To the Parents Who Never Asked for Thanks | Part 1: Learning to See

Alice grew up in East Vancouver, surrounded by the smells and sounds of a multicultural city. Her lunchbox didn’t raise eyebrows, and her family’s story wasn’t uncommon. But the quiet love that shaped her - the kind shown through sacrifice, recipes, and steady presence - took time to recognize. This is a story about the ways we learn to speak love, even when it was always there.

Where Love Started

Alice is a Canadian-born Chinese who grew up in East Vancouver, where around 70% of her classmates were also Asian. “Luckily, I didn’t experience bullying for bringing Chinese food to school,” she says. “I heard stories about kids getting teased for their lunches, but for me, everyone loved the variety. I even remember a classmate whose Indian mom would bring samosas, and all the kids were excited about it.”

Her parents immigrated from Guangdong, China, over 35 years ago. Her father had been an architectural technician in China, but the language barrier made it impossible to continue in his field when they moved. He shifted to blue-collar construction work, using his hands instead of drafting tools. Her mother, who had a high school education, found work as a seamstress and took on jobs where speaking English wasn’t required. “They were really, really poor,” Alice says. “They just wanted a better life for their kids.”

There’s a quiet love story behind how her parents came to Canada. “My dad came first, and they weren’t exactly dating yet,” Alice shares. “But my mom wanted to keep the relationship, so she followed him. That’s always been sweet to me.” Their relationship, built on commitment and hope for a better future, would later shape Alice’s understanding of love and sacrifice.

Alice grew up speaking Cantonese at home - a language many assume is exclusive to Hong Kong, but is in fact deeply rooted in Guangdong, where her family is from. "People are often surprised I speak Cantonese, but it's the main dialect in Guangdong too," she says. “The way they speak Cantonese in Guangdong and Hong Kong is a bit different, but we can understand each other.”

The Language We Leave Behind

Though Alice’s parents have maintained close ties with family in China, Alice herself has not. “I haven’t visited my grandmother in about 15 years,” she says. “It’s probably my one regret.” Her parents still keep in touch with family abroad, calling weekly and visiting when they can. Her dad’s older brother lives nearby in Vancouver, while her mom’s siblings are spread across China and New Zealand. “It’s common for that generation to spread out all over the world in search of a better life,” Alice reflects.

Growing up, Alice didn’t feel especially connected to her culture. “I went to Chinese language school, but I quit by grade four or five. I just wanted to do what the other kids were doing.” She gets why she quit. "No one wanted extra school after school." Still, something about that choice lingers now.

She went on to study French, Japanese, and Korean with enthusiasm, but not Chinese or Cantonese. "I wonder why I never went back to it," she reflects. "I can understand maybe 80-90% of what my parents say, but I can’t read or write at all. My speaking isn’t the best either." There's no heavy regret, just a quiet curiosity - about that younger version of herself who resisted, and the version now who finds meaning in what once felt distant.

Stirring Something Familiar  (to be continued…)