Logic, Reasoning, and Stubbornness

Caregiving didn’t just change my daily routine—it changed my entire way of communicating. I had to learn patience, negotiation, and how to choose my battles wisely.

Today, I met up with an old friend for lunch—an overdue catch-up that had been on my mind for a long time but never quite made it into my schedule. Finally, we got together over a simple meal of Char Kway Teow and Ya Kun coffee.

Henry is a long-time friend whom I met during a charity event I organised way back in the early 2000s. Our friendship spans over two decades. Henry is a year older than my dad, making him one of the oldest friends I have. I don’t really know what bonded us—perhaps it’s just a special affinity.

We met at his usual spot, the neighbourhood sports complex where he follows his daily exercise routine. At 81, Henry swims 10 laps every day and spends an hour in the gym on the treadmill and weight training. He’s probably fitter than me! A stark contrast to my dad, whose only form of exercise is going downstairs for marketing.

As usual, I was early for our appointment. I’ve learned by now that we shouldn’t keep the elderly waiting—it makes them anxious and, above all, it’s simply a matter of respect. True enough, Henry arrived 10 minutes earlier than our agreed timing (thankfully, I was already there!). Plans changed—he decided we’d have lunch at a nearby mall instead of the Cantonese restaurant we had originally planned to visit in town.

After lunch, we headed next door for coffee. We chatted for over an hour about everything under the sun. Since Henry is about my dad’s age, I decided to ask him for advice. I told him about how my dad’s temperament has changed—how he gets angry over the smallest things—and asked what he thought I could do.

In a serious tone, he said, “You know, old folks don’t like opposing views, so don’t argue with him.”

I burst out laughing. “I know, right?!”

Henry then shared a recent ordeal he went through. He was admitted to the Emergency Department due to an infection. The story goes like this—he had a molar extracted, and the dentist prescribed a week’s worth of antibiotics. But Henry decided, on his own, that he didn’t need the medication. The result? A serious infection, pus filling his gums, and excruciating pain. He laughed as he recounted the incident.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Why?” I asked. “Why couldn’t you just take the antibiotics? What’s so hard about taking the medication?”

He looked at me and said nonchalantly, “There’s nothing wrong, I just didn’t want to take them.”

THIS is exactly the kind of “no reason” answer that is so frustrating! The same stubbornness I see in my dad—the same exasperation I feel when he refuses to listen.

I told Henry off! It’s so much easier to tell off a friend than your own dad. And of course, in retrospect, it’s easier for Henry to laugh it off.

But in that moment, it was a little awkward. Henry’s hearing has deteriorated, and he now relies on hearing aids. In the noisy lunchtime coffeehouse, I had to raise my voice for him to hear me. I could feel people around us turning to look—probably thinking I was an unfilial daughter scolding her elderly father! Sweat.

But honestly? I’ve learned not to be overly concerned about how others perceive me, as long as I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s something I’ve had to come to terms with while caring for Mom—especially when she acts up in public.

Navigating caregiving often feels like walking a tightrope between logic, reasoning, and sheer stubbornness,  we constantly weigh what makes sense against what our loved ones feel is right, even when it defies all practicality.

These days, convincing my dad to do anything against his will—even when he is clearly in the wrong—is no easy task. It takes A LOT of patience. I’ve learned never to immediately say NO to whatever he says, no matter how absurd it sounds.

It’s like preparing for a debate. I have to first gather all the “evidence, case studies, and real-life examples” to either support or overthrow his convictions. Sometimes, it gets so exhausting that I just give in—especially for things that aren’t crucial. I’ve learned to turn a blind eye to the smaller issues and pick my battles.

At the end of the day, I always tell myself “don’t sweat the small stuff”.

I’ve learned that reasoning with him isn’t always about winning an argument—it’s about understanding his perspective and finding middle ground. Sometimes, it’s easier to let things be rather than push for what I think is the “right” way.

Looking back, I realise that sometimes, what seems like stubbornness is just my dad wanting to maintain control over his life. It’s a form of resistance to feeling helpless. And maybe, instead of always trying to convince him with logic, I need to accept that not everything needs to be reasoned out.

“You can’t reason with stubbornness—but you can learn to work around it.”