What if the life I want will disappoint my parents?

“I see your future here. Be different from us,” verbatim, all in English. (Taray, Englishera!) It was from her, after all, that I learned my first English words. To teach your kids English affords them some level of intelligence, or at least mobility for when they migrate to the United States or Canada.

But I do wonder if I’m that different, or if I’ll become different at all. We still share the same eyes, nose, and ears. Not the same house anymore, though. What does she mean by “different”?

I have another running theory that we have different interpretations of “different.” For them, I assume it means to be wealthy (which doesn’t sound so bad!). For me, however, it means pursuing a non-STEM career and getting double-lobe piercings, which they would then deem “disappointing.”

So to double down in true listicle fashion, here are three “fun” ways to disappoint your parents. Not clickbait!

1. Pursue the arts and humanities

Every so often, you will come across an infographic saying that any degree program preceded by a “BA” is useless.

But suppose your affinity for anthropology is unshakable. The world feels bleak and the future is not guaranteed, so why not study something you’re passionate about?

Your parents don’t think so. Because despite life being short and the world’s many turmoils, you still have bills to pay and bread to win.

So your life branches out into two: BA or BS. And you think, “BS—such complete BS!”

At this point, you’d make a good business major for how well you weigh risk against profit. A natural at compromise. Life, as it is, has always handed you comparative idioms to believe in. Blood is thicker than water; mind over matter; give and take; and finally, your winning bid: Disappointment over regret.

Hopefully, in four years, diplomas will come with trade secrets on how starving artists and intellectuals can make millions without nepotism. So it shouldn’t be too disappointing anyway that you tell your parents that you want to “BA” filmmaker. What are the odds you’ll win an Oscar?

2. Come out of the closet

You turn off the lights and take them by surprise! This is you getting back at your parents for frightening you with their peek-a-boos when you were a baby; so you frighten them by not giving them any at all in the future, biological ones at least. That’s one way to end generational curses.

Love is love, you poetically explain. But what if love is also a transaction?

God made man in His image. Imago Dei. If we are made in His image, perhaps we also inherit His way of keeping score. While He does have a generous amount of love, it does not always come for free. You are judged and rewarded accordingly. So in more ways than one, to honor thy parents is very much like to honor God.

Your parents are still afraid. Not of death, but what comes after it. They are afraid that you will be apart when they go to Heaven, and you to Hell. “Change,” they plead, before the Devil breaks open a rift wider than the one you already have between you and them.

This whole step is, of course, optional. You have a choice, like how parents believe that all of it is inevitably a choice.

3. Live life on your own terms

“Bahala ka na sa buhay mo,” or so they tell you. You can’t tell by their tone whether that is a threat or a benevolent act of finally setting you free.

With the education they have graciously given you, it is in Araling Panlipunan that you remember “Bahala na” stems from “Bathala na,” meaning it is up to God. So you will misconstrue their words just like they have always misconstrued yours. They are, more or less, saying God has your back.

So maybe you will go to church next Sunday, not out of abandoning your agnostic lifestyle, but out of love. Maybe.

You will listen to the preacher as you would listen to your college professor. So many people to listen to but your own parents.

They have always endowed you with such unsolicited advice on how to live your life: don’t get fat; don’t date anyone until you’ve graduated; don’t stay out too late; don’t wear that; don’t smoke and drink; and most importantly, don’t rack up debts.

Someday you will find the courage to tell them that you’ve been in crippling debt all this time: utang na loob, made out to their names in big fat capital letters.

If love is a transaction, then so be it. We are all in debt in one way or another. You, for not defrosting the chicken; them, for not being home enough. You, for not cleaning the living room; them, for missing your recognition rites. You, for always asking for more; them, for not being able to give it. So, yes, love is a zero-sum transaction.

Optional: Leave them behind

It’s difficult. On one hand, we crave to be free. But many argue it is a very individualist Western point of view—so very un-Filipino. But what does it matter? Your whole life is geared towards migrating to Europe anyway. So embrace the West as much as you can, because you will be different; your future is there.

On the other hand, leaving feels cruel and unfair. Where is the return on investment? What about all the sacrifices? They worked tirelessly to feed you, clothe you, and bathe you. How could you do this to your parents? Will they ever see you again?

The cognitive dissonance might just be a trap. Maybe you will be happier if you do manage to disappoint your parents. But maybe you won’t. Still, I suppose the cure for cognitive dissonance is to stop all the either/ors. I will be indebted in a way that I am grateful, but I will still dream of flying my family across the world when I become a Crazy Rich Asian. (I still won’t become a doctor, though.)

I will not be a preachy parent—through writing—to anyone reading this. There is no simple, definite answer for complex relationships.

All these years, I wish there could have been a WikiHow guide or perhaps a Philippine STAR listicle telling me that these are the exact steps to have a good relationship with my own parents. I also wish there were a counterpart, one I could send to our family group chat: “How to Have a Good Relationship with Your Child.”

So I cannot even begin to imagine how to put myself in the shoes of my readers and their parents. But why should I? The matter of wearing each other’s shoes is a familial thing, sibling-to-sibling, parent-to-child, child-to-parent.

Maybe I am missing out on the magical movie-like plot twist where disappointment brings families closer than ever before. I do hope it exists (and I know it does), perhaps in a household just a couple of turns from where I grew up. But for all that it’s worth, disappointment has brought me closer to the life I wanted and, dare I say, deserved.

I will never know how to make sense of family, and I can’t pretend that I do. If I really must have an answer, I’ll just ask my parents for it—right after I ask them how to file taxes. They always know best. For now, this is a developing story. Stay updated.