if only we spoke

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I always see how older siblings often carry a kind of deep resentment toward their youngest sibling, and as the youngest child, I always wondered why. Until one day, my parents opened up to me about their deepest regrets--both as parents and as children to their own parents. That’s when I finally understood.

Each of us grows up with a different version of our parents. Unless parents are consistent in their parenting style, every child experiences something different. For many parents, they don’t fully know how to navigate life, so they just do what they think is best at that moment.

With their firstborn, they usually want the best, so they become very strict and controlling. By the time the second child arrives, they’re a little more lenient--sometimes to the point of neglecting certain needs. Then, when the youngest is born, they try not to repeat the same mistakes they made with the eldest, so they go easier on the youngest. That’s why it often feels like the youngest has the “easiest life,” or that the parents have simply become “lazy.” I feel that too.

Eventually, parents begin to realize their flaws and regret them. When the eldest grows up and becomes strict with their own children, the grandparents often take the grandchildren’s side. They do this because they want to redeem themselves and prevent their children from repeating the same mistakes. But the grown children fail to see this, instead feeling that their parents are spoiling the grandchildren and being unfair or meddling. This is where misunderstandings begin--misunderstandings that could actually be resolved if both sides just expressed their feelings.

But egos get in the way. Parents often won’t admit their mistakes--whether out of embarrassment or stubbornness. Meanwhile, children think it’s useless to bring things up, because their parents will turn it into an argument or an unwanted life lecture.

If only... if only both sides could sit down for a true heart-to-heart conversation--one deep enough to bring tears, followed by a hug. Then they could finally see each other’s perspectives. The children would realize that their parents really were trying their best, even if they didn’t always know the right way. The parents would finally understand how their actions deeply shaped their children into who they are today. Instead of blame, there would be understanding and acceptance.

Both sides have their faults, but that’s what makes us human. Sadly, many are too ego-driven, and that’s why family dynamics often end up broken this way.

And then my parents also told me about their regrets as children to their own parents.

My mother shared how much she wished she had slept over at her mother’s house that last weekend. My grandmother had told my brother she would love for us to stay one more night, but he forgot to mention it. My mother didn’t insist, thinking it was a Saturday, and since we were in Kedah, the next day was a weekday, so it didn’t cross her mind. We had already stayed from Friday, but my grandmother still wanted us one more day. My mom said she could’ve just taken one day off work--and that’s what she regrets so much, because that turned out to be the last time we ever saw her. After that, there were no more sleepovers. My mom blames herself for not taking the initiative, and she wishes she had done more as a daughter, especially since we lived just an hour away.

Hearing her, I felt the same regret. I wish I had warmed up to my grandmother more, that I had been the granddaughter who begged her to cook my favorite dishes, to hug me, to tell me her stories, to teach me cooking and sewing. But I wasn’t.

Then my father spoke about his regret with my Tok Ayah. After his father was discharged from the hospital, my dad put him in a nursing home for just one day, because he had work the next day and no one was available to care for him. He remembered hearing his father call his name before he left, but he was in a rush and didn’t go see him. The next day, the nursing home called to say his father had passed away. He told me how much he wished he could turn back time and just bring him home. He blames himself deeply, punishes himself, and says this is his punishment for not being a good, filial son.

In that moment, I wanted to cry so hard in front of them... but I couldn’t.

I feel like all of us were raised to hide our emotions, to never be vulnerable, to always be tough and emotionally in control.

I don’t know how much time I have left with my parents, my siblings, or myself. But I hope one day we can all sit at the same table, sharing a conversation that opens our hearts to understanding, empathy, and love.