Four Things People Get Wrong About Living Far From Their Parents

Living far away does not mean loving less.

Quyên knows that, and still feels something missing every Friday night. She works in Hà Nội, and her parents live in Nghệ An. Tonight the rented room has only the sound of scooters in the alley and the smell of a cold lunch box, and on her phone there is a voice message from her mother, not yet played. Quyên holds the phone, her thumb resting on the play button, not pressing.

That not-pressing tends to have two halves. One half is missing them. The other is harder to name, a little like shame, a little like fear that she is not doing enough. People who live far from their parents often carry both halves at once, and the second half usually comes from sentences they believe are true and nobody has ever checked.

This piece takes apart four of those sentences. It does not say living far is better than living close, and it does not tell anyone to move home. People live far away for work, for study, by choice, by circumstance, and each reason has its own weight. What it tries to untangle is narrower: the yardsticks we hold up against ourselves and then find ourselves short.

Two misreadings about distance and frequency

Myth: living far away means loving less

Last Friday a colleague mentioned that her parents live a dozen or so kilometres away and she goes home for lunch every Sunday. Quyên laughed and said I'm so jealous, then spent the whole afternoon typing into a spreadsheet without a word going in. A familiar voice ran in her head: people who live close love enough, and I live far, so anything I say is an excuse.

That voice rests on a hidden measure: love counted in kilometres, the closer the more. The measure is handy, because kilometres can be counted. But what lives inside a family usually sits somewhere else, in small things repeated, who remembers what someone likes to eat, who knows what someone is busy with. Those can be done from far away in their own way, and there are houses side by side where people only meet at the table all week and say nothing beyond the bowls and chopsticks. Distance does not decide that.

The first time, many people sit a long while before they find the second item, because small things rarely get counted as things. Some people finish writing and feel no better, and that is normal. After about a week, some find themselves noticing the small things as they do them, and some find the guilt just as heavy. The sign you did it right is that the list is real, not padded to look good. On a busy day, write one thing, one line.

The easiest place to slip is using guilt as fuel. After one afternoon of feeling short, Quyên called home three times in one evening, promised to call more next week, and the next week was so tired she dropped the whole thing. It is tempting because guilt is always at hand and pushes hard, enough to move you that same evening. But things done out of guilt rarely last, and when they stop the guilt grows. Keeping one small thing going beats a dense burst of calls driven by shame.

Myth: you have to call every day to show you care

Eleven at night on Wednesday, Quyên suddenly remembered she hadn't called home all day. She dialled, and her mother picked up after the second ring, clearly still awake.

"You didn't call yesterday, and I kept looking at the phone."

"I was working overtime, Mom."

"I know. It's just... never mind, have you eaten?"

The call lasted two minutes. Quyên hung up, sat staring at the wall in front of her, and felt she had finished a task, not spoken with her mother.

The easy reading is that one call a day keeps your mother at ease and skipping a day worries her. That might be true in your house. But look closer, and what she waits for in I kept looking at the phone may not be the fifth call of the week but a bit of real talk. A two-minute call made to keep up the rhythm is one both sides know is only for the rhythm. And sometimes a twenty-minute call, twice a week, says more than ten calls of two minutes.

Try something else, about five minutes of arranging: pick a rhythm you can really keep, and tell your parents plainly, say I'll call on Tuesday and Friday evenings, and on other days I'll send a voice message. You know it works when your parents know the marks ahead of time instead of staring at the phone guessing. The first time, some parents are surprised and ask why not every day, and some are relieved. After a week or two, some families find the calls get longer and less rushed, and some parents still want daily calls and the negotiating goes on. On a busy day just keep the agreed slot, and don't add a make-up call.

Then there is the trap of the busy: calling just to tick the box. Have you eaten, are you well, bye now. Ninety seconds and the list is checked off. It is tempting because it is quick and gives the feeling of having done your part. But a call to keep up the rhythm usually leaves an empty feeling at both ends of the line. If you only have three minutes, ask one question about her day, not the old question.

Two misreadings about what parents say and the trip home

Myth: if they say they're fine, they need nothing

"We're fine at home, don't worry." Quyên had heard that for years, and every time it left her calm. On Sunday morning her cousin called about something else, then added: your aunt keeps asking me what Quyên has been up to, how she's eating, and then when she talks to you she says there's nothing to tell.

The easy reading is that I'm fine means there is nothing to say. But in many homes I'm fine is a way of caring: parents don't want their child to worry, so they leave their own part out of the conversation. The sentence is closer to don't worry about us than to we need nothing. The difficulty is that both sides are speaking in love, and the listener hears no need. I don't know what my parents think behind that sentence. I only know that a big question like are you well can only bring back a big answer like I'm fine.

Try changing the question. Instead of a general one, ask something small and real: what did you eat today, who stopped by, has the tree in front of the porch flowered yet. It takes about three minutes in an ordinary call. You know it worked when they answer in more than one word. The first time, some parents are surprised to be asked about trifles, and some tell it with unexpected enthusiasm. After a week, some people find they know many more small things about their parents, and some find their parents still say they're fine and accept that as their way of speaking. On a busy day keep exactly one question: what did you eat today.

There is a way of overdoing it: asking a whole string of questions, then treating a short answer as a reason to worry more. Quyên once phoned home and asked ten questions in a row, and felt she was interrogating. It is tempting because it feels like caring a lot, but parents hear it as being examined. One small question, then listening, is worth more than ten.

Myth: a visit home needs enough gifts and enough days

Ten in the morning at the coach station, Quyên dragged two bags, one with her own things and one of gifts: a box of cakes, two bags of fruit, a box of tea. Her hands were red from the straps. When she got home her mother looked at the gifts and said right away: why buy all this, it's a waste. Two days later Quyên snapped at her sister over a tablecloth.

The voice in her head that day said this is how to make up for the months of not coming. But in doing so she had turned the visit into an exam: enough days, enough gifts, enough hours sitting. That yardstick wears you out before you arrive. What parents tend to remember after a visit is rarely the bag of gifts. It may be an afternoon on the porch with a glass of water, or a story told while picking vegetables.

Next time Quyên tried this: bring one small gift only, and pick in advance one thing to do only with her parents, such as picking vegetables in the afternoon or sitting on the porch with water, phone put away. It takes about half an hour of the visit, and you know it worked when that half hour passes and you haven't thought about the schedule. The first time, some people find it awkward, because sitting next to your parents with nothing to do is also hard. After a few visits, some find the trips lighter, and some still feel tired and need to shorten the plan. On a trip of only one night, keep that half hour anyway.

People also tend to spoil the visit by packing the schedule too full: visiting relatives, shopping at the market to be thorough, taking photos to send to friends, then going back to the city more tired than when they left. It is tempting because each item makes sense, and dropping any one of them feels like a fault. But the whole trip becomes a list. Keep two real things and leave the rest for the next visit.

If you've tried and still feel something missing

This happens, and it doesn't mean you did anything wrong.

The first common reason: your parents still want you to call every day, or still want you home more, even though you changed how you do things. Then don't see yourself as the loser. This is a negotiation, and negotiations usually take time and have no winners. Try one month with the new rhythm, then talk with your parents again, instead of drawing a conclusion early.

The second reason: the feeling of missing and the guilt don't ease even after you've done all the small things. There are moments when guilt comes not from something undone but from something deeper, and more doing won't fill it. If that feeling is heavy, goes on for weeks, or touches your sleep, eating, or daytime work, talking with someone with professional training is a normal thing to do. It is not a failure of the way you are trying.

For anyone who wants one small thing to begin with, sending your parents one small photo a day for seven days is a slow way to start. And if the hardest part for you is calls that get half-listened to, the piece on listening without composing a reply may be just the right spot.

Quyên pressed play. Her mother's voice filled the little room, talking about the tree on the porch, which had just put out a cluster of buds.

She listened all the way to the end before she set the phone down.

This article was created with AI assistance.