Almost half the year is gone. July is coming to an end, August is approaching, and somehow there are only four more months before the year ends. Time has been moving quickly, but the past few months have also felt unusually heavy.
Work has been busy. Family life has been busy too.
My 75-year-old father fell at home and fractured his left hip. He had to undergo hip surgery and stayed in the hospital for almost a month. Thankfully, his rehabilitation went well. The doctors, nurses and therapists took good care of him. My sister, my mother and I took turns visiting him on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Whenever I visited, I brought him Toast Box coffee and curry puffs. Small things, but familiar things. Sometimes, when someone is lying in a hospital bed, familiarity is one of the few comforts you can still give.
He has since returned home and can walk again. I am grateful for that.
My usual mentality is simple:
Life goes on.
Whatever happens, we deal with it and continue moving.
But even after my father came home, the worrying did not completely disappear. He now has several medications to take. Will he remember when to take them? Will he take the correct dosage? What happens when nobody is around to check? It also made me think about ageing in a way that feels much more real now. Living a long life sounds like a blessing, especially when someone remains healthy and independent. But when illness, mobility problems and daily medication become part of that life, longevity can also come with a high cost. Not only for the person ageing, but for the people caring for them.
Caregiving is not just physically demanding. It carries a mental load. You are constantly remembering appointments, medication, meals, safety risks and small changes in the person’s condition. At the same time, you still have to work, earn a living, manage your own responsibilities and somehow continue building your own life.
As someone who is used to a scheduled lifestyle, work and personal activities take up a large part of my routine. I am used to planning my days, following my own rhythm and working towards my own goals.
Caring for another person does not always fit neatly into that schedule.
Of course, taking care of our parents is not a “job” in the formal sense. Nobody gives us proper training, a clear workflow, or fixed working hours. We simply step into the responsibility because they are our parents.
But that does not mean it is easy.
Parents can also be stubborn. Sometimes they believe they know what is best for themselves, while their children are worrying about risks they may not see or may not want to acknowledge. There are moments when I wonder whether they understand that we are not trying to control them. We are trying to keep them safe. At the same time, I also understand why they resist. They have spent most of their lives making their own decisions. Growing older should not mean losing all independence.
That is where the tension lies.
How do we care for our parents without making them feel powerless? How do we fulfil our responsibilities as children while still protecting the time, energy and space needed to build our own lives?
I have my own work, dreams and aspirations. There are things I still want to achieve and a future I am still trying to shape. But as my parents grow older, I am becoming more aware that my life may not always move according to the plans I make for myself.
Responsibility does not always arrive at a convenient time. Perhaps adulthood is partly learning how to hold two truths at once: we love our parents and want to be there for them, but we are also human beings with our own limits, obligations, and lives to live.
I do not have a clean answer yet. Sometimes, the feeling is like being a kite that wants to fly freely, but keeps being pulled back by the string of responsibility. The string is not there because there is no love. In fact, it may exist precisely because there is love. But even love can feel heavy when you are trying to move towards your own dreams while making sure the people behind you are safe. Perhaps the real challenge is not choosing between freedom and responsibility. It is learning how to carry both without losing yourself completely.
Maybe adulthood is learning how to fly without cutting the string and without letting it pull you so tightly that you forget where you wanted to go. What do you think?
