I’m Afraid to Leave, Only to Return and Find Them Gone — أخاف أن أرحل فأعود فلا أجد أحدهما | by DistantThoughts

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Sometimes I wonder…
Why does life feel like it takes away the things we love most?
Why does it feel so unfair — so hollow, like it’s missing its core?

I lived with my parents for 18 years. I was their whole world, and they were mine. They gave up so much for me — money, time, comfort, even their own happiness — just to give me a chance at a better life.

When it came time for me to leave and move to Canada for university, it felt like the beginning of something great. You’re lucky, they said. You’re going to have a bright future.
And I believed them.

University came and went. Five years. And honestly… I barely felt anything.
I was always running. Always chasing.
Just get the degree, I told myself. Get the job. Then it’ll all be worth it.

And strangely, during those years, I didn’t miss my parents the way I thought I would.
We talked every day. That made it easier.
I told myself this was for the best — for all of us.

But now, looking back…
I wonder how they felt.

They weren’t busy like me. They weren’t distracted by school or roommates or part-time jobs. They just had… silence. After 18 years of pouring everything into me — meals, care, conversations, hugs — I was gone.

Just like that.

Now I’m a 20-hour flight and a $2000 plane ticket away.
They don’t know when they’ll see me again.
And I can’t stop thinking: what filled that hole in their lives after I left?

Nothing?

They try to sound okay when we speak. They smile. They joke.
But I can hear it, quietly, under their voices.
They’re hurting. They just don’t want me to carry it.

After graduation, it hit me all at once.
I got the job I worked so hard for. The good salary. The “success.”
But I wasn’t happy.

I still lived with roommates. I felt alone. I started missing home so badly it physically hurt.
The country. The streets. The food. My friends. The air. The memories.
And there was this voice in my head that just wouldn’t shut up:

Is this it?

Was this what I left everything for?

I look at photos of my parents now.
They look older.
And it kills me.

It doesn’t get easier.
Seeing them age while I’m away — it feels like I betrayed them.
We talk about planning visits, but the truth is… I only see them maybe 10 days a year.
And if I do the math — realistically — I might only have a couple of months left with them before they’re gone.

How do you live with that?

This isn’t just my story.
This is the story of millions. Generations.
My grandparents lived the same heartbreak.
Their children moved abroad, chasing “a better life.”
They waited. They aged. They died.
And their kids came back… for the funeral.

Now it’s repeating. Again. And again.

Is this really life?

We raise children, pour every ounce of love into them… only for them to leave and build their own lives far away. Then they raise kids, who do the same. And we all die hoping we’ll be remembered.

But in the end, it’s just pain passed down like an inheritance.
And I still don’t know if any of it is worth it.

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