Who Needs to Be Educated? A Reflection on Greetings, Cross-Cultural Relationships, and the Daughter’s Burden

I’m Taiwanese, 26 years old. After entering a relationship with a partner from Northern Europe, cultural differences gradually became the most frequent source of tension in our relationship—not between the two of us, but between him and my family.

One day, my mother became furious because my boyfriend didn’t greet her first, even though he had already greeted my father and sister. She said it was my fault—I “should’ve taught him better.” My father backed her up angrily: “He can do whatever he wants, we don’t fuxking care! But from now on, he’s not welcome here.”

That evening, I met with my boyfriend and explained what happened. I cried, telling him I felt both apologetic and conflicted.

Apologetic, because I thought my parents were making a big deal out of nothing. Conflicted, because I still wanted their approval of my relationship, and wished he could meet their expectations.

My boyfriend, with his typical Nordic calm, said: “In Europe, greetings are spontaneous—like how I get along with your Italian friend. If your parents want me to bow and shout ‘hello,’ I can do that too! But for now, maybe I should avoid visiting your home… it gives them time to cool down.”

Since then, he’s appeared less and less in my family home. My relatives described him as someone who avoids problems, and they keep insisting that I “teach him properly” if I want the relationship to work.

But to me, this is more than a cultural misunderstanding—it’s a burden of mediation. I’m expected to: • Predict cultural conflicts in advance; • Interpret and justify my boyfriend’s behavior; • And correct him when he fails to meet “appropriate Eastern etiquette.”

All while maintaining the “face” and traditional authority that my parents hold dear.

Sociologist Erving Goffman’s concept of “front-stage performance” feels especially vivid in my family. A simple act like who greets whom becomes a moral signifier, a ritual by which I’m judged as filial or not.

To please my parents and make them accept my partner, the logic seems to go: • I must educate my boyfriend; • Then I’ll earn my parents’ approval; • Then I’ll be a good daughter.

But my inner thoughts are filled with anxiety: • I have to teach my partner; • But he’s from Northern Europe—am I forcing him to become someone he’s not? • I want my parents’ approval, but I also don’t want him to resent them. • If conflicts like this keep happening, will it damage our relationship?

Even though my partner has since made a clear effort—greeting my parents loudly and respectfully—phrases like “you need to teach him” and “he must adapt” still leave me feeling defeated. I’m stuck between the person I love and the people who raised me.

I once discussed this on an Italian forum. Most people responded: “Your parents probably just don’t like your boyfriend.” I’m not sure I agree completely. But what I do see is this: Two Taiwanese parents born in the 1950s, terrified of losing their daughter to a foreign culture, trying to use traditional Confucian values to resist this unfamiliar presence.

So I’d like to pose a few questions for discussion: • Is “filial piety” a culturally constructed emotional obligation? • Is “love” in traditional Chinese families built on an exchange of debt and moral duty? • If we don’t want to end with conflict or estrangement, is there a way to both love our parents and remain true to ourselves?

I am still struggling in these three topics😆 so I will probably write more stories about these things. ⸻

Writing in this self-narrative style is deeply therapeutic for me. It allows me to revisit my story from a third-person, reflective angle—less entangled in emotions, and more grounded in thought. It brings me a sense of calm and clarity.

Feel free to share your thoughts and stories!