Slipping Through My Fingers

“Slipping through my fingers all the time…”

Who among you here loves listening to ABBA songs? Because I do. And every time I hear "Slipping Through My Fingers", I almost end up with teary eyes. There is just something about that song that feels painfully familiar, even though I didn't fully understand why at first. Maybe it is because it reminds me of something we all experience but rarely notice while it is happening: childhood slowly disappearing before we even realize it is gone.

Whenever I put on my earphones and listen to that song, I find myself thinking about the little girl I used to be. Childhood felt so genuine back then. I was fragile, clumsy, and easily frightened. I loved playing make-believe and hide-and-seek. I could spend hours doing things that seemed completely ordinary at the time, without knowing that one day I would look back on them and wish I could experience them just once more.

My childhood wasn't exactly a straight path. I experienced bullying outside my family, and at a very young age, I learned how to become strong even when I didn't really know what being strong meant. There were experiences I would rather forget, and there are parts of my childhood that I can barely remember now. But whenever I think about those years, the memories that feel the most genuine are the ones I spent with my family.

_{both images were when I was 14 years old}

---

I used to think that growing up would make everything better. When I was little, I couldn't wait to become older because I thought adults had everything figured out. I imagined that one day I would finally have control over my own life and that everything would somehow become easier.

And then, in what feels like the blink of an eye, I grew up.

_{both images were when I turned 18 years old}

I became more mature, more independent, and more composed. I became someone who could make her own decisions, carry her own responsibilities, and live a life that no longer needed her parents to hold her hand through every little thing. I am now an adult, working as an ESL teacher, making plans for my future, and slowly figuring out who I want to become.

But growing up turned out to be much more complicated than I imagined.

I remember a time when I couldn't go to school without my parents holding my hands. I couldn't even carry my own water bottle properly. I was so clumsy that my knees were almost always scratched, and whenever I entered the classroom, I would look back at my parents before going inside. I needed them for almost everything.

_{I am in the middle with my sisters on each side}

Then, little by little, I didn't.

I learned how to tie my shoes. I learned how to pack my own bag. I learned how to walk to school without holding anyone's hand. I became less dependent, and at the time, I simply thought I was becoming a “big kid.” I didn't realize that while I was growing up, my parents were slowly being relieved of their favorite job.

The job of taking care of me.

The little girl who once needed their hands for almost everything eventually became someone who could walk ahead of them on her own. Every step forward was a step toward independence, but it was also, in a strange way, a step away from the version of me they had known for years.

And maybe that's what makes growing up so bittersweet.

I am still supported by my family, of course, but it is different now. I am no longer a little girl who needs to be guided everywhere. I am the same person, but I am living a different chapter. Sometimes I look at myself and wonder how the tiny, awkward, outcasted, and nerdy girl I once was became a woman with hopes, dreams, opportunities, and people who genuinely love her.

I hope that younger version of me would be proud.

She went through things she never thought she could handle, and somehow, she made it here. She didn't become the bitter person she thought she might become. She grew softer in some places, stronger in others, and learned that being hurt by people doesn't mean you have to become hurtful yourself. Maybe that is one of the greatest things I have gained from growing up.

But then there are moments when I realize that while I was busy becoming an adult, my parents were also quietly watching their children grow older.

Sometimes during dinner, they casually bring up stories from when my siblings and I were younger. They remember little things that I have completely forgotten. At first, I thought they were simply reminiscing about the past.

Now, I think they were missing us.

“The feeling that I'm losing her forever
And without really entering her world
I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl”
— "Slipping Through My Fingers

I can almost hear my parents in those words.

My father used to throw me up in the air, play with me, teach me little tricks, and sing for me and my siblings. My mother taught me how to write poems, encouraged me whenever I wanted to give up, and filled our childhood with stories. Both of them used to dance in front of us just to make us laugh when we were sad. They cuddled us, carried us, held us close, and somehow made the world feel smaller and safer.

Back then, I thought those things would simply continue forever. But time doesn't ask permission.

_{a picture with my favorite auntie}

One day, the child who used to run toward her parents becomes the child who walks ahead. The hands that once held hers begin to let go, not because the love has become smaller, but because she has grown enough to walk without them.

And I think that must be one of the strangest forms of love a parent can experience. They have to be proud of the person their child is becoming while quietly missing the person she used to be. They have to celebrate every new achievement while knowing that every achievement means their child needs them a little differently. They have to watch us become independent, even when some part of them probably wishes they could still carry us, fix our problems, hold our hands, and protect us from everything.

I understand the song differently now.

When I was younger, I probably would have heard it simply as a sad song about a child growing up. Now, I hear something else in it. I hear the perspective of someone realizing that the moments they thought would last forever were already becoming memories.

And maybe that is why it hurts. Because childhood doesn't usually announce its ending. There is no final day when someone tells you, “This is your last time being a child.” There is no warning before the last time your parents carry you, the last time they hold your hand crossing the road, or the last time you run back to them before entering a classroom. You simply grow.

And then one ordinary day, you look back and realize that the little moments you barely noticed were the very moments you would someday miss. I used to think growing up meant leaving childhood behind. Now I think it means carrying it with you.

The little girl I was is still somewhere inside the woman I am becoming. The things my parents taught me, the stories my mother told me, the songs my father sang, the laughter we shared, even the difficult experiences that shaped me, all of them came with me when I stepped into adulthood.

So I don't want my parents to think that growing up means I am leaving them behind. I may no longer need them to hold my hand when I walk, but I still carry the feeling of having once been held by them. I may have my own life now, but so much of who I am was built in the life they gave me.

And perhaps that is the beautiful thing about time: it takes the moment away, but it cannot take away what the moment gave us.

The little girl is growing up. I am becoming someone new. And yes, some days it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers. But when I look back, I realize that nothing was really lost. It simply became a memory. And maybe, someday, when my parents tell those stories again, I won't wish that I could go back. I'll just sit beside them, listen, laugh at the parts I've forgotten, and let them tell me about the little girl they still remember.

Because while I was busy growing up, they were busy loving me.

And I think that is something worth remembering.