A High School Drop-Out's Guide to Tiger Parenting

(Don't) Listen to Me

My dad likes to listen to EDM with lyrics sung in Mandarin. Every time the car starts, the fast-paced songs would automatically blast from the old radio, naturally overtaking the silence after the bang of a closed car door. Every time I grimaced, not because I didn't like EDM. In fact, I love to listen to EDM too—but in English. Like father, like daughter? Maybe my father likes EDM because of the amount of times he has listened to it in his parties, or because its energy helps to motivate him. These parties are exactly the reason why I pressed my back to the backrest, as if the centimeters of additional distance I created from the speakers would make the thumping and vibrating of Chinese EDM less grueling. The slight grimace on my face was the only indication of the gargantuan mental force I mustered to suppress memories of filthy cigarettes and food that tasted more like ashes than Chinese cuisine.

When I'm enjoying EDM outside of cigarette-stained cars and ash-scented memories, I do find myself nodding to the fast-paced beats—so powerful that they speak for themselves, no words needed. When lyrics are added, they only go on to enhance the beats, instead of letting one dominate the other. EDM is strong and wild, with sounds that shake me to my core with the emotion they can bring about, even without words. Above all, I like EDM because it's a break—an escape from the orders and demands of life. EDM is like reading a fantasy book, where I experience the emotions of another, completely detached from the monotony of daily life and the chaos of childhood.

As a child, I listened to lively pop and whatever was trending because of my poor English vocabulary. I had no ability to type in a search or to even think about exploring what I liked. I was subjected to the idea that what other people liked must mean I would like it, otherwise, why would so many people like it? I also listened to the sounds of my parents' voices, the sizzling of fires, banging of metal against metal, and the hasty footsteps of employees and customers. But largely, I listened to the demands of my parents as they barked out the habits that I would hold onto even until this day:

"Take that customer's order!"

"Eat faster!"

"Be quiet!"

"Recite your times tables!"

Following them was as easy as breathing air and inhaling chips when hungry. When threatened with yelling and some gluteus maximus beating, nothing else mattered but following their words like law. Their words were second only to each other's. My brother and I gained the ability to defy reality to fulfill their requests, but my dad didn't just look for obedience; he looked for competence. Even if we followed his words and tried to get smart with him by putting half of our effort into whatever he said (still technically completing the task), we always received the same punishment like we didn't complete the task at all: chastisement, verbal and physical. This expectation for quality, submitted work was convenient in a restaurant business, where there was much for a kid of 8 years to do. It was easy to drill obedience and competency into us in a restaurant where our interpersonal skills, physical abilities, problem solving, and emotional intelligence were constantly put to the test. From speaking to customers and hauling large glass gallons of hot sauce to counting change and enduring the roars of a raging tiger, we were tested in every aspect and trained in the body and mind. Intentional or unintentional, it was almost militant how I could put on a customer service voice or a poker face when needed, from years of training in a restaurant.

This does not mean that I didn't have joyful sounds enter my ears; I had plenty of shouts containing great news:

"It's time to eat dinner!"

"Do you want some chocolate?"

"You can choose a snack."

"You look cute!"

It was always unexpected—and rare—when my parents said anything in relation to food. If my chubbiness wasn't clear enough, I loved to eat. So, food was always the reward. Even without a reward, the punishment was enough to get me on my feet and running within seconds. With enough practice, obedience and competence was guaranteed, with or without the punishment to back it up. So in school, I was the teacher's pet and the "nerd," someone who was just willing to put in an excessive amount of effort to outperform those who wouldn't. I was willing to listen to all the adults, but my father wasn't willing to listen to kids—specifically his own children. My dad thinks that we just don't know enough about real life, thus all of our opinions are invalid. He is right just by virtue of wisdom. Our age meant the juvenility of our choices and integrity, translating to seemingly poor character in which everything we say is untrustworthy. I've dedicated my life and my decisions to what would make him and the adults around me content, and yet when I request for my voice to be heard, it's rejected on a basis as fickle and vain as age.

Maybe that's why I like EDM. The strength, power, and variability of it exceeds the strictness of the decision and the discipline of my character, allowing me a taste of something different—something exciting. I don't have to listen to what I don't want to when it comes to music; I have a choice—when I want to listen to EDM, I can. When I want to listen to indie pop, I can. There is no expectation to abide by popular culture when it comes to music, something pushed upon me by adults.

But as I age, and my father's grip on me loosens, I gained more freedom in what I ate, what I did, and what I listened to, discovering my own leadership in the process. I can pioneer my own decisions and my own life (in part thanks to learned competency), taking initiative to do my own best at work and finding it within me to find fulfillment in doing such. I didn't need the constant, looming threat of punishment, or the motivation of sweets. I no longer needed to submit to childhood fears and lessons. I didn't need to be another me.

So how does a high school drop-out tiger parent? By teaching you the qualities that make up a tolerable, reliable person: obedience, competency, and understanding. He gives you a willingness to learn and to listen to others, so that others may never feel dejected for minuscule "imperfections" as you had. He also tightens the reins on you enough so that you may learn to not tolerate oppression, finding a champion of decision within yourself. He strikes a balance between discipline and freedom, allowing for ventures into greatness. He tells you to be hard on yourself, but also when you need to relax and live the life you see through your eyes. He gives you only one version of you, so that you may find another.