The Farewell
Placing the Guilt of Being a First Generation Immigrant
I sobbed openly on the car ride home from seeing The Farewell. I wailed as if someone had punctured my heart and blood was pooling around me.
The film follows Billi, a young Chinese-American woman raised in the United States. Under the guise of celebrating a wedding, her family gathers in China. In reality, they are collectively going to say their goodbyes to the matriarch of the family, Nai-Nai. Her prognosis is grim- only a few more weeks left to live. Billi even suggests telling Nai-Nai the truth, but their family explains that the burden is not for Nai-Nai to carry. All they want her to know is that her family is together again. The burden is for the rest of the family
Watching Billi grapple with her family’s pressure and grief within the bounds of her culture connected us through the screen.
I recently started seeing a new psychiatrist. As we worked through intake, I droned on about my family. He gently stopped me to ask,
“Do you resent your parents?”
I paused and rustled in the silence.
“I know they’ve known nothing else. After years of therapy, I try to understand where they are coming from rather than blame them.”
“Do they try to understand you?”
“No, but it’s ok.”
“It seems you’re ready to forgive everyone but yourself.”
I was showered in silence again. He had caught me and all my guilt red-handed. This time, I could only turn my eyes away. I imagined myself at 6, 9, 12, and 14; carrying the burdensome understanding of my parents and twisting my hands in the static.
So when Billi’s family says that Nai-Nai’s illness is their burden, I reflected. I wonder if her family cares to know the burden she carries of trying to understand them and not receiving the same empathy. For me, there is no place for the guilt of being a first-generation immigrant. It eats you when you’re flourishing and devours you when you’re struggling. You blame yourself for not being enough like your people, but it’s no one’s fault you’re a cultural mutt. Your parents were just trying to survive.
On the highway to our home, tears stung my face. I felt hot with validation. And a pain kept growing in my heart, like all the rooms of my memories were merging in my chest.
Yes, I fervently resented my parents. At times, I still do. I blame them for the all pain I’ve gone through, the insecurities I pushed into other relationships, and my stunted emotional health. But I can only be free from this affliction if I let myself be. The only person aware of my burden and how it makes me feel is me. This time, I forgive myself and bid farewell to the personal guilt I’ve burdened for no one but myself.
For me, The Farewell doesn’t suggest a place to put guilt. But has loudened a silent experience, moving me toward letting the guilt go entirely.