One of these days I have been thinking, how important communication is in our life.

I realized as a child I have had not much of conversation with my parents. They were usually busy with their work that time. Well, I didn’t blame them. I know they were working for the family but I guess I wished they had more time.

Since I was in kindergarten I was used to going to school alone, usually by school bus. Everyday at school I could see parents waiting for their children to come out and give them a kiss. I remember I was envying them. I remember how I used to wish my parents were home as I walked back from school. But it usually ended up as my ever wishful thinking. Even my little brother got my maid dropped him to school, even bought him Coca-Cola when he started to cry and didn’t want to go to school. I wasn’t jealous of that. I feel proud that I didn’t that sort of thing to motivate me.

I was pretty smart in my elementary and junior high. I could say I was one of the top students. My dad was always sure I would go through University and working life easy seeing my grades like that. But life is much more than just grades. He saw my grades and achievement as common things. I never talked about school or my friends so he was surely thinking I was doing fine. I was not. He didn’t know I had trouble fitting in, didn’t know I had a low self-esteem, he always I was doing fine.

He always had plans for me and planted these ideas as if it was my own. Like what school I should go to, what University I should roll in, what major I should take. He never really asked what I wanted to do in life, what my passion here. See, we didn’t really have communication; or better said we only have one-way communication where He commanded me I have to obey. When I started to argue he always responded in disrespectful way as if thinking I am still a child without having a hint what I should and shouldn’t do, what I could and couldn’t do.

My University life was a long and winding road. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy them. It was sort of fun. But I knew I didn’t have motivation that time. I thought what I was doing was worthless. It’s not my passion. So I led my university life low and easy. I wasn’t serious. My grades dropped a lot. I never bothered much asking my lecturers. I sometimes skipped class (oh well, who doesn’t). I didn’t bother going to any club. I didn’t bother to making friends much. And this ended up as the beginning of my failed future.

It was hard for me to get a job. At one side I regretted that I wasn’t serious. I knew I could get through well if I put my heart into it, except I didn’t. On other side I wanted to show this to my dad, that I am no more her ambitious, happy-go-lucky, smart, academic driven little girl. I am a grown up. I failed just like others. I went through hard times just like others. I’ll put a label that I am not perfect and I will wear it all my life.

As I grew older I learned what went wrong. We never really communicated. He never shared his lesson learned, always show how good he is, how good his career is, how his children should grow up well and successful. It’s not wrong. But I wish he could share some of bad experiences too just make us feel it is fine to sometimes fail and try again. I usually hear stories from my mother’s point-of-view about his past.

If I should ever have children, I would plant a seed in their head. A seed of hope, a self-esteem, a self-respect. A seed of dignity and love.

Just like what The Help said:

“You is kind, you is smart, you is important.”