For most of my life I have been scared to speak out. Yet there is nothing more I wish to do than to express. I know expression is all there is.

Most of my growing up was spent in silence. I felt I could not say the things I wished to, for no-one would understand. As a little girl, I spoke with myself all the time in English (Cantonese is my mother tongue). When I ran into situations where I needed guidance, I would ask the questions out loud, and the answers would come from within.

My entire family, for generations, have been Christians, but since I was young, I felt there were too many discrepancies in what was preached and in how they lived – something just did not add up. Why would I repeatedly feel their judgement when I was not living perfectly within their ideal, when they advocated ‘no judgement lest you wish to be judged’?

I could not speak about these things, not even to my blood family – and especially not to my blood family, because they always had the comfort and support of their bigger family, the church. I felt like the (very lonely) prodigal daughter. According to my family, there was always something wrong with me, and when I finally decided to leave the church when I turned 20, I had to live up to the identity of the black sheep – which is ironic, as throughout my growing up, my parents prided me for being the ‘good’ daughter, who listened and was ‘easy’ to discipline.

I hung onto the belief that my family didn’t accept me for who I was, and because I didn’t ‘belong’ to their faith, I felt not worthy enough of their love. I felt very confused for not being understood, for it felt hypocritical to ‘believe’ in something that did not feel right. I chose to be true to my heart, and realised that meant losing my family emotionally. This stark and hurtful discovery led me to react against Christianity, and my family then had to play out the role and confirm that I was the rebellious daughter who has fallen from grace. I bought into the belief that this meant I was all alone in the world, rejected even by family, when in-truth, it was a reflection of the emptiness and rejection I already had within myself.  I could not accept them for not accepting me: I felt orphaned and I was seeking my true family everywhere else. I felt for most of my growing up, I was running around in this circle, like a mouse on a wheel – I was not going anywhere, and the anxiety grew bigger because something was seriously not right.

What was not right was I was not myself whenever I saw my parents, I always had to put on a mask of protection. What grieved me most was that they never got to know the true me. There was no true communication or intimacy between us – they would send me a text or an email even if we were living in the same house. When my son refused to buy into what was considered being ‘good’ (which meant being subservient just because he was told to), I was blamed for creating my son to be disobedient to them, and the rift between me and my parents grew.

As I look back now, what my growing up gifted me was the opportunity to be me. But time and time again, I failed to take the opportunity. I did not speak out, truthfully, to my parents, because whenever I honored my heart, I ended up feeling ‘small’ by buying into what the world judged me to be. In turn, I swallowed all the feelings and kept contracting even more.

It came to a point where it just could not go on anymore. I refused to continue the lovelessness in my life. I started to heal. I began discovering the true love that I already am, that which was not dependent on the actions of others. I began to smile much more, despite the drama that was happening around me. The more I smiled and lived to be me, it was initially shocking to witness how those around me really stepped up to attack and judge. Well, I continued to smile even more – not to instigate – but because I truly felt my joy.

I began to communicate with my parents, with no expectation, but simply expressing the truth in my heart. From the responses that I received, it felt like I was speaking in an unknown language to them. Many times it was a very doubtful silence or, when there was a response from my parents, it would be an emotional reaction because they have no idea what to make of their daughter speaking out for herself. I continued speaking as such, not knowing how to do otherwise. I had to repeat myself, numerous times, to even have one message conveyed… but mostly, I was just repeating myself. I was met with a lot of resistance when I repeated myself. I continued to repeat myself as much as possible with love. I am not perfect and there are moments when I fall back into reaction, but now I will not judge myself with harshness or guilt as I did before– I simply return to my heart again.

Eventually, my father wrote to me (we were still not communicating face-to-face), baring his heart with courage, to tell me how much he loves me by all the sacrifices he has made for me and my sisters. He also told me he is a sensitive man (another revelation!), and because he could feel so much going on around him, often times he would choose to withhold communication. I thanked him and pondered on whether to tell him the truth, or not. I decided not to withhold the truth of my love for him and my family anymore, so I spoke exactly what my heart was telling me, rather than like all the other times since little, when I would hear my heart but would choose to withhold telling my parents how I felt for fear it would make them feel uncomfortable. So I told my father I know he ‘loves’ me, yet love is not about doing, and it is not necessary ever for him to prove his love for me. My father voiced his denial, but to me it felt again like words which were sent back and forth without registering.

Yet, the change that happened afterwards was nothing short of a miracle. My father began putting “Love, Dad” at the bottom of his emails that he sent to me, which was something that does not happen very much in Asian families, or within my family. And for the very first time, I truly felt the freedom of my own love, which was not dependent on how my family treated me. Because I was no longer attached to how I was expected to give or return my love, I even spontaneously threw my father a birthday surprise within our immediate family, and that night I saw my father’s genuine joy.

And so, to me, being love is more important than upholding an Asian family’s decorum or even an Asian daughter’s role of filial piety; it is far more important than ‘belonging’ to a man-made institution that backed me up – in fact, there is no comparison between them. I do not know if my family will ever understand this, but I will respect and continue to learn to not react to their choices.

As I continued to relate to my family, I began to say ‘no’ – not just with words, but with my beingness – to all that was not truth, to the unspoken rules of inequality within family, tradition and religion, to the abuse that is so subtle within what is referred to as love. I began speaking out, instead of taking it all in and boiling up or being mute in sadness. I will continue to remind myself to speak with love and gentleness and not in reaction, because this is the love I hold for myself and for the whole of humanity. I have bought into the corruption that if parents do not side with their children emotionally, we will grow up lacking somewhat in love. This illusion has imprisoned me most of my life. But now, I take back my responsibility and hence my power. My love has always been and will always be within me.

For the first time in my life I am not afraid anymore, because now I am not only speaking, but also living the words.

Published with permission of my parents.

by Adele Leung, Hong Kong