Some chronic people-pleasing
Guess what flavour of juice I like the least?
Orange juice. The Western kind.
I love Indonesian es jeruk (“iced orange”). Perhaps the oranges are sweeter. Perhaps they add unnecessary sugar into the drink. Either way, I love that one.
The Western kind that I saw on Hollywood series and movies? Not so much, apparently.
Maybe it’s the unpredictability: some juice has pulp and some don’t. Maybe it’s the bittersweet aftertaste that somehow lingers even after the drink is finished.
I might still drink it with no issues if there were no other choice, but it definitely is my least favourite. The last on my list.
A few weeks ago, I asked my partner of 13 years to buy me a bottle of juice. He got me orange juice. That moment was the first time I finally said, “Actually, I like orange juice the least, compared to other fruits.” He said I’ve never told him this. He was right. In the past 13 years, I had never told him that it’s the juice I liked the least.
Come to think of it, I don’t understand why I had to withhold that information. My family’s easy. My partner and children love any kind of juice. It would not be a big deal for them to switch from orange juice to another fruit.
My partner has been shopping for different flavours of juice to stock at home. Sometimes it’s apple, which I love. Sometimes it’s mango, which is not my favourite but might be number 2. Sometimes it’s strawberry, which could be on a tie with mango. Sometimes it’s orange, which I liked the least, but I gulped it anyway.
I had always thought it’s too much problem to say it out loud. I thought I did not have to let it out — that I like orange juice the least — because my family seemed to be okay with orange juice. It was for the house anyway, and not for me, so I could adjust my preference.
This small thing led to realising the bigger picture. I do this to many aspects of my life. As the eldest daughter, I am used to adjusting to other people’s preferences: what would my parents like? What would my siblings like? And later on, what would my partner and children like? It became some sort of a default, of my way of doing things, without entertaining the possibility that the people around me might be okay with my preferences.
I guess that day I’ve made some small progress. Maybe it could be my resolution: to advocate myself more, and to speak (and write) my thoughts more openly.
With love,
Alanda
What I’m reading this week:
Nonfiction: Skin in the Game (Nassim Nicholas Taleb)