First Timers

Our lives are a series of first times.

We encounter new things every day. I suppose that's what makes life difficult: we're expected to know everything when, in truth, most of the time, we don't know what we're doing or where we're supposed to go.

And perhaps that's what we do to our parents, too.

As children, we know nothing, so we ask our parents to point us in the right direction. We expect them to have all the answers. We place them on a pedestal and see them as superior beings. So when they make the wrong choice, our minds struggle to accept it because they're supposed to know better. It feels easier to blame them for not living up to our ideal image of what parents should be.

But we forget that they are just ordinary people, like us.

Back when I was still in school, I used to envy my friends whose moms were at home, welcoming them after class and cooking them a warm meal. I didn't have that kind of afternoon.

My mother was busy working, sometimes until late at night, sometimes away for a few days on business trips. So on the rare days she took time off, I felt so happy just seeing her at home when I arrived. Getting to spend even a little more time with her felt special.

Back then, I wondered why my mother couldn't be like other mothers. 

I didn't understand our situation; I was just a kid. Apparently, my father wasn't able to provide consistently, and we didn't have much. My mother had to work, not because she wanted to be away, but because she had to keep our family afloat.

She worked so we could eat. So I could stay in school. So I could have opportunities she might not have had. So our lives wouldn't fall apart.

It took me years to see that what I once resented was actually her quiet sacrifice. 

It's their first time living, too. Our parents are, just like us, navigating life, making mistakes, and learning as they go, all without a manual. They were figuring out life and parenthood at the same time.

Sometimes their choices may not make sense to us, and they may not have done everything perfectly, but they are just trying to take care of us.

Perhaps life was never about having all the answers, and growing up is realizing that our parents were never meant to be perfect. They were simply trying, in the only ways they knew how, with what they had at the time. 

And just like us, they were facing their own first times, doing their best in a world that never gave them a manual either.

And time shows no mercy for any of us. It keeps moving, whether we are ready or not.

As we grow older, we become busy, distracted, and independent. We are so caught up in chasing our own lives that sometimes we forget our parents are aging too.

So perhaps the least we can do is be gentle. Be patient. Be kind.

Because one day, we will look back and realize that these ordinary people were the ones who quietly carried us through our first times. And I hope they stay long enough to see us become everything they worked so hard for.