Strolling down the shopping mall alone on a
mild Sunday afternoon, I was sipping on a cup of iced herbal tea. After a week
of handling a classroom of seemingly innocent kids, I needed a remedy to soothe
my throat. There I was, minding my business as I window shopped, a sudden high
pitched cry caught me to a halt. Instinctively, I gazed around my vicinity to
detect the source of the unpleasant noise. Right in front of me, a toddler, not
more than 2 years old, was throwing a fit at his parents while wailing like a mad
hungry parrot.
On usual days, I would discreetly investigate
from a distance as to what might have caused a child to tear up. On my day
offs, I couldn’t care less. As I resumed my stroll, the parents were
desperately trying to placate, presumably, their baby but to no avail. By now,
the child’s face had transformed into an overheated kettle on full steam. I
pulled out my earphones to drown the audio torture with some techno melody.
Just when I was about to press played, the parents started to bicker with each
other with the still crying toddler on the floor. Although it was hard to make
out the words of their argument with earphones on, it was clear enough that
they were quarreling about parenthood.
It is no mystery that being parents is an arduous responsibility. Part of the package of being parents involve feeding an extra mouth, buying toys to entertain easily bored minds and educating children to secure a future of filial income after retiring. To put in simple terms, being parents is an investment and a risky one. You never know if your child would go astray or would not grow up to your standard. Furthermore, money is always a problem in societies these days. There will never be signs as to when an “investment” would go wrong but it will be satisfying if it’s worth it.
Indeed, my parents were investors as well, in both procreating and business. Like all parents, mine had high hopes in all their children, especially me given that I am the eldest among my siblings. Not to sound cliché, a list of achievements was expected from me such as getting the best grades, profit-minded, filial, dating the right girl etc. The list went on. Upon realizing that I could not fulfill these tasks, the expectation was pushed onto my first brother and the next. Imagine how that it felt when I was subtly being told that I wasn’t good enough.
The reason behind these high hopes lies in the notion that money makes the world goes round. Being the stereotypical frugal Chinese, my parents are all about milking money. I used the term milking because it wasn’t just about working hard for an honest income. Making friends with high social-economic background and working at a charity event to earn a quick buck were among some of activities my parents vigorously participated in all year round. For unknown logic, surrounding oneself with wealthy people and being seen as charitable would somehow increase one’s bank account. Even as minuscule as losing a few Ringgit would be a heinous crime in my parents’ eyes. It was frugality in the extreme. Since I was part of the family, it was a silent rule that I should heed all these advices if I were to live a successful life.
Of course, I rebelled against their ideals and I became the bad investment. With my ever non-conforming attitude, I followed my own dream and career pathway. On the surface, I would be greeted with kinds words like “How was your day at work?” Initially, I thought they turned to the other side of the leaf and supported me in my own life choices. That ended when the conversation reverted back to the topic of money. “Are you earning enough?” “Why don’t you try this job my friend introduced? You will earn more.” Eventually, to save myself from the headache of explaining my life goals, I just responded with nods of pretense. It was enough to satisfy their ever hopeful mind that they were right all along. Days when I had to meet my parents were always dreadful as I had to paint a façade on my face. Deep down though, my parents knew the truth and I supposed they had a façade of their own.
Meanwhile, as their sons all turned out to be undesirable investments, my parents continued their endeavors elsewhere. Their unquenchable thirst for perpetual monetary gain caught them drinking at the wrong side of the pool. Let’s just say shady (or moronic) actions were carried out. Unfortunately, these investments of theirs disrupted their lives and the lives of those around them. Namely, my brothers and I had to bear the blunt of the force as well. Normally, I couldn’t care less how my parents went about with their days but this crossed the line. Voices were raised. Tantrum was thrown. Tears were wept. My parents’ whole investment plans fell out, both financial-wise and their relationship with me. I kept my distance between my family with the exception of my brothers for fear that I would scream and shout uncontrollably like the toddler.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that the toddler and
I weren’t so unalike. He was probably upset at the parents for something. As it
turned out, he just wanted the parents to carry him, the reassurance that the
security and comfort were still there. The moment he was embraced on his
father’s arms, the crying ceased. I watched him as his frown turned to a giggle
and I wondered again, if he and I were alike.
