam doors. et cetera.
but inevitably, we can never really forget that the genesis of our flesh and blood was from those two people. a man and a woman. there is heavy meaning and gravity when we think about the origin of the shape of our faces, the texture of our skin, the tenor of our voices, and the dys/functionalities in our characters.
for those of us who actually grew up under our parents' care, our relationships with him/her/them are strange things, huh?

whomever we grew up under, we begin those relationships completely dependent upon their care. our frail bodies are dependent on our caretakers to feed us, clothe us, take us into the sunshine, and (hopefully) shelter us from the violent storms that sometimes rage and rumble.
however, even for the most functional and loving of caretakers, they too are erring beings--and one day you're faced with that truth, which is frightening for the young mind to grasp: your "parents" are just as *human* and failure-prone as you are.
following that, you begin to grow and individuate--developing that fierce need to be your *own* person--a terrifying process to most parents (who are generally still more knowledgeable about the evils in the world).
then, the push-pull struggle ensues.

in Western culture, ideally, from this struggle, the youth emerges as an adult; this relationship between caretaker and the once frail, yowling bundle of joy, shifts into one of mutuality and respect.
of course, this is just the ideal. hardly commonplace. however, there is usually *some* semblance of this process for most of us who have made it into adulthood.

***
speaking from my 2nd generation, Korean-American experiences, i would conjecture that the young-adulthood struggle for mutuality with our parents is more complicated. many of our immigrant parents cling tenaciously to the Korean conservatisms they lived by--right before they immigrated (in the 60s-80s). Korean culture is a grandly patriotic culture that (supposedly) staunchly resists external influence and proudly claims all progress as It's own. [i suppose most cultures do that to a degree.]
this is an extremely interesting phenomenon for me see because i now live in a fairly liberal Korea. this not my parents' Korea.

the first generation of Korean immigrants into America experienced a loss of power and disenfranchisement because of racism, a lack of skills (i.e. linguistic, systemic, etc.), among other things. ill-equipped to fight back, they externalized these problems and held the 'screwed up (American) culture' as the culprit. they fondly held on to the memories and tenets of their Motherland--the place where they understood the social rules and had some measure of respect.
as a way of exerting control in the oppressive American system, the first generation attempted to re-gain respect by applying an exaggerated version of the Korean hierarchical rules into the only system that they could conceivably "control": their families.

[i make this major digression simply to point out that in the 70s, when my parents immigrated, Korean culture had more stringent standards for parent-child hierarchical boundaries than it does today. in fact, my parents' models were my Korean grandparents when *they* grew up in the 40-50s. complicated, huh?]

this cultural disconnect caused much dissension and misunderstanding between the first and second generations. i hardly meet Kyopos my age who aren't rife with issues regarding their conservative parents. they all lie about their smoking, drinking, and sexual habits--fearing excommunication and possible disownment.
again, this is fascinating for me as i talk to Koreans my age. these men and women are fairly open with their parents about what they do after they come 'of age' (20 years old). of course, Korean parents might cluck their tongues about their child's unhealthy habits, but as long as no one gets pregnant, it seems that everyone's pretty happy.
***

why do i explicate on this?
i've been told that i had an odd relationship with my Korean parents, and now maybe it has become even odder.
i had the boringly stereotypical conflict-laden-screaming-bloody-war relationship with my parents during my adolescence. they were extreme in their rules for me (my curfew was 9pm as a Junior in high school) and so my rebellion was extreme. the 'internet-safe' rebellions i can post are: sneaking out of my house to go to parties, making out with my boyfriends in their mini-vans parked around the corner from my house, smoking cigarettes, never keeping my curfew, etc.
i was *always* a liar to my parents. that was the only way for me to cope. i felt like honesty with the Mister and the Missus was dangerous--(our EPIC fights often me in tears and feeling self-destructive/suicidal). so, i lied or demurred about everything i did and jumped over their tattered fence of unenforced, unrealistic rules.
this, in fact, was much more dangerous, and i honestly marvel that i made it to age 32, fairly intact.

anyway, eventually, though things were never really hashed out--due to circumstance, my parents grudgingly began treating me as an adult. (i think part of it is because i got married. however,) i think most of it is because they began to see that my stubborn will would get me *far enough* in life.
at some point over the years, i stopped lying to my parents [this is VERY different from most of my Kyopo friends], but i still had built sky-high walls about certain, sensitive arenas... i had gotten so used to let those sleeping dogs lie that i didn't realize the beautiful (though arduous) connection i was giving up.

about 2 and 1/2 years ago, when my life fell apart, there was a huge shift in the way i related to my parents. my heart was so shattered that i just needed the protective blanket of love that only my Umma and Appa could give me. it brings tears to my eyes to think about this time because their reaction to my pain was not what i expected.
at the time, i'm not sure how i expected them to react to my impending divorce, but it certainly was not the amazing support and compassion and non-judgmental care that they covered me with. there was something so wondrously comforting about being able to do the aching, tear-streaming bawl to them.
that summer, my parents took turns sitting quietly with me while i lay crying on the couch in our darkened family room. they listened to my philosophical ramblings and drank pots of tea with me. my mother made me jook (rice porridge), peeled me mangoes, and laughed with me while we watched Korean dramas.

that tragedy broke through some of my distorted misconceptions about who my parents were.
and, on their end, i think this incident helped them to realize that they *really* could not protect their babies from the awful pain that comes with life.

wow, i really didn't mean for this entry to take *that* direction.

anyway, i've been pretty damn honest with my parents since the above-mentioned trial. they know about most of my indiscretions--in fact, i can tell that they've avoided asking me certain questions so that they don't have to know *everything*. (after all, if they knew *for sure* about my adult sleepovers, they'd have to lecture me about it.)
however, outside of the obvious, i've held some pieces of my life in the dark, fearing that they couldn't possibly understand. i feared reprisal. fights... i just didn't want to expose to them. i didn't think they could handle it.

but, this is a year for change. doing things differently.

my Umma is the sweetest, most heart-broken of souls. she has an enormous heart and growing faith that brings me amazing joy as i encounter it.
yesterday, she and i spoke for the second time this new year. while sharing something common, i unexpectedly grew emotional and began spilling some of the burdens i've wanted to share with her for many many months. she was quiet and thoughtful and then said something incredibly wise.
"do today as best as you can, and be grateful for that chance. just one day at a time, Mary. that's how i have to do it."

these moments of sunshine. my darling parents.
my sweet sweet Ummunim. she's wise as hell.