When we left KL, I could already see my parents’ brains working overtime plotting a trip to visit us. True enough, two months after we arrived. It wasn’t exactly a surprise — we’d agreed to meet in London first and then head to NL together.

I knew living in Europe would make travelling within the EU easier, but I honestly didn’t expect it to happen this often. Meeting my parents in London in August was already mine and Rauf’s second UK trip in a single month.

Our first trip aligned with Joe’s work — he was up North, so Rauf and I went to London. My uncle and aunt were visiting my cousins, so technically this was the first time we saw family since we left Malaysia, and boy… it felt good. After the chaos of moving and setting up life in a new country, being surrounded by family was the best antidote.

The last time Rauf was in London, he was six months old and we travelled in a group of twelve. This time, it was just him and me wandering the city together — and I loved it so much. I hope he will remember some of the things we did. He was and still is the easiest kid to travel with.

When my parents arrived, my dad was slightly unwell, so we took things easy, moving at our own pace. Rauf adored having his grandparents around. But as the days passed, I started noticing something strange: my parents were constantly apologising for everything.

I couldn’t understand why. I was just happy being with them. I didn’t see the need for any apologise at all.

Then it hit me.

London is a place that’s deeply familiar to us. Growing up, so many of my family’s core holiday memories were formed there. But this time, as we navigated the busy crowds and rush hour chaos, I realised why my parents kept saying sorry — their pace has slowed, their energy isn’t what it used to be, and deep down, they probably felt bad that I had to juggle them and an active seven-year-old in one of the busiest cities in the world.

They felt sorry for slowing me down.
And that broke my heart.

I thought about comforting them or reassuring them, but I realised the sadness wasn’t about me. It was them standing in the middle of London, confronting the fact that they aren’t the same people they were 10–20 years ago. There was nothing I could say to erase that realisation.

If anything, I should have been the one apologising.

This was supposed to be my prime — health, career, finances. Instead, I felt left behind. I wasn’t earning anymore. I didn’t have the comfort of treating them the way I wished I could. God knows my parents deserve everything. And there I was, a 35-year-old woman partly depending on her parents during this holiday. If anyone needed to say sorry, it was me.

That’s when it dawned on me — we needed to stop feeling sorry altogether and just enjoy the moments we had. So that’s exactly what we did…..

Especially my dad.

He came into this trip with a mission.
He told me he wanted to go to Bristol — the place we lived during his Master’s years — for one specific reason: to find his old friend, Thomas Mason. He’s mentioned Tom over the years, but this time, something in him needed closure.

Tom was the friend who cycled everywhere – an introvert. He had blue eyes and blonde hair. Dad and his friends once visited Tom’s sister in Oxford. She was married and had kids. After they left Bristol, they lost contact, but Dad never forgot him.

He had tried searching for Tom through online databases, but nothing came up. So he decided he would go to Bristol in person and try to find him through The Methodist Church run hostel they both stayed. Dad wanted to go alone. I insisted at first, but the determination and quiet sadness in his eyes told me he needed to do this journey for himself.

So off he went.

Tom was untraceable.
My heart broke for Dad, but I was grateful he got to try, in his own way, on his own terms.

After two weeks in London, we returned to NL. My mum stayed with us for a month. My dad initially said three days was enough, but he changed his mind quickly once he realised how much he loved the Netherlands — so he extended his stay.

I loved watching Rauf ride bikes with his grandpa in Maastricht, and I especially loved that my mum made Rauf breakfast whenever I refused to wake up. Thanks, Ma!

Having my parents around was incredibly comforting, but it was also a stark reminder. I’m at a very serious point in my life now.
It’s not all fun and games anymore.
And when the harsh reality hits that your loved ones are growing older, trust me — you stop taking things for granted instantly.

There wasn’t a single moment during their stay that I took for granted. I loved every minute of it. And the most important thing — the thing that grounded me as a daughter — was simply that they were there. They were the first ones to visit us. The first ones to see our home. The first ones to sit with us in our new life.

Before my dad left NL, he sat quietly in the garden. I joined him after a while, and he looked at me and said, “I can go back in comfort now, Kak, because I know you and your family are settled.”

That was his other mission, actually — the mission I completely failed to recognise at first, to make sure we were okay.

He continued, “I always had to imagine what your home was like. I couldn’t rest easy not knowing how it looked and felt in real life.”

I was 35 years old, but in that moment it struck me — no matter how old we get, no matter where we move, no matter how far life takes us — my sister and I will always be his babies.

How incredibly lucky we are to be loved by a father like this. If life were to grant me a hundred different lifetimes, I’d still find my way back to him every time.

And Tom — if you’re out there — I hope you know Dad is still looking for you.
Always.
We hope you’re well.