The Quiet After She Leaves

The Goodbye

My sister just flew back to Dublin after her holiday with my parents. She was home for a wedding, for laughter, for meals shared side by side. And now the house feels quieter. Not empty — my parents still have each other, and my youngest sister is there — but different. 

The silence after goodbye is always heavy.

. . .

Growing Up With Goodbyes

This rhythm isn’t new to me. I grew up with it. My parents were Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW) too. I remember the cycle: pasalubong carefully packed in suitcases, jeepneys loaded with grandparents and relatives excited to welcome us back, the distribution of Toblerone and Marlboro and Johnny Walker (or Jack Daniels) and designer shoes... long waves and tearful goodbyes at the airport when vacation ended.

Every holiday was overflowing with joy — and every departure left a hole behind. That pattern shaped my childhood, and now, as a second-generation expat in Dubai, it continues. My parents have retired to the Philippines, and my siblings and I are now the ones leaving.

Someday, maybe even my children will inherit this story too — whether or not they still call themselves Filipino.

Of Love and Longing

This is what love stretched across oceans looks like: fleeting reunions, heavy partings, and the ache of distance.

And yet, what keeps us going is the hope of return. In just a couple of months, we’ll all be together again for my youngest sister’s wedding. That thought keeps my parents light, keeps all of us light.

Sometimes, when I think about it too long, it makes me tear up. My daughters are only one and seven now... but one day they’ll be grown too. And the thought of them flying back to lives far away, leaving me and my husband behind in a quieter house, feels almost unbearable. It’s the same cycle repeating, across generations.

I wish my kids could stay close to me forever... Alas, this is life in the world we know. Is there any other way?

The beauty of reunion, the ache of parting, the silence of distance — this is what we live with. And always, the hope of return.

💌 From Me to You

Every goodbye feels the same: heavy at first, then slowly turning into hope for the next hello. Writing about it helps me hold the ache and the love together. If you’ve felt this too, know you’re not alone. Our families are always worth the wait.

. . .

Author’s Note

On Medium, I shared the polished, universal version of this reflection — my “office self,” written for a wider network. But here on my blog, it’s simply me — the mom, the daughter, the wife, the weekend free spirit with no filter — writing from the quiet ache of missing, the details that make our story ours, and the hope that one day my children might not have to live this same cycle.