The Buddha of Suburbia

The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi is a light (though sometimes weighty) reflection of the tangled mess that is life. Things we mean to communicate often get misconstrued. Our hopes and dreams veer off into dirty directions. The people around us shift their shapes and make decisions we can't understand. 

I relate to the depiction of immigrant life in an Anglo-dominate nation—particularly in the disconnect between parents heavily burdened by the mindsets of the countries they've left behind, in comparison to the generations of offspring that barely knew them.

"I flushed with anger and humiliation. No, no, no, I wanted to shout. We're misunderstanding each other again! But it was impossible to clarify. Maybe you never stop feeling like an eight-year-old in front of your parents. You resolve to be your mature self, to react in this considered way rather than that elemental way, to breathe evenly from the bottom of your stomach and to see your parents as equals, but within five minutes your intentions are blown to hell, and you're babbling and screaming in rage like an angry child."

I've had this experience many times with my own parents, and the internet has exposed me to so many other Asian children who grew up in America. As a teenager in an American suburb where I was little-exposed to other teens like me, it would have been enlightening for me to read this excerpt. Now, especially, as an adult myself, I could not explain it better.

We're all children, aren't we. It's something I'm reminded of every time I return home. But through the tensions—hopefully—we all forgive and maintain the support system with the people we call family.