One ordinary evening, the father had returned home, the mother had just finished a busy day, and the children were all gathered together. One might think this was a time for family reunion, but instead, the father opened his computer, frowning as he answered unfinished work emails; the mother was engrossed in scrolling through social media statuses; the son wore headphones, completely absorbed in a virtual gaming world ; and the daughter was glued to her phone screen, repeatedly playing short videos. This is a fairly common scene in families these days: we are geographically close but emotionally distant.
Cracks in a relationship rarely begin with major events. They silently arise from small, everyday things. Psychology calls this "loneliness in a relationship"—a state where a person has a loving family but deep down feels unseen, unheard, and ununderstood. This feeling can sometimes be even more cruel than being alone. Because you are so close to the person you love… yet you can't touch them.
People rarely shed tears over heated arguments. They only break down in tears when they exclaim, "It's been so long since anyone asked me if I was tired..." It turns out that what people crave most when they return home isn't a clever solution, but simply someone willing to sit down long enough, be silent, and listen completely.
As a school psychologist, when I ask students what they most desire from their parents, their answers always tug at my heartstrings: "I want my parents not to look at their phones while listening to me," "I want a meal where no one asks about my grades," "I want to be able to finish my story without being interrupted." Children need a peaceful home where they can be themselves.
Technology has never been at fault. The blame lies with us for allowing immediate "urgent" matters to overshadow long-term "important" ones. We respond to business partners' messages instantly, but leave our children's conversations until tomorrow. We never forget a meeting, but forget to ask our spouse if they're tired. Our closest relatives always have to wait the longest for us.
The phenomenon of phubbing (ignoring the other person because of a phone) creates similar psychological damage as social isolation. For a child, when parents are engrossed in their screens, what they perceive is not "Mom and Dad are busy," but rather: "My conversation isn't important at all."
Family happiness isn't built on extravagant trips or expensive gifts. It's nurtured by small, regularly repeated moments: a meal where everyone talks together; spending a few minutes before bed asking each other about the day; a warm hug before leaving the house.
On Vietnamese Family Day, the most serious question we need to ask ourselves is not: "Does my family still love each other?", but rather: "Are my loved ones truly feeling that love?". If you return home tonight, please don't rush to ask your children what their grades were. Don't rush to ask your spouse if they've finished their work.
Try sitting down, looking into their eyes, and gently asking, "Is there anything that made you smile today?" That question won't change someone's life immediately, but it will be the first building block in bridging an invisible gap that has stretched too long in your own home.
After all the upheavals of the digital age, family remains the only place people return to, not to prove how successful they are, but to know that they are always seen, heard, and loved. That is the deepest and most sacred meaning of the word: Family.
Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/giu-nhip-yeu-thuong-giua-thoi-dai-so-post859527.html
