01/09/2025
Let Not the Shadows of Pain Dim the Light of Compassion
As the writer Czesław Miłosz once said, “When a writer is born into a family, the family is finished.” Writers often focus on pain because it’s relatable—and in many ways, pain feels “expensive” while joy feels “free.” But just because pain is easy to write about doesn’t mean we shouldn’t also tell the story from a place of clear space, luminous awareness, and compassion.
My dad, Jampa Tendar, had his struggles. He was an alcoholic and sometimes expressed anger toward my mom and me. I remember those moments, but when I look back now, they don’t fill me with pain. Instead, I find space to see them differently—with compassion and love.
It also took time for me to understand that his pain was not just his own. It was part of a generation of pain carried through exile, loss, and displacement. My dad lost his country, his friends, and members of his family. He faced poverty, hunger, illness, and the barrier of a new language. The weight he carried was not only personal but historical—shaped by what he and his generation endured. Despite this, he still tried his best to raise his family. Recognizing this broader story brings deep empathy, and compassion begins with empathy.
Our parents often go far beyond their own comfort, resources, and health to give us love and care. They plan birthdays, create moments of joy, and show their love in countless small ways. These acts deserve to be remembered just as much as the painful moments.
By holding both truths—the pain of a generation and the love within it—we allow compassion to shine. We don’t erase the pain, but we make sure the light of love is strong enough to illuminate and heal it. In this way, we see our parents in their full humanity and honor both their struggles and their love.
ababa
