K has been reminding me to finish the video montage of our Egyptian holiday so he can share it with his friends—the sandboarding, the hot air balloon ride, the camel ride. He experienced so much joy (and mosquitoes) on that trip. He is fortunate to have travelled widely and to have been exposed to different cultures at a young age.
For me, Egypt had always been a destination on my bucket list. At this stage of my life, I am content to say I have visited most of the places I once dreamed of. I have my jumping horse photo in front of the pyramids of Giza, witnessed the Northern Lights in Tromsø, and snorkelled in the depths of the Maldives. If time still allows, there will surely be other places worth exploring.
Much of my childhood, however, was painful. My parents were the sort who travelled without their children, often telling me that I would have my chance to see the world when I grew up and earned my own money. Perhaps they never realised how deeply their choices affected me—how those absences translated into feelings of distress, abandonment, and eventually years of estrangement. And those were not the only actions that led us there.
The Beckham story struck a nerve. I was that estranged child, convinced that everything my family did was wrong. And now, I am also the mother who understands the pain of a grown child choosing to walk away. Forgiveness is not easy when relationships are strained and wounds remain tender.
Well-meaning friends often say that a family is incomplete without children. I once believed that too. But parenting without responsibility is far worse than being childless, and having children can further strain a partnership that is already fragile. Life offers no choice without regret—children or none, married or single, rich or poor. Regret is not the exception. It is the price of being human.
