Loving Unconventionally: A Guide for Children of the American Dream

It’s the first White Christmas New York has had in over 15 years. 

I step out, the frigid air nipping at my ears and at the tip of my nose until both turn cherry red. Soft white sheets of snow blanket the sidewalk; a path of footprints are left in the wake of my parents’ walk down the driveway. My teeth begin to chatter, and I hurriedly get into the car, attempting to not trip and die on that suspiciously shiny piece of concrete underneath my boots. Once I’ve avoided that near-death experience, my dad takes one look at me and begins to laugh. “Next time, remember what I told you—if you keep the top half of your body warm, you won’t be as cold! This is what happens when you only put your jacket on halfway,” he chuckles. I huff, a wisp of soft steam leaving my lips. 

Soon, I find myself at a big round table of food with all our family friends gathered around. Before I even get a chance to grab a piece for myself, my dad’s already put a few pieces of 回锅肉 [twice-cooked pork] on my plate. When I pick them up with my chopsticks, I already know they’re the juiciest pieces in the bowl—after all, it was my dad who taught me how to tell the difference. Throughout dinner, I continue to use all the tips I’ve internalized from my parents over the years—how to thoroughly chew a piece of fish without swallowing the bone; how to recognize which dishes are meant to 配饭 [go with rice]; how to always grab an extra spoon of sauce to drizzle over the meat to preserve flavor. 

Despite it being below zero degrees celsius outside, Christmas is never cold for me—although my sniffly nose and slightly immobile fingers may tell a different story. I owe that constant warmth to my family, who has taught me how to subsist off love alone. 

In Western society, there is an unspoken belief that if you can’t say I love you to your family, there’s something wrong with you. You have family problems—daddy issues, mommy issues, you name it, and they’re not the fun kind people on TikTok seem to want. For many immigrant families, however, uttering the words “I love you” isn’t commonplace—my own family included. Does that mean we’re all faulty? 

As much as the American Dream may have immigrant families believe we can be the suburban Hollywood ideal—white-collar families with proclamations of love out in the open and a swing set in the backyard—it’s impossible because we’ve never had the privilege of fitting such an image. Open vulnerability and expression are things we cannot afford because we don’t have the bearings to support them—our backgrounds are too foreign; our dreams too fragile; and our loss too deep. Emotions get lost in translation, and the ability to maintain hope while dealing with our reality relies on leaving things unsaid. Instead, we find other ways to communicate our love. It comes in the form of pieces of meat put on a plate at the dinner table; reminders of what to drink or eat during different seasons to stay healthy; cut-up fruits placed on your desk during a study break; and a silent smile that speaks a thousand words. 

Since my first birthday, I’ve always been taught to be resilient because tears can’t solve any problems. Some would gape in horror at the idea of repressing your emotions like this, but what they don’t understand is, for many of us, keeping a smile on our faces despite the things we’re confronted keeps us afloat. Our parents maintain their composure despite the mounting bills, a separation from their home an ocean away, and constant fear they endure because they want to set a strong example for their children. It is their way of loving us fiercely because the most precious thing they can give us is the ability to be resilient in the face of adversity. And in return, we show them that we’ve internalized that lesson. Our ability to thrive independently is the greatest show of love we can give back, even if it feels like a heavy burden on us. 

The truth is, we aren’t all hopelessly fractured families. Love in immigrant families is unspoken because love in our worlds is built on sacrifice—blind faith despite the fear of not knowing what comes next—rather than a verbal guarantee. Expressions of familial love aren’t linear—they mirror the rollercoaster of each family’s path, and there is no “perfect” or ideal version of expressing love. How we communicate reflects the truths of our lived experiences—it isn’t sunshine and rainbows but rather a constant chase for warmth in a perpetually unfamiliar storm. Immigrant love will never be an easy thing to bear, but that doesn’t make it flawed. The mark it leaves on immigrant families and children is a constant reminder of the hardships we have endured. As immigrant children of the 21st-century American Dream, our greatest protector is our ability to love, unconventionally.