By the time I had reached my teens, we had migrated to Australia due to my father’s work prospects. I personally had great hopes for the new life in Australia. Having grown up in the UK, migrating to Australia was much like returning to the Western civilization in my eyes and a chance to spread my wings. To my parents, however, it was just another change of surroundings and I felt that they never entirely changed the way they lived their lives - nor did they expect us to change which made my life just that more difficult. In fact, in some areas, they seem to tighten the reins on discipline which they seen as making certain we didn’t stray too far from our cultural upbringing.

It was 6 o’clock on a warm, sunny Spring Sunday morning in 1987 when we touched down on Australian soil at Adelaide International Airport. It had been a seven hour flight on board the Qantas Airline and my expectations, as a fairly naïve 12 year old, were unrealistically high. Six months prior, my father’s announcement of our migration co-incided with the syndication of an Australian children’s television show called Saturdee which was being aired throughout the Southeast Asian region. The show focus on the adventures of a group of 12 year olds growing up in a small Australian country town. Naturally, this perked up my interests and, from that day forth, mentally prepared myself for the fun and freedom portrayed in the show. What failed to attract my attention was the fact that the show was set in the 1920s. Still, the main characters were my age which was the primary appeal. As it turned out, being driven to our motel by taxi early Sunday morning in the late-1980s on near deserted roads felt like a drive back in time and it is a memory I prefer to retain.

Now, I’m a fairly reasonable person and am willing to negotiate any differences that may arise. However, what I didn’t expect was my parent’s rigidness in maintaining the culture and discipline they had been brought with them in Singapore. In Singapore, they were back on their old stomping ground and close to extended family in Malaysia. In Australia, they were one again fish out of water and did everything in their power to maintain what equilibrium they had prior to migration. Coming to Australia, I attempted to free myself from the constraints of the Asian culture that had been thrust upon me as a child, only to be pulled back into line by my parents once more. Granted, they had relaxed their strict form of discipline somewhat over the years to adapt to the lifestyle we were currently living but they still kept a very close eye on how I decided to live my life.

Right from the beginning of high school, like most parents, mine took control of what subjects I would be studying. During the first year of high school, I was given something of a free range on the subjects I would be studying. My artistic nature led me down the path of illustrative art, drama, English and music. However, that all changed from thereon in. Despite their knowledge of my artistic nature, my parents insisted I studied subjects that would eventually see me in the engineering field. Hence, I was enrolled into mathematics and science subjects. While my interest in science was upheld, unlike most Asians, I am utterly hopeless at mathematics. Despite this, my parents still insisted I receive tutoring in the subject and continued to punish me for failing to meet their expectations.

By the time I reached the end of high school, my grades were low even by my standards which I blame on the subjects my parents had insisted I study. Such was the lowness of my grades, the only tertiary field I could enter into was nursing. While I could have ventured into a career which had hands-on training, my parents were insistence that I study at university to obtain a bachelor’s degree in the field, using the rationale that my mother never had a chance to do so as a form of emotional blackmail.

The field of nursing was considered acceptable one because it had been my mother’s career choice prior to my birth. It was only after my birth that my mother quit her studies to raise me. My mother never said it out loud but I have long suspected that me studying in the field was her punishment towards me for stopping her from achieving that goal.

Ironically, my studies as a nurse did not turn out as well as my mother had expected. Nursing wasn’t just about training in hospitals and nursing homes anymore. There was an academic element to the field as well which I failed terribly. So much so, I never finished my university studies although I was given a second chance at entering a vocational college to obtain a certificate in nursing. The failure to graduate from my nursing degree seemed inconclusively to prove to my parents that I was incapable of surviving independently.

By the time, I had turned 30, it became very clear that my parents were not entirely impressed with the way I had handled my life. In their eyes, my academic achievements were woefully to say the least. Their disappointment reflected in everyday life as well. My mother seem very reluctant to let me prove myself with any domestic chores and would criticize my independence saying that it “wasn’t the way we do things”. Whether she meant “we” as a family or as Asians collectively still baffles me to this day.

I did have one achievement which – in theory – should have made my parents proud. I graduated with a Bachelor of Media Arts degree at the University of South Australia, specialising in multimedia. While they attended my graduation, I knew that this achievement was not impressive to them as an engineering or nursing degree. Why? Because in my parents’ eyes, an Arts degree doesn’t get you anywhere in life. I have since moved out of the family home and, for three years, worked part-time as a sound technician for a local theatre company which utilises the knowledge I learnt from my degree quite nicely.

My parents worshipped the dollar and believed life was meant to be serious. Every cent spent had to be accounted for and had to be a necessity with the exception of birthday and Christmas presents. Even these had to have a good reason for purchase. From a very young age, my parents (especially my mother) would teach us the value of the dollar and the importance of savings. Unfortunately, they also insisted we saved every cent we earned, whether it be pocket money or professionally. This meant buying items for pleasure was usually met with disapproval. In some cases, even buying necessities had to be given approval.

Tax time was especially stressful for me as my mother, who generally did the tax for my father, didn’t trust me with my money at all. Despite me doing my own tax, she would insist on double checking everything I did and questioning any purchases I made on the bank statements throughout the year. She would then point out how much she was helping by reminding me that I wouldn’t be able to survive in the real world without her because of all the purchases she referred to as mistakes. It got to the stage that I would purposely keep cash on my person and purchase items using that instead of the bankcard. Hence the items purchased wouldn’t show up on the band statements.

My father, on the other hand, believed you didn’t need to buy anything unless it was absolutely necessary. Working as a lecturer in the university’s electrical engineering faculty, he had access to a multitude of old computers. When it came time for me to use a computer, he insisted on giving me an old computer from his faculty. His reasoning? If the computer isn’t faulty, there was no need to buy a new one. This was despite the fact the computer system was dated and with an old disk drive. When I asked for a newer computer so I could install certain software needed for studies, he offered me my younger brother’s computer while my brother received the newest computer system because he was following in my father’s footsteps and studying engineering.

Eventually, frustrated with being behind the times with technology, I decided to buy myself a brand new computer at a discounted price. Needless to say, my father was not impressed and castigated me for wasting money on a computer I could have gotten free of charge from his faculty. Thankfully, he eventually ate humble pie, realising I didn’t pay full price for the computer, and praised me for my purchase.

One item I had to be extremely sneaky with was my digital single lens reflex (DSLR) Nikon camera. The camera had to suit the purpose of my passion and I had debated purchasing a compact camera to save on money. However, unlike a compact camera, one has greater control with focus and shutter speed with a DSLR camera. Such was my parents’ policies on saving, I used the excuse that I had bought it for myself as a birthday present at a fairly reasonable price. Surprisingly enough, my parents accepted the rationale, possibly because they could see how much use I was actually getting from the camera. The tricky part of the purchase was upgrading the camera a year later to a newer and better model. At the time, the Nikon camera introduced a red version of the black one I already had. While I had seriously considered buying the red model, I settled for the black one instead. Why? Because the newer model essentially looked like the older model except for a few minor differences which, unless you examined it closely, you wouldn’t notice. Hence, while I had purchased a new model, my parents still thought I was using the older model. Now, you might be wondering how my mother didn’t notice the spending on the bank statements come tax time. Thankfully, by the end of that financial year, I had moved in with my husband, Paul.

My parents were very stingy with money to the point that they would insist everything bought had to be bought with good reasoning. So much so, I once bought a handheld shredder from a discount store for $10 and, despite the savings made from the purchase, my father still insisted I got rid of my other belongings to make up for it as he didn’t see it as an essential item. Oddly enough, there was always one rule for me and another rule entirely for them. I have often wonder how essential having chandeliers in every main room of the house were. They may argue that lighting is an essential part of living but chandeliers, in my eyes, were more of a luxury. Yes, my parents even had one in their bedroom.

It is for this very reason I have always felt like I’ve been a disappointment to both my parents and I feel that I’ve been treated as a child much of my adult life.