I don’t fear dying. If someone told me, “You’ll die the day your parents die,” I wouldn’t mind.
It’s being left behind – not death – that frightens me.
I realised, in 2035, I’ll be twenty‑eight; in 2045 I’ll be thirty‑eight; and, in 2055, I’ll be forty-eight. The numbers roll forward like a train I can’t stop.
One day I’ll be forty, fifty, maybe sixty. Maybe I will have children and grandchildren. But there is no guarantee my parents will still be here. That thought strikes me harder than anything. My parents are my entire world.
I’ve grown up in a conservative home, always indoors, close to family, rarely with friends. The outside world, the friendships, the smiles — they all feel a little superficial compared to the quiet, steady love of my parents. When I spend time with colleagues, it’s “cool,” but it never feels the same. It’s not that unconditional, daily kind of love. If my parents suddenly weren’t here, who would truly care for me with that same devotion?
Sometimes, I picture it: me, standing in a sea of strangers.
I imagine everyone talking, moving, and no one really crosses my mind. No one to belong to, no one who is mine. That fear makes me cry, this vast loneliness waiting at the edges of time.
I think about my father. He is the youngest brother in his family, a principled man surrounded by siblings who are not always kind. I used to wonder why he kept taking their accusations, stress, and endless calls. Why he cherishes them at all. And now I understand: he lost his father young when he was in 5th standard. Later, his mother, too, 5 or 6 years after his marriage. His brothers and sisters, however flawed, are the only family he has left. He holds onto them as a way of not losing everything. It’s not weakness, but love refusing to disappear.
That realization changed something in me. We live like we have no end. Often, we tell ourselves we’ll always have time. But one day, everyone we love will only exist in our memories. Maybe that’s why my father holds on so fiercely. And maybe that’s why I feel this ache when I imagine the future.
People talk about moving on, cutting ties, protecting our peace.
But sometimes holding on — even when it’s messy — is its own kind of peace. Because the people who make our world feel small and safe are never permanent. And that’s exactly why we should cherish them while they’re still here.
Take a moment tonight. Look at your parents, siblings, and friends. Remember that they are temporary miracles.
The sea of strangers will always exist, but love — in any form — keeps us from getting lost in it.
Photo by Biel Morro on Unsplash
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