A common but controversial English idiom, “blood is thicker than water,” illuminates the idea that kinship ties are the most paramount bonds, surpassing all chosen relationships. It’s ironic to think — in a country that places such robust emphasis on freedom of choice — that something forced could possibly surmount something chosen.
Well, that’s because the idiom “blood is thicker than water” does not assert itself in eurocentric American culture. Rather, it is rooted in the principles of many East and South Asian cultures and is then transferred to America through immigration, persisting as a value that stands firm against the assimilation into a laissez-faire, white parenting style.
Throughout mainstream media, such as in the movie “Dìdi,” Asian American families, particularly the relationship between a mother and their child, have long been portrayed as toxic, dysfunctional, and plainly abusive. I would argue to say that, not all, but many stereotypes exist for a reason, emerging from a pattern of repeated behavior, and that this stereotype is certainly not unaccounted for.
Asian and Asian American cultures alike tend to place an undue emphasis on a child’s obedience and duty to their parents. From a young age, many children are affected by the value of filial piety. We are told to “listen to your elders” because they “only want what is best for you.” We are told that it is our responsibility to “give back” for all the “sacrifices” our parents have made. Work hard, do as you’re told, and never talk back. Any wrong move, and you’re “diu lian” — throwing your face away and bringing shame to the entire family.
So, when you wonder why South or East Asian women are always portrayed as submissive and docile, why so many Asian American children grow up to become those annoying nonconfrontational adults who can’t speak up for themselves, it is because filial piety turns our parents into some kind of gods. In turn, we become worshippers of the status quo.
The only form of parenting that has been acknowledged in Asian history is verbal discipline and corporal punishment. People can joke about being spanked by their parents to cope, but they can’t deny the trauma that exists from an environment where emotions are taboo, where mental health is practically propaganda, and where “I love you” is expressed through criticism, rather than care.
Growing up as a first-generation Indian immigrant surrounded by white peers, I sometimes wondered why my parents treated me the way they did. Why am I only recognized for my flaws and never my strengths? Why do I feel like I’m never enough for them, no matter how much I do?
And when I looked in the opposite direction of my white peers, I felt such burning envy for their father-son relationships, which were so strong that you could nearly feel the love radiating from their homes. Such an open expression of affection and appreciation is something that many Asian American children can only ever dream of.
Of course, I know that my parents love me. Family comes first, right, so how could they not? And I know that they only want the best for me because I’ve been told that many, many times before. Asian parents often have to make unfathomable sacrifices to immigrate to America and provide better lives for both themselves and their children. They have to learn a new language, a new culture, a new way of life. But I truly believe that perhaps my parents’ ability to give love is incompatible with my ability to receive it.
When you become older, you come to realize that the dysfunction, narcissism, nonstop criticism, and anger stem from a place of generational trauma. Holding resentment for a place that’s already broken only makes it worse for yourself.
Many of our parents were abused or mistreated as children themselves. My mother was the only daughter out of 5 children in an impoverished household . Because of this, she was always her mother’s last pick.
But that doesn’t mean that we have to give them grace for their behavior. Forgiveness is possible, and it has allowed me to approach my family with more understanding. But in a country that places such robust emphasis on freedom, forgiveness is a choice, not an obligation.
Blood is not always thicker than water, but the opposite can be true. In fact, there is a variation of the original idiom, which some believed originated from an ancient Arab proverb: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” Meaning, the relationships that you choose for yourself are more important than the ones that are assigned to you at birth.
In some circumstances, you simply have to choose what is better for yourself. That can come in the form of forgiveness, or it can be moving out and putting distance between your family, or it can even be going no-contact.
Nonetheless, it is not an easy decision to make. As an Asian American child, if you do choose to move away or go no-contact, then you will have to prepare yourself to live with a lifetime of guilt for betraying the value of filial piety. You will have to work hard to accept that you are a human with real feelings, since those have never come up in conversation before, and you will have to learn how to love yourself properly to make up for what you didn’t receive.
Whether blood is thicker than water ultimately depends on how we see ourselves in the long term. For some people, the parents who raised them will always come first. For others, not so much. For Asian American children, perhaps the real measure is not whose blood runs through our veins, but rather who is standing beside us when it matters most.
