Bittersweet, leaving for Liverpool

I watched through the little left of the window, blocked by the seat in front, tucked away in my little corner, as my train pulled from the station. My mum and dad stood side by side and waved. My Lao Bu and Papa. This was after after the embarrassing signs they made from the window, my mum, waving frantic, frowning at my helping another passenger with her baggage and my dad, boarding, giving brief instructions to improve my comfort. And though I rarely get to spend time with my parents, and acute embarrassment notwithstanding, I thoroughly enjoyed my last day and a half shared with the both of them. It has occurred to me that I’ve met no one, save a likely fictitious God, who will value me as much as the both of them.

And this thought struck hard and poignant vein last evening as I scrutinised my parents as we made our way to dinner and they sat across me on the tube. They have aged much. The lines on my mum’s face that extend from her nose bridge and curve to the sides of her mouth are carved deep, and her cheeks droop more than I ever remembered. My dad’s hairline is showing hints of receding, while his hair save a few black streaks is almost completely white. As he nodded off on the train, it was strange how a person who has always been for me a sort of hero, a sort of strongman seemed rendered by age so frail, with his skinny limbs and beer belly protruding from his tiny frame. It was scary.

I’m now 21, being whisked by Virgin rail to Liverpool for the beginning of my college education. Most of what I’ve accomplished through the years (though I know the cheeky few who would scorn this :P) can one way or another be traced to my parents. More than hoping I won’t disappoint them with my performance, there’s a desire to be able to reciprocate tangibly their affection. I hope hard that not only would I be able to help provide them (though I doubt they would need me to), but I may would also be able to share much in their remaining 20-40 years they may have left. And it may be premature, but many a time, as I bask in their care and company, the lingering knowledge that we will one day part so often makes it bittersweet.