Hard For Me to Say

I love you mom and dad. Why were those words so difficult to say when growing up?  A recent op-ed piece by Viet Thanh Nguyen in The New York Times on Sunday, January 12, 2019 illuminated some of the reasons why.

 "Is it true Asian-Americans cannot say I love you?" Nguyen asks.  That it is an effort, for me too, born of "self-consciousness" and I would add, the complexity of internalized oppression, racism and our country's inability to look deeply at our racialized history.

When I watched Sandra Oh thank her parents in Korean and English at the Golden Globes, I was proud of my Asian-American heritage and I cried. Tears of joy and recognition. As a Japanese-American,  I have felt like I've lost a part of my heritage, my language, having never learned Japanese as a child, yet remembering  vividly, that I understood it when spoken to by my parents, aunts and uncles. My parents didn't force my siblings to learn Japanese because they wanted us to assimilate. Sandra Oh used her voice in her ancestral language to say I love you and it shook my heart.

I felt a mental block when I took a college level Japanese language class unable to adequately memorize vocabulary, learn kanji and dialogue. I didn't belong with either the Japanese-American students whose parents were from Japan or the mixed students interested in learning the language of my ancestors. I recognize how and why the block feels like a wall,  tall and wide. It's like a barrier related to cultural erasure, some call cultural genocide, what I name as inter-generational trauma as a descendant of incarcerated family.

 My grandparents and parents are first and second generation immigrants from Japan who emigrated in the early 1900s. They were amongst the 110,000+ incarcerated during WWII for looking like the enemy of the time. So when Viet Thanh Nguyen wrote of the "silent sacrifice of their parents and how difficult it is to show gratitude as children" "revolving around garbled expressions of love," I understood.  That's why it's hard for me, too. My grandparents and parents sacrificed so much that it is almost "beyond imagination". Conveying gratitude of their sacrifices is beyond words.

So many of their dreams and aspirations were not realized, they lived with unspoken regret of not having their dreams transpire. I heard phrases growing up like shikata ganai-it can't be helped and gaman, to practice patience, endurance, perseverance of their experience during the war in American concentration camps. Internally it infuriated me.

Like Mr. Nguyen, as a kid, I needed more stories, writers, musicians, artists who looked like me in the media, more people like me telling their stories. Instead, Asian-Americans were typecast as the enemy, the servant, the other, voiceless in the background. He goes on to say the distortions in the media made us ashamed of ourselves, our parents. Wow, that's a ton to unpack! And true.

Today, I'm looking at the privileges I now benefit from and haven't always had. I'm looking at ways to use them and other resources I have and be on the lookout to help and speak up when I witness racist comments about refugees and immigrants and inform from the source of love, empathy, and understanding. Perhaps, my expression of love is communicated in action. I'm speaking up more. Is that how a Sansei (third generation) shows their love? To be one who advocates in a way that would have been so helpful to my ancestors . If more citizens stepped up, spoke up before our government rounded up 110,000+ innocent people, stripped them of their constitutional rights and locked them up for years.  It is not easy and sometimes it's downright overwhelming to be a voice. My antidote to heart pounding fear of stepping up is hope. I go to the well of love from family, friends, teachers and beloved community. A friend shared a phrase of optimism and hope with me recently, "be on the lookout for love." With a clear commitment (and deep breath), grounded in hope, I'm able to show up and speak up with more freedom, honesty, and fullness.

Gratitude to Viet Thanh Nguyen for writing with honesty and lighting a spark. A deep bow to Sandra Oh, a sister to many. I see you, I've been waiting for you.

 I love you beyond words mom and dad.

We are all welcome. All identities belong here.