Elementary, my dear Watson.
When I was little, I had such a sweet tooth (and I still do today). Needless to say, cavities plagued my baby teeth (who knows how many I had; I lost count). Years later, my adult teeth slowly began to replace and fill in the gaps of my childhood, and I donned those horrid geeky braces that made my awkward tweens embarrassingly more awkward. After removal during high school, to my surprise, my dentist found 9 more cavities.
Why, why, why. I thought I would have learned my lesson as a child, and I certainly did. So what went wrong?
My parents have always scolded me how I should stop eating candy, because what they told me in their mother tongue literally translated into, "they'll break and ruin my teeth." I had that distilled within me since I had my first several cavities.
"Răng con sẻ bẻ gảy," they said. I obediently listened.
Unwilling to let my sweet tooth go, I thought I was extremely clever when I formulated my alternative: I continued to devour physically soft candies from an early age, not knowing how cavities truly formed until I entered my high school's Health Academy.
Do I blame my parents for not explaining to me the science behind cavities? No.
They told me the truth, they told me what they knew. Was it my fault? Maybe.
It was truly all a misunderstanding. Lost in translation.
Misunderstanding. That seems to be quite the motif in my life for the past several months. And evidently, for several years on end.
I was a stubborn child, and I'm still proudly stubborn today. But I'm sorry for all the burden it brought; it was already too late.
I'm sorry I misunderstood you and letting it get the best of me.
Much like my 9 adult cavities, it'll be a bittersweet lesson to carry onto the rest of my life.