by Asmeeta Kumar Rajesh

I grew up in a South Indian family, the daughter of a Kannadiga father and Assamese mother who both grew up in the city of Bangalore. Four years after being born in Bangalore myself, my family packed up their suitcases, touched their elders’ feet, and left home to find a new one in Singapore.

As a child, so young and with a mind so innocent, an entrance into Singapore came with a multitude of cultural shocks. Little me had no geographical knowledge about places beyond the borders I was born in and was pleasantly surprised when I saw people that looked just like me in this South East Asian country. I had no idea that this was just one of the many new concepts that’d continue to be uncovered even to this day. 

My parents married out of love. But growing up, love was always a topic of conversation they steered away from. With little conversation on it, I learnt what I could from fragments of books, movies, TV shows and music most of which were influenced by the Western world. Slowly, I began to realise the vast number of differences between the various cultures I’d come into contact with. While Indian and East Asian culture shared similar views on romance, the West seemed to differ starkly. 

As I grew into my adolescence, my mum would often ask me jokingly, “Asmeeta, do you have a boyfriend?” In attempts to dismiss this subject, I would always have the same response each time, quickly saying “Ew amma never, that stuff is so weird.” Which was always followed by her expression of relief as she’d say “Good, all you need to focus on right now is school shona.” 

As a child, I never realised the significance of this. Looking back, only now do I realise how Asian cultures teaches us that the experience of romance in one’s youth is a negative asset. A distraction from what really mattered; grades, then college, a career and being able to support a family. It was ingrained into my mind that romance was considered secondary to being able to carry on the family bloodline and traditions. Eastern opinions were mostly centred around the idea of collectivism, encouraging you to put others’ needs before yourself. Finding a partner eventually was very much important, but a romantic relationship wasn’t the main basis of selection. Rather, it was cultural and practical aspects related to castes, religions, careers and family security. A relationship was a sacred ritual, a decision for the future not to be made lightly, and definitely not something that a child should pay attention to. 

In comparison to this, Hollywood shows and films showed me a completely different portrayal of romance, viewing it through an egalitarian lens. Romance would be prevalent, with young teenagers, even middle-schoolers entering relationships which their parents knew about and often supported as well. This, to me, was an absurd and far-fetched scenario I could never see happening in my school life. Indulging in this sort of entertainment was a guilty pleasure, a reality I sometimes wished I lived in though I never admitted it to my parents. The western perception of romance, in contrast to the East, takes a very individualistic approach. Teens were allowed and even encouraged to explore relationships at such an early point in their lives with the notion that this allows them to fully explore the expanse of their personal identity. Love is almost always seen as the main and sole requirement in a marriage, satisfying individual preferences and desires. In Eastern cultures, parental involvement in relationships has historically been pivotal, with parents taking on a central role in the process. In complete contrast, the West seemed to consider parental opinions to be an afterthought. 

Moving to Singapore, I was provided exposure to a multitude of cultures including both Eastern and Western ideals – the blessing of globalisation. Clashing beliefs which still managed to coexist peacefully in a single society led me to reflect on the effectiveness and nature of these existing traditions that I’ve been led to believe is right. While collectivism isn’t necessarily a bad thing, there ought to be a balance between self needs and other’s needs as well. The lack of self fulfilment could potentially lead us to feeling miserable but the lack of practical consideration could lead to future pitfalls. I believe that it is important for each individual to weigh out personal desires as well as pragmatic considerations.