Learning to love my father through his WhatsApp texts

The early morning buzz of a WhatsApp notification is rarely an invitation for excitement. Usually, it is a GIF of a hyper-saturated bouquet of roses or a sunrise too bright for my half-closed eyes. Underneath, there’s a generic inspirational quote, or sometimes a tip about lemon water. These messages used to be a source of annoyance, a quick swipe to clear digital clutter. I used to wonder why my father shared AI-generated reels or lists of fruits to eat with me. But as I grow older and the distance from home stretches, I have reframed this relationship.

In our household, direct words have always felt too heavy. Instead, we communicate in a code of silent efforts and digital signals. For my father, the WhatsApp forward is not just a health tip, but it is his way of navigating the tech gap to say he is thinking of me without words that might feel awkward. Each dewy rose is a quiet confirmation that he woke up and I was one of the first things on his mind.

This digital language evolved as I achieved small milestones in my university life. My father discovered memes, though he does not quite understand the lore behind them. When I recently shared a professional achievement in our family group chat, he responded with the Michael Scott meme from The Office. He simply understood that I cherished the series and that Michael's appearance reflected his emotions. This unrelated meme was his standing ovation for the success I had finally earned.

It is a strange thing to see a man who grew up with handwritten letters trying to speak the language of a digital native. He has sent the “Success Kid” image when I passed an exam and even a GIF of Leonardo DiCaprio raising a glass to toast my graduation. He might not know these are pillars of internet culture, but he understands the emotion.

The depth of this effort became clear during a difficult period of my academic life. I was looking to go abroad for higher studies, and the process was a cycle of rejections. One evening, while having tea, I mentioned my failures in a light joke. I laughed it off as a sign that I was meant to stay. My father did not say much then, but the next morning, the floodgates truly opened. He was determined to help me.

My phone began to buzz incessantly with forwarded posts from Facebook groups, obscure blogs, and random WhatsApp chains. They were all links to scholarship opportunities. I did not have the heart to tell him that many were clearly scams. He believed that the message mattered more than the link's legitimacy. It was his way of saying I should not lose hope even when I was trying to convince myself I had already moved on.

Lately, he has also started seeking my views on things that used to be his sole domain. He will forward a news clip or a link to a discussion on the national budget or a political turmoil and ask me what I think. It is a slightly confusing promotion. One day I’m being interrogated for leaving my phone charger plugged into an empty socket, and the next, he’s treating my opinion on the national budget like a high-level intelligence briefing.

This silent support manifests in physical ways too. He still shows up in the periphery of my life. He is the man who will walk into my room and place a bowl of sliced mangoes or peeled lychees on my desk. He never waits for a thank you. He just knows that I have been sitting there for hours and have forgotten to eat.

Reflecting on this Father’s Day, I realise that we spend so much time waiting for our fathers to speak our language that we fail to learn theirs. We want them to be vulnerable in the way modern therapy suggests, yet we overlook the vulnerability it takes to send a meme into a digital void, hoping it hits the right chord. We dismiss health tips as dad-habits without realising they are manifestations of fear for our well-being.

The generational gap is real, but the tech gap is a choice we make in how we perceive their efforts. Our relationship exists between forwarded flowers and strange memes. But now, I don’t clear them from my notifications instantly, but I try to send something back, even if it is general news of the day.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads tirelessly trying to bridge the gap through WhatsApp flowers and contextless memes. I hope you continue to seek our advice on all tasks, but please try to understand that leaving a single light on in an empty room isn't actually a plot to bankrupt the family.