I just... sometimes I look at my phone, you know? And I see the little updates, like my daughter’s new apartment, all those plants she has, like a jungle. And my son, he’s doing so well with his job, getting promoted already, so fast. And I'm here, I’m 49, trying to cram for this stupid exam, and all I can think about is how they’re living their lives, doing their thing, and I’m just... not there. Not really. It’s not like they forget me, never. We video call, we laugh, they send me pictures of their new haircuts, whatever. But it’s not the same, is it? It’s not like I can just pop over for a coffee, or help my daughter move that heavy couch, or go watch my son play football on a Saturday. That was our thing, you know? Back home. That was... us. And I know, I KNOW, this is what we wanted. This is why I came, why I'm here now, trying to get this degree so I can actually... have a future. A better future, for me, for them, eventually. So they don’t have to worry. But the ache, man. It’s like a dull toothache that just won’t quit. Especially late at night, when everyone else is asleep in the dorms and I’m just staring at the ceiling, my brain going a thousand miles an hour with dates and formulas and then BOOM – a memory hits me. My daughter, maybe five years old, holding my hand, her little fingers so small. Or my son, with his silly grin after scoring a goal. And it’s not just memories, it’s the *feeling* of it. The weight of their small bodies, the smell of their hair, the way they used to just look at me like I was the whole world. And now... now I’m just a face on a screen, you know? A voice. Sometimes I think, was it worth it? All this distance, all this longing? And then I feel SO guilty for even thinking that because they're HAPPY. They're thriving, like little birds out of the nest, flying high. And that's what a parent wants, right? To see them soar. But my heart... it feels like it’s been stretched thin, pulled across oceans. And everyone here, they're so young, talking about their weekend plans, their next party, and I'm just sitting there, trying to figure out if I can even afford a flight back home next year. Or if I should save that money for their birthday presents. It’s just... it’s a lot, you know? The quiet is the hardest part. The quiet where they should be.