My parents are aging as I’m growing up. I’m only just noticing it.

I used to think that growing up meant more freedom.

Staying out late without curfews, buying what I like, when I like it, and deciding what to eat without someone nagging me to “eat more vegetables”.

To be fair, all these do feel liberating.

Although, in the spirit of accountability, I still let my parents know when I will be home late so that they don’t have to worry.

But ever since I got attached, I noticed something different – my conversations with my parents have changed.

“Does he take care of you?”

The realisation dawned on me when I put a spin on my usual morning routine.

As my spoon clinked against the mug, I was reminded of how I used to “volunteer” to stir my parents’ coffee for them when I was younger because I was intrigued by how the coffee powder dissolved.

Over time, I stopped being fascinated by that process and didn’t offer to help anymore.

So at that moment, I decided to make another cup of coffee for my mum while I was at it.

As we nestled on our sofa, each with a cup of coffee, she broke the silence by asking about my boyfriend.

“How’s T treating you?”

“Does he buy you dinner when you go out?”

“Have you and T talked about BTO-ing already?”

That’s when I noticed that her questions had stopped being about my everyday life, but they had become about my future.

It was as if she was also starting to realise that she wouldn’t be around to take care of me anymore.

Now, all she wanted to know was if my boyfriend could take care of me in the future.

After chatting with her, I found myself wondering if my dad shared the same thoughts.

Still daddy’s little girl

I caught him the next morning by the window, where he always starts his day.

He stood there, with his phone in hand and its volume almost at max.

“I’m making your coffee now ah,” I shouted.

My dad’s usual coffee shop order is a kopi o kosong.

At home, it’s Nescafé 3in1 Rich flavour for him as it has a strong aroma and a good dose of caffeine to kickstart his morning.

I joined him at the window, the aroma of Nescafé filling the air as we sipped our coffee.

“Mm… nice leh, quite gao (thick),” he remarked.

Was it nicer because I had made it for him? Who really knows, but it was nice seeing my dad smile with the cup of coffee I made in his hands.

I asked, “How’s work? Is it less taxing now?”

He brushed the questions off, saying all was fine in a typical Asian dad’s manner.

But then, as he cradled his cup, he suddenly went, “What about you? Are you happy at Mothership?”

Then came another.

“When you pick a house, don’t just think about price. Think about the location, the resale value, the direction your house faces. If you and T need help, you can ask me,” he volunteered.

I’ve always grown up with the idea that my dad is a man of few words.

Most of the conversations I share with my dad are of him asking me if I was at home and if I wanted to eat.

I recall joking with my mum that my dad has also become naggier in recent years.

But I know he just wants to make sure I’m making the best choices for my life and that I am happy.

Time is ticking…

During the coffee chats with my parents, I noticed the same thing–the wrinkly evidence across their faces and hands.

As I stirred my coffee and looked up at my mum, her eyes were still sharp but no longer as bright.

My dad’s hands, once strong and calloused from years of work, are now wrinkled.

Yet, in both speech and action, the same quiet love they had for me is still there.

I used to think that growing up was about me.

But now, I am reminded that it’s not just me that’s changing. My parents are aging just as quickly as I am.

While I’m supposedly stepping into the “best years of my life”, they are quietly slowing down.

In a country like Singapore, it’s easy to get caught up with the different milestones in life–getting married, promotions, starting a family–and forget that our parents are running their own race against time.

The truth is, we normally don’t notice our parents growing older until we see it in their hands, their eyes, or the way they start needing help for simple tasks.

And the scariest part is that for the first time, we begin to feel like we might not have enough time with them.

So, make it a point to set aside unhurried time to spend with your parents, and if you need a reason or excuse, whip up a cup of Nescafé coffee for them.

Not sure about your parents, but I know mine loved the cups of Nescafé coffee I made for them. Plus, it didn’t even take me that long to make them.

The writer wants to thank Nescafé for reminding her to spend unhurried time with her parents.

Top photos from Michelle Chew.