The Clock We Can’t Stop
There’s a moment in Aziz Ansari’s Netflix stand-up special where he delivers a punchline that isn’t really a punchline. He talks about realising his parents are ageing—like, truly ageing. And he does the math, calculating how many visits he has left with them if he only sees them a handful of times a year. The audience laughs nervously, but it’s not really funny. It’s the reality we all face and it hits hard.
It’s a topic that crosses my mind and fills me with sentiment. For most of our lives, if we’re lucky to have our parents in our lives, they feel invincible. They’re the constant backdrop, the safety net, the people who fix things, feed you and care for you—spanning from a broken toy to a broken heart. But then one day, something shifts. It’s not sudden; it creeps up on you as you’re busy hustling to create your own adult life.
For me, I began to realise stark changes each time I’d come home to visit from Singapore. A few extra wrinkles, white hairs. Did my mom shrink a few centimetres? They’d sometimes share a little about a new ailment (joint pain) or a story about slipping down the house stairs at night. Suddenly the veil of having invincible parents was lifted.
The hardest part isn’t even the ageing itself. It’s the realisation that the clock is ticking, and we can’t stop it.
I remember feeling a similar sense of despair when I was 11. My dad was taking my sister and I to the Sydney Aquatic Centre for our weekly weekend swimming lessons. He casually mentioned we’d need to go grocery shopping afterwards to buy some snacks for school the coming week. For some reason, it made me realise the weekends were too short and my time with my parents were fleeting. It was like an existential awareness that we spent so much of our time at school and made me long for more time with my family. Even as an 11 year old, I felt that time was going by too quickly and we had no control over it.
I’ve caught myself doing the math, just like Aziz. How many more dinners, conversations, or Sunday afternoons do I have with them? How many more phone calls where they tell me something mundane about their day that I don’t fully listen to because I’m busy multitasking? How many more opportunities to say thank you for everything they’ve done?
It’s overwhelming, and it makes me want to do everything at once. Having moved back in with my parents during this time of transition, I’m lucky to be able to spend some precious time with them. But it comes with its own challenges, how do I show more patience and grace in the face of frustration I often feel? How can I focus more on their intentions than my disagreements with their world view. We might see each other more often but that doesn’t guarantee quality time and communication—there are still schedules to keep, bills to pay, and an entire world pulling us in a million directions.
So, I’m learning to focus on what I can do:
• Talk to them more regularly — like real talk, where I’m actively listening and acknowledging that they’re people with real dreams and desires too, not just my parents.
• Say “I love you” more often, even if it feels out of the blue. As tough immigrant parents, they often fall back on actions or tough love, instead of sentimental words.
• Ask questions about their childhoods, their dreams, their regrets—things I might never have thought to ask before.
• Be present when I’m with them, even if we’re just sitting in comfortable silence.
Aziz’s reflection in his stand up wasn’t just about his parents. It was about mortality, connection, and the sometimes painful human tendency to take things for granted. He didn’t sugarcoat it, and I won’t either: We don’t have endless time. But maybe that’s what makes the time we do have so precious.
One day, I know I’ll look back and wish I had done more. But I hope I’ll also look back and remember the moments when we did connect. The laughter, festive seasons, family day trips, the warmth of a hug, the sound of their voices saying my name.
Because while the clock keeps ticking, it’s the memories we create that hopefully outlast it and live on.
