When Does Learning End? For Me, It Was When My Father Went to Sleep
This has been on my mind today…
I saw a post that simply said, “My son’s done with homeschooling in two hours.”
And just like that, I was back in Singapore — racing home from school, not for fun, but out of fear.
See, school for me ended close to 4pm.
My parents knew exactly how long it should take for me to get from the gates of the school to the door of our apartment.
If I was late, it wasn’t a missed bus or a slow walk — it was disrespect.
And there were consequences.
But the real weight?
School didn’t end when the bell rang.
It ended when my father went to sleep.
Usually around 6pm, he’d be home — and by then, we had to be seated, heads down, already into our homework or the next stack of extra workbooks.
Every day.
For years.
Twelve to fifteen hours a day spent studying.
Almost no play.
Very little conversation that wasn’t about performance, progress, or punishment.
That was childhood.
And even though I sent my own kids to public school, I made a quiet promise to do things differently.
School ended the minute they walked out of the building.
Evenings were for play.
For laughter.
For sitting together at the dinner table without a pencil in hand.
For movie nights and bike rides and not having to earn joy.
And yet — I see so many of my friends, especially fellow South Indian parents, unknowingly continuing the cycle.
Evenings and weekends filled with more learning.
Catch-up. Push ahead. Get into the best school. Stay ahead of the curve.
But the curve keeps shifting.
The truth is, the world our kids are stepping into will not reward them for how fast they finished a textbook.
It will reward them for their ideas.
For their empathy.
For how well they adapt and connect and create.
Jobs we know today won’t be around by the time they graduate.
Learning styles have changed.
Grades don’t mean what they used to.
Trade skills and entrepreneurship are on the rise.
And I’ll say it — homeschooling is where I’m seeing the balance emerge.
Not because it’s easier.
But because it’s more human.
It’s where a child can complete their day in two focused hours and spend the rest of their time living.
It’s where parents no longer feel the need to steal youth from their kids in the name of preparation.
It’s where play becomes part of the plan, not an afterthought.
And it’s where I’m learning — still learning — how to unlearn the things I was taught to fear.
If your evenings feel like an extension of school instead of a return to family, maybe it’s time for a new way.
Maybe it’s time to put the joy back into childhood.
still learning, still unlearning