Having both parents in your life is a blessing. I respect anyone and everyone who grew up with a single parent because I couldn't even imagine my life in that situation. However, I would like to provide a perspective that I believe a lot of people can relate to.

I’m pretty sure you guys and gals have heard of something called a language barrier. It exists within the crevices of relationships, friendships, and even family connections. One experiences such barrier when traveling to a new country or experiencing a new culture.

My life revolves around language barriers. Most people on my college campus have no idea what I’m saying when I speak, and I am capable of speaking fluent and proper English. It’s just my slang that throws people off. I remember hopping on a small plane and taking off with a bunch of study abroad students as we ventured on our abroad adventures in Italy. Once I was picked up at the airport by my host family, the language barrier kicked in. I knew not a lick of Italian, and my host family knew minimal English. The language barrier sucked but it was funny. We laughed at our inability to communicate with each other.

But with my parents, I don’t get to laugh. This is not an attempt to get pity or sympathy; that’s just how most Asian households are. I always will feel grateful and blessed to have two parents working their butts off to provide for me, but I sometimes just wish that we weren’t immigrants. Sometimes, I wish that they knew more English than just casual greetings, because I believe that communication is key to a healthy relationship. Sometimes I wish that dinner wasn’t so god damn awkward. Sometimes I wish that communicating with them wasn’t the hardest task in the world. All of these “I wish” statements are a result of the language barrier.

I’m not going to lie, I get jealous whenever I see my friends talk to their parents like they speak to their friends. I had dinner at my Caucasian friend’s house once, and I was jealous of how well his family communicated with each other. It’s comforting.

But with my parents, I lose that opportunity. It’s difficult for me to explain to my mother and father all the things that are going on in my life. It’s difficult for me to tell my traditional parents that having a girlfriend or actually going out with friends is okay. During high school, they would ask me about what classes I’m taking. How the heck does one say AP World History or Calculus in Chinese? As a very americanized Asian, it was difficult. No words left my mouth. I would always just say math or English or science. It was the easy way out of the language barrier.

I think the greatest impact that the language barrier had on me as a kid was my inability to express my love and emotions for my parents, and vice versa. The way we communicated was very aggressive and often frustrating, because I would get mad while repeating myself several times just to make sure my parents knew exactly what I meant. And they usually didn’t!

I remember the first time my father told me he loved me; it was honestly weird. My parents never showed love like that to me. They just expressed it in their hard work. The language barrier really took away that expression from us, and hearing it for the first time was a bit uncomfortable. I mean, I knew I loved my parents, and I knew my parents loved me, but I had never really heard it. Most of our communication was constant bickering back and forth due to the fact that I had no idea what they were saying and vice versa.

I wish the language barrier had never existed.