Crossing the River

The river is called generation gap. Or to be exact, cultural gap.

I know, because I taught Cross Cultural Communication. I believe that each one of us is a "subculture" of our own. We are subset of this bigger culture called our family, then our ethnicity, and race, and nationality, and regional, and then we are part of mankind. (Buddhism recognises that each of us is just like a "small cosmos", which is part of this grand cosmos that we live in).

I value my personal culture a lot because it takes up to build up. Of course, The Mother also treasures her personal culture and the family culture that she established to the extend of trying to defend it.

That's what I meant by cultural gap.

OK I complain about my mother a lot. But she's not that bad, really. It just take a little bit more understanding, and accommodating, especially when you try to see it from her perspectives and where she is coming from.

It is not easy trying to accommodate The Mother. That would mean giving up part of the personal culture. In the literature, sociologists have recognised several ways of intercultural marriages patterns - no it's not a marriage, but in any kind of relationship, it all involves two people communicating to each other.

Let me give you an example -
The Mom: Oh you have pancake mix. It's going to expire. Let's make pancake for breakfast.
The Mom:... so where is your ladle? Do you have measuring cup? Where is your spatula?
Me: Here. Don't need measurement cup. I just "agak-agak". Let me do it.
The Mom:...how come it takes so long? You should cover the pan. It will cook faster.
Me: No. You need to be patience... so that it's cooked inside slowly... you cannot cover because you need to see the bubbles burst, which is an indication of whether it is cooked or not...

Next Day...
The Mom: (started cooking the pancake while I shower) Come, I've prepared pancake for breakfast. And I covered the pan. It cooked faster. You should do the same.
Me: But the colour is not nice. Mine looks nicer.
The Mom: Aiya... no need to be nice.
Me: It's a bit powdery.
The Mom: Huh? Not nice ah? (turned slightly defensive)
Me: Not really lah (trying to be nice). Taste a bit weird.
The Mom: It's not the cover lah. I put in more oil because I think it's very dry.
The Mom: So next time you should cover. (Sounds like a final word - that's how I should cook my pancake henceforth.)

You see. She set the culture - how things should be done (that's part of a cultural system too), and she expects her children to follow it.

What do you do to cross this river?

I don't drown. I just suffocate myself. Ha.