20th century French philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, once posited the idea that “what all existentialists have in common is the fundamental doctrine that existence precedes essence”. To put it in layman terms, one first has to physically exist before he discovers his mission and role in life – contrary to essentialist beliefs that one’s purpose in life is already determined prior to his physical existence.
So, what is the purpose of my existence? I am a second generation Singaporean, arguably fully equipped with a true blue Singaporean mindset and a sense of belonging that the rest of my family tree do not share with respect to Singapore. I was raised, for as long as I could possibly remember, under the care of Chinese parents who had obtained their Singapore citizenship prior to my birth, and hence giving me the status of a Singapore citizen at birth. Legally, my parents and I do not share much differences in terms of legal rights, yet there are stark differences at a personal level that I sometimes cannot get around.
1) Language: There’s really not much of an argument to put up against the fact that my parents and I can have some serious language barriers during daily life conversations. I’m not rubbish at Chinese, in fact I deem myself fairly eloquent in spoken, everyday Mandarin. Yet, when it boils down to me wanting to drive a particular point home, I find myself struggling to come up with the right words and phrases in Chinese to use in order to make myself sound convincing. I can have the grandest idea in the world, the most ambitious dreams to become a full-time (English) writer, but nothing works out if your parents cannot be convinced. When you have to slowly translate your thoughts from English into a language your parents are more familiar with, it’s inevitable that should your translation be slightly off (which is mostly the case for me because I suck at translation), the entire meaning can be completely misinterpreted by your interlocutors – in this case, my parents. There are times whereby I have an urge to just blurt my argument out in English, but what’s the use if you’re not being fully understood? Somehow, growing up in a different language setting from my parents not only damages the quality of communication, but also vastly increases the chances of arguments for the very same reason.
2) Expectations: Fundamentally, we grew up in different backgrounds, integrated in different societies, and learnt to adapt to the lifestyles of different nationalities. Singapore is a very new country with its cultural roots established not that far ago compared to other larger countries. We have different expectations regarding similar matters, and share a different set of principles that guide us through as socially aware individuals, although fundamentally all human nature is the same. We disagree on the education system and society’s attitude towards certain taboos. Even after so long, it’s impossible to fully accept the lifestyle patterns of true blue Singaporeans. Even after so long, albeit not at all an uncalled for surprise, my parents can’t fully accept my Singaporean quirks and that sometimes leads to a lack of mutual understanding. Sometimes, it feels like my house is not truly a home, but rather a physical shelter littered with unhappy complaints on how I didn’t turn out to be the ideal child they wished I were. Furthermore, being an only child does not seem to be of much help when it comes to solving parent-child misunderstandings.
3) Relatability: I don’t. I just don’t. Literally since young until now, there’s not much to relate with my parents in terms of life experiences. Nothing – primary school, secondary school, anything really. It’s quite sad a story, that you’ve never been through what your parents had, and vice versa.
There is no one to blame, and frankly nothing significant to bemoan. Yet, on the darkest days this subtle harshness creeps in on me, and without prior notice, stabs me where it hurts the most.
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