The Chains of Decisions
A few weeks ago, my mother and I were sitting at the dinner table, watching the new Netflix series, Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story. As Erik Menendez testified in court about the abuse he endured from his parents, she paused the show, turned to me, and asked, “If the brothers were seriously abused, why didn’t they just leave?”
With my eyes wide and mouth agape, I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. For my generation, the answer seemed obvious; leaving a relationship isn’t as simple as just walking away—emotional, financial, and psychological constraints make it far more complex than that. But I knew, through no fault of her own, my mom wouldn’t understand: she was a part of a different generation that didn’t recognize the weight of emotions in a decision. For her, the idea of choosing to leave an unhappy situation might have seemed straightforward, yet for me, making this choice meant navigating conflicting emotions. So I stayed quiet, turned back to my dinner, and resumed the show. My silence wasn’t an agreement nor a challenge—instead, it was an act of self preservation in a conversation neither of us were ready to have.
Eventually dinner ended, but her question still lingered in my mind. We often make invisible choices that hold us back—not due to the lack of options, but rather, because of the “what ifs” that constrain us. For instance, the Menendez brothers knew they had the option to leave their home, yet they found themselves trapped within the psychological conflict of comparing the uncertainty of the outside world to the familiarity of their abusive household. They chose to stay, but they were consumed by thoughts of how different their lives would have been if they escaped their parents’ influence. Do these subconscious barriers in our decision-making prevent us from taking control?
Decisions, while seemingly empowering, often become a source of internal conflict that holds us back.
A few months ago, my cousin found herself facing a difficult decision. We were sitting together on the bathroom floor, staring in disbelief at the two lines on her pregnancy test, as a heavy silence filled the air. Under different circumstances, this could have been a reason to celebrate. Since we were kids, we had envisioned our futures together—living in a white house with adjoining rooms overlooking the river, surrounded by the lively chaos of our children and pets. Even though the pregnancy was a start to our dream, it came at a turbulent time in her life when she was managing the pressures of her demanding job while navigating an unstable relationship. She knew she wasn’t in a position to raise a child properly. I could see the tears forming in her eyes as her shoulders shook uncontrollably. With a trembling voice, she uttered to me, “I know I have control over my situation, but no matter what decision I make, it feels like I’m losing something.”
After days of emotional turmoil, she decided to have an abortion. Months later, she confided in me, explaining that while the decision was meant to give her control over her life, it left her feeling restrained; not because she felt regret, but because she couldn’t escape the constraint of comparisons in her mind—the life she chose versus the life she didn’t. The decision that was meant to free her the weight of an unplanned pregnancy instead binded her to the lingering “what ifs” and possibilities.
Upon listening to her I recognized the invisible weight of choice; it’s not that you don’t have the option of leaving a miserable situation, it's that these difficult decisions burdens us to confront the “what ifs” and compare them with our current situation.
Similarly, I’ve faced difficult decisions filled with “what ifs” in my own life. Back in April, my dad received a job offer at a new firm that would allow us to move back to Hong Kong. He gave me a choice; we could either move together as a family, or my mom and I could stay in Singapore while he relocated alone. On one hand, Hong Kong was my childhood home, a place where I lived for 13 years, and had many cherished memories. On the other hand, staying in Singapore meant preserving the life I had built—my friends, school, and the sense of stability I had grown accustomed to. But choosing to stay meant being physically separated from my dad for the next two years and missing out on valuable family moments right before leaving for college.
After days of contemplation and turmoil, I realized that neither choice would feel entirely right. Each option came with countless “what ifs” that I’d have to come to terms with. Every night, I lay in bed, wrestling with thoughts of which version of my future I would regret the least. One night, I decided to confide in my friend, and his words have stuck with me since. “Don’t base your decision on which choice makes you feel less guilty. Stop focusing on all the possible “what if’s”. Think about which choice will bring you the most happiness. Choosing one path now doesn’t mean shutting out the other, it just means picking the one that feels right for now.”
Ultimately, I decided to stay in Singapore. The night before my dad left, I sat with him in the living room, holding back tears as we talked about everything but this life changing decision that had consumed me for weeks. Why couldn’t he just make this choice for me? Part of me longed for the simplicity of having no option at all, following a path someone else had paved, free from the overwhelming burden of wondering whether I had picked the right one.
But as I reflect now, I realise that these choices aren’t just a simple decision—it’s coming to terms with the “what ifs” that linger. Predetermined choices feel “easier”, relieving us from wondering about alternatives. Yet, I’ve learned that these doubts aren’t indications of failure, but a natural part of living with choice. I live in Singapore now, carrying the lessons of that choice with me, and knowing that the decision I made was the right one. The challenge of making choices shows that no important decision comes without consequence however; it is in these moments that we are able to learn to take ownership of our lives and navigate uncertainty despite the discomfort it may bring.