"The longest story" by my parents

 "Sad is the man who is asked for a story / and can’t come up with one." — Li-Young Lee, "A Story"

We often forget that our parents were just like us before they became parents. Just as this is our first time living, it is their first time raising a child. We can't blame them for their mistakes, yet I did.

As a child, I saw my parents as God-like figures. They created me, they held all the answers to my endless questions. My first emotions, my first love—I learned everything from them. But I never recognized the simple truth that they are human, just like me. They make mistakes. They feel emotions. And maybe, just like me, they struggle to express them.

Perhaps they, too, are afraid—afraid of the future, of the day I no longer need them, of being left behind as they push me forward. Just like the father in "A Story," they might not always have the right words, the perfect answers, or the ability to show their fears. Yet, they continue to love and support me, without expecting anything in return.

I often wonder why. Whenever I ask, their only response is: ‘Because you're our son’. No explanation, no conditions—just an unwavering, silent love. But even now, they rarely express their emotions outright. Whether they are afraid, sad, or happy, they keep it hidden.

Maybe I’m like the child in "A Story," always asking for another “story” without realizing the weight of my request.

Another thought lingers in my mind: perhaps, just as the mother in Yona Harvey’s "Hurricane" worries about guiding her child in the right direction, my parents, too, struggled with how to teach me, how to shape my path. If every foundation of who I am was built by them, do I truly have the power to determine which path is right for me? Should I choose stability, or should I follow what I truly love? My mom often tells me she teaches me so that I don’t repeat the same mistakes she did. But if mistakes are the way we learn, how will I ever understand the world without making my own? Like Siddhartha, can I ever truly grasp life’s lessons without experiencing them for myself?

Maybe now, I’m following the path my parents took, but without stepping into the puddles.

As a student one step away from graduation, preparing to step into the world without my parents' constant guidance, I wonder if I am even ready to decide what the "right" path is.

I don’t have the answers. I don’t know the right path. But at the very least, I am trying—trying to be aware, to express myself, to learn. And maybe, that’s enough for now.