The day I left at age 17, my parent's house was never the same for me. The lack of in-person facetime kept drifting us apart. It's like we no longer speak the same language. The way they think is very different than the way I think. It breaks my heart. I do not loathe them. They still care for me. We just sailed away. Every meetup reminds me of this. We never had fights. We never bad-mouth each other. We do not tell the rest of our relatives or friends that we do not get along. We keep a healthy, respectable distance. And mind our own lives. And make our own decisions that the other party would not agree with. We agree to disagree. Or maybe just let go. We are all so busy in our lives that this does not bother us.
It's not like I have any regrets about moving away for studies or the rest of my life, but whenever I visit my parents, I wish I had a deeper connection, at least for that moment, before getting back to the grind.
Maybe this is what adulting is