“Goodbye.” She attempts to leave.
I wrench her back into my side. “I’ve always had to do everything on my own,” I continue. “They believed that in order to be truly successful, you need to be independent, and you need to get to the top all on your own.”
“I definitely understand the need to do everything on your own, but it’s for a different reason for me,” she says.
I hum.
“I guess I grew up just seeing my mom do everything for everyone. That was my measure of success. I feel good when I do everything. Because I think I’m supposed to.”
“You’re successful at everything you do, too,” I make sure she knows.
I feel her smile against my chest.
“Anyway, I made a mistake after a lifetime of perfectionism. And that led to Frankie. And…” I pause, thinking about the sessions I’ve had with my therapist. “…I feel like I need to make up for it. Constantly.”
She digests this. “You’re trying to fix it… or you’re compensating for it in the way you know success. Doing it all on your own.”
I blow out a breath after letting this statement sink into my skin, not surprised at all that Lina gets it immediately, is patient and understanding yet not afraid to call me out on my shit.This is why you’re falling for her, again, pops unbidden into my head. “Yep.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way. For what it’s worth, I’m impressed you’ve made it this far, this long, being the absolute Number One Dad, without having a mental breakdown.”
I laugh without humor. “I’ve come pretty close.” I don’t want to leave out this last part, but I’d imagine it’s a difficult thing for non-Filipinos to understand. It’s all connected though, so I try anyway. “There’s also this weird cultural part of it,” I begin. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
I organize some thoughts in my head, think more about my therapy conversations. Play with her fingers entwined with mine. “There’s this concept in Filipino culture calledhiya. It directly translates to ‘shame.’”
“So you’re embarrassed to ask for help?”
I shake my head. “It’s a little more nuanced than that. Embarrassment is more… personal? I guess? Buthiyais really tied to the community, to community expectations and reputation. And further than that, maintaining harmony within relationships.”
She looks confused. I barrel on.
“For example, someone might avoid asking for help, not just because they’re embarrassed, but because they don’t want to be a burden or seem weak to others. You kind of avoid actions that could bring shame to yourself, or to your family, or your community. It’s also tied to respect—you don’t want to inconvenience others or disrupt social balance.”
“So why can’t you just not care about what other people think?” she asks.
I squeeze her tighter, kiss her hair, because that’s so easy for her, and that’s one of the things I love about her. “I’m working on it. Believe me, I am. And you’ve helped me with that, and it seems like small steps, but they’re huge for me. But it’s hard. It’s like this deeply ingrained cultural phenomenon. I was born with it, raised with it.”
Lina hums. “So all Filipinos feel this way?”
I shrug. “We’re not a monolith, and there are some differences between Filipinos and Filipino-Americans, but it’s definitely a big, shared part of our culture. Tita Gloria doesn’t give a shit, obviously,” I chuckle, “but my parents definitely did.”
“Okay,” she says simply. “Thanks for telling me. I can’t presume to ever understand, but I hear you.” She snuggles further into my side. “This doesn’t change our goals, though.”
“I agree.”
“They apply to both of us. We have to let go. And delegate. And be a little more selfish and take care of ourselves.”
“I know.”
“And that means letting Frankie sit in my office without freaking out, and letting Frankie do overnights with Mama Flores or Oliver so we can go have a proper date or get a hotel room and have extremely loud, aggressive, borderline disrespectful sex.”
This time I do laugh with humor. “Okay.”
“Disrespectful towards me,” she clarifies.
“Got that.”
