I was raised to say 'I love you' to my parents. Now I understand why others don't
Affection is not often spoken aloud but found in everyday actions. Beneath the reminders, the criticism and the everyday routines lies a language of care that can be easy to miss.
by Ben Chester Cheong · CNA · JoinRead a summary of this article on FAST.
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Growing up, my brother and I were trained to greet our father the same way every day.
"Daddy, good morning. I love you."
My mother always made sure we said it once in the mornings, and again in the evenings when he came home from work.
"Daddy, good night. I love you."
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We kids said it without thinking. My parents said it back in the same way. No big deal; just part of the everyday routine.
Part of it came from church where, at Sunday school, we were taught to honour our parents in our daily life, which can come in the form of greetings, the way we spoke to them, and how we expressed care and appreciation for them.
Saying "I love you" felt natural in that setting.
For a long time, I assumed this was the norm.
Then as I grew older, going from primary school to secondary school, I started to notice that not everyone seemed to share the same norms.
MUST AFFECTION BE SPOKEN OUT LOUD?
You do not need statistics and surveys to see how affection works in Singapore. You just have to pay attention.
At a coffee shop, a parent tells her adult child not to order too much food, but digs into the extra dish with gusto anyway, savouring the thought that the child wants her to be well-fed.
On the bus, someone receives a text message: "Going to rain. Bring umbrella." No greeting, no emoji, nothing else.
At the void deck of a public housing block, a father waits longer than necessary, then when his child arrives, says he was just there to pass time.
Nothing here sounds like "I love you". But it's there, beneath the curt words and brusque delivery.
This way of expressing care is often described as practical. It can take the form of reminders, corrections, or what feels like unnecessary scolding.
A child does well on a test but, instead of receiving praise, is asked where the missing marks went. A teenager gets home late and is censured for breaking curfew before being given the opportunity to explain.
Viewed on their own, these moments of "tough love" can feel tiring.
For many parents of my own dad and mum's generation, love was not about making their children feel good – it was about providing them with stability and making sure they were taken care of in concrete ways such as food, shelter and education.
In that context, saying the words "I love you" was not always necessary.
It was more important to do all the things that testified "I love you".
The same dynamic appears repeatedly in the Singaporean films of my millennial youth.
The I Not Stupid and Money No Enough movies often depicted family members who care deeply for one another but struggle to express it in ways the other side can easily accept or recognise.
In these movies, parents and children clashed not because affection was absent, but because it was communicated through expectations, sacrifices, criticism and responsibility rather than direct emotional language.
This clearly resonated with audiences here. Upon release, Money No Enough (1998) became the highest-grossing Singaporean film and held that title for 15 long years, while I Not Stupid (2006) became second-highest.
Dramatic moments in these stories may seem exaggerated to others, but were evidently all too familiar to Singaporeans.
I grew up hearing the words "I love you" and saying them back. I still use them at home. In that sense, nothing was lacking.
In my adulthood, I've learnt that saying the words is only one way of expressing the same thing.
But I've also seen how, over time, it can become too easy to assume that love is felt or understood and does not need to be said.
The difficulty comes when there's a gap between intention and perception.
THE THINGS WE MEAN, THE THINGS WE HEAR
Just because something is meant to come across one way doesn't mean that it's received exactly that way.
"Have you eaten?" can be a show of concern, but to someone who has heard it a thousand times before, it can also feel routine.
"Don't be late" can be a message of care, but to someone who's already feeling stressed about schedules and responsibilities, it can also sound like pressure.
Words without action can feel empty. Action without words can feel unclear.
Over time, it can become too easy to assume that love is felt or understood and does not need to be said.
The question is not whether one way is better than another. What matters is acknowledging the gap between how a message is sent and how it's received.
That may require something quite simple, but not always easy: a willingness to pause and consider what is being done, not just what is being said.
Are they nagging, or do they not know how else to express concern? Are they scolding out of disapproval, or out of a worry they don't have words for?
For my own family, saying "I love you" remains part of how we relate to one another at home.
But observing the different ways people outside my family may express that same care has taught me that silence does not always mean absence.
Not everyone uses the same words, but it does not mean they are saying less.
Ben Chester Cheong is a law lecturer and a scholar under the Ministry of Education's Singapore Teaching and Academic Research Talent Scheme at the Singapore University of Social Sciences. He is also a counsel at a Singapore law firm, and associate academic fellow at the NUS Asia-Pacific Centre for Environmental Law.
If you have an experience to share or know someone who wishes to contribute to this series, write to voices [at] mediacorp.com.sg (voices[at]mediacorp[dot]com[dot]sg) with your full name, address and phone number.
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