The Faces I Leave Behind

Every year I travel 23 hours to see the two most important people in my life; my grandfather and my grandmother. Some of my earliest memories are filled with them, and no one could ever replace the love I have for them. I grew up in their presence, summers spent running around their house, falling asleep to my grandfather’s lullaby, waking up to grandmother’s hot milk. But as I’m growing up, I realized they are too. But, just growing old instead.

There are some truths in life you can never really prepare for. The more responsibilities life throws at you, the more you realize how painful it is to hold on to the people you love while watching time pull them further away from the version you once knew.

I’ve always admired my grandfather. He has always been someone I looked up to, and I still do and I always will. On hard days, I think about how much he pushes himself, and that thought alone gives me courage to push myself too. But this time, I saw him through a different lens. His movements slower, his body more fragile, his energy fading in ways I never thought possible. I thought he was invincible, that nothing could ever make him weak. I was wrong. And I hate that I was wrong.

When my grandmother showed the first signs of Alzheimer’s, I was terrified. Terrified that the next time I visited, she might not remember me. That a piece of who we were together could be erased without any kind of warning. And as I wait to board my plane now, I can’t stop wondering if time will keep taking from me, little by little. If the next time I see my grandfather, he’ll be weaker. If my grandmother’s mind will fog even further, until the memories right from childhood that tie us together begin to blur more.

And the thing is, beneath that fear is guilt. Guilt that I’m not there enough, that the distance feels too big, that I’ve chosen a life so far away from them. I tell myself it’s just twenty-three hours, couple of plane rides away, that I’ll always come back. Sometimes I wonder if it’s selfish to leave, if chasing my own life means I’m missing out on pieces of theirs. I think about my mom a lot too, how she probably feels lonely, and how much joy she has we’re with her.

And I know this is what being young is supposed to be, your time to go out, to explore, to figure yourself out and maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t take away the part of me that wishes things were slightly different that we could all just be closer, that wanting to see them even just for a bit didn’t have me travelling to the other side of the world.

But the truth is, no matter how many times I return, it never feels like enough. It never truly makes leaving easier, or the thought that while I’m gone, time keeps moving for them too. Nothing prepares you for the aging of your loved ones. It’s an inevitable process that we all eventually, go through.

This time, my heart feels heavier than usual. It’s heavier because I carry the fear of not knowing what will be waiting for me next year. Goodbyes have never been easy, but this one felt heavier than most. I waved goodbye through the windows of the train, pressing my hand against the glass. From inside, I saw their faces and their small fragile figures; my grandfather holding himself to be strong, my grandmother’s eyes soft and sad. They stood still on the platform as the train began to move, and I watched them as their figures grew smaller with every passing second until I couldn’t see them anymore. There’s something so cruel about that kind of goodbye, you can’t step out for one last hug, you can only hold on to the image of them fading into the distance. And that image stays with you long after the train has gone.

I don’t even know if it’s good or bad, to be honest. Some days it feels like the right thing, like I’m exactly where I should be. Other days, it feels like I’ve traded closeness for distance, like I’m missing out on the people who matter most.

But I guess that’s just life. It never really gives you everything you want at once. It comes with decisions that don’t always favor us, choices that leave us torn no matter what we pick. Maybe that’s the hardest truth to accept that sometimes there isn’t a perfect answer for things.

You can love your family deeply and still feel the pull to leave. You can want to stay close but still know you need to go.

But within all that heaviness and doubt, there is so much love. The kind of love that stretches across oceans and time zones, the kind of love that makes 23 hours of travel feel like nothing. The kind of love that I know will never leave, even when they one day may.