The train station buzzed with the hum of daily life in Singapore. Crowds of commuters, dressed in various shades of formality and casualness, moved through the station with the efficiency of clockwork. The air was warm, typical for a late afternoon in the city, and the rhythmic announcement of incoming trains echoed off the sleek tiles. Amidst the crowd, a man stood out, not for his attire but for his behavior.
Nathan watched his father, Mr. Bernard Ng, who was standing at the edge of the platform, talking animatedly to the air. Bernard's hands gestured as if he were having a deep conversation with someone invisible. The other commuters gave him a wide berth, throwing occasional glances at the elderly man before hurrying along with their day.
Nathan let out a sigh, feeling a familiar mix of embarrassment and concern. His father had been like this for a while now. At first, it was quirky—Bernard, with his shock of silver hair, wiry frame, and penchant for lively conversation with thin air, had always been a character. But lately, it had gotten worse. The conversations had become more frequent, more intense, and sometimes downright bizarre.
"Dad," Nathan called softly as he approached Bernard. His father didn't hear him, too engrossed in a heated debate with an unseen entity. Nathan tugged lightly on Bernard's sleeve. "Dad, we have to go. The train's coming."
Bernard blinked and turned to his son, his dark brown eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before a wide grin broke out on his face. "Ah, Nathan, did you hear that? Gerald was just telling me about this new investment opportunity in flying durians! Can you imagine? Durians in the sky!" He chuckled to himself, clearly amused by the absurdity of the idea.
Nathan managed a tight smile. "Yeah, that sounds... interesting. But we've got to go see Dr. Lim now, remember?"
Bernard's face fell, as though he had forgotten about the appointment altogether. "Dr. Lim? Oh yes, yes... the mind doctor. But why? There's nothing wrong with me, you know." He glanced around nervously, as if searching for Gerald, his invisible advisor on durian investments.
The train arrived with a gentle whoosh, and Nathan guided his father through the doors, finding them a seat near the back of the car. Bernard settled into the seat with a sigh, his excitement over flying durians fading into a vague unease. Nathan looked at his father, noting how frail he seemed lately. The lines on his face, deepened by age and worry, made him look older than his 59 years. Bernard had always been a vibrant man, full of life and stories, but the combination of dementia and schizophrenia was slowly stealing that away from him.
The train rumbled forward, and for a moment, the cityscape of Singapore blurred past the windows. Nathan glanced at his phone, checking the time. Dr. Lim had insisted on this appointment after hearing about Bernard's increasingly erratic behavior. Schizophrenia wasn't new—Bernard had been diagnosed years ago—but dementia was. Nathan wasn't sure what to do anymore. His father's mental state had become a confusing maze of voices and forgotten memories, and Nathan felt like he was losing him more every day.
In the waiting room of Dr. Lim's office, Nathan sat down twiddling his thumbs. The walls were a sterile white, adorned with generic paintings of tranquil beaches and sunsets. His nerves were eating away at his patience. Dr. Lim had taken Bernard into his office nearly an hour ago, and Nathan hadn't heard anything since.
A nurse walked by, giving Nathan a smile. He tried to return it, but his thoughts were elsewhere. What would the doctor say? Was there anything they could do? Bernard's episodes had been getting stranger, with new voices entering his life every other day, like guests at a party who overstayed their welcome. The last voice—Gerald, the durian enthusiast—had only been around for two days. Before that, it had been someone named Margaret who insisted Bernard take up gardening a neighbor's house in the middle of the night.
The door to Dr. Lim's office finally opened, and the doctor stepped out, his expression serious but not unkind. Dr. Lim was a man in his early fifties, with graying hair and a calm demeanor that suggested he had seen it all. He motioned for Nathan to come in, and Nathan followed him into the office.
Bernard sat in a chair by the window, looking out at the city skyline with a distant expression. Nathan couldn't tell if his father had any idea what was going on.
Dr. Lim sat behind his desk and gestured for Nathan to sit across from him. "Nathan," he began, his tone measured, "I've completed the evaluation. Your father's schizophrenia is certainly progressing, but what concerns me more is the onset of dementia. The two conditions together are... difficult to manage."
Nathan swallowed hard. He had expected this, but hearing it out loud made it all too real. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means that your father is going to need more care. The dementia is making him forget things—sometimes even the voices he hears. That's why new ones are appearing so frequently. He's losing track of the old ones, so his mind creates new ones to fill the gaps."
Nathan glanced at Bernard, who was now muttering something under his breath about tomatoes and umbrellas. "So... what do we do?"
Dr. Lim leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the desk. "There are medications that can help slow the progression, but there's no cure. You're going to need to consider long-term care options. It might be best to start thinking about a facility that can provide the level of attention your father needs."
Nathan felt a lump form in his throat. The idea of putting his father in a home felt like admitting defeat, like giving up on the man who had raised him. But what other choice did he have?
"I'll... I'll think about it," Nathan said quietly. "Thank you, Dr. Lim."
Dr. Lim nodded. "Take your time, but don't wait too long. Bernard's condition will only worsen over time. If you need any recommendations, I can help."
Nathan nodded, but his mind was already a million kilometers away.
Two hours later back at the apartment, Nathan sat on the couch, his phone pressed to his ear as he talked to his girlfriend, Sarah. She lived in another part of the city, and they hadn't seen each other in person for a couple of weeks due to work and, well, his father.
"I just don't know what to do, Sarah," Nathan said, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "Dr. Lim says he needs more care, but... I don't know if I can handle putting him in a home."
On the other end of the line, Sarah's voice was soft. "You're doing everything you can, Nathan. No one expects you to do this alone. Maybe a facility would be the best place for him—somewhere he can get the help he needs."
"I know," Nathan sighed. "But it feels like... like I'm giving up on him. He's my dad. He was always the one who took care of me, and now I'm supposed to just hand him off to strangers?"
"You're not handing him off," Sarah said gently. "You're making sure he's safe. That's not the same thing."
Nathan closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. "I just... I wish there was another way."
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Sarah spoke again. "Why don't you take some time to think about it? I'm here for you, whatever you decide."
"Thanks, Sarah. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay. Hang in there, Nathan."
After he hung up, Nathan sat in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. He realized he hadn't heard anything from his father in a while.
"Dad?" he called, standing up and looking around the living room. No answer. "Dad?" he called again, louder this time.
There was still no response. Nathan's heart began to race a little as he checked the kitchen, the bathroom, and Bernard's bedroom. Nothing. His father wasn't in the apartment.
Panic surged through him. Bernard wasn't supposed to leave without Nathan. He had told him that a hundred times. Nathan grabbed his phone and dialed his father's number, but the call went straight to voicemail. "Damn it," he muttered, grabbing his keys and heading out the door. He had to find him.
Just as he was about to step outside, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was his mother. His parents had divorced years ago, but she and Nathan still kept in touch.
"Mom, I can't talk right now," Nathan said hurriedly. "Dad's missing, and I need to—"
"Turn on the news," his mother interrupted, her voice tight with urgency.
"What?"
"The news, Nathan. You need to see what's happening. Now."
Confused, Nathan grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. The news channel flickered to life, showing footage from a live event. His jaw dropped as he saw the headline: "Elderly Man Crashes Idol Concert in Bizarre On-Stage Incident."
The camera zoomed in on the stage, where a familiar figure was dancing awkwardly under the bright lights. It was Bernard. His father was up there, moving in what could only be described as an attempt at cutesy choreography, like an idol trying to win over the crowd. The three young women who were supposed to be performing stood frozen at the edge of the stage, mouths agape in shock.
Nathan could hardly believe what he was seeing. His father, in his worn-out polo shirt and khaki shorts, was trying to pull off dance moves that didn't suit him in the slightest. The audience was a mix of stunned silence and confused laughter, unsure whether this was part of the show or a complete disaster, and then, the screen cut to a commercial break.