When a Father Says He Has “No Time”: Qi Yuwu, Honesty, and the Uneasy Truth About Modern Parenting

When Singapore actor Qi Yuwu openly shared that he does not spend much time with his children, the reaction was immediate and divided. Some found his words refreshingly honest; others felt uncomfortable, even critical. Yet beyond the headlines and soundbites, his comments open up a deeper and often unspoken conversation about modern parenthood, masculinity, and emotional presence.

Speaking candidly on a podcast, Qi Yuwu admitted that even when he is at home, he does not always engage closely with his children. He explained that he does not believe parents need to be constantly involved in their children’s lives, and that family members should be allowed their own space, interests, and independence. He also acknowledged that he is not naturally inclined towards playing with children, a statement that struck many listeners for its blunt honesty.

In a society where parenthood is frequently idealised, such remarks can feel jarring. Singapore’s dominant narrative often celebrates the ever-present, self-sacrificing parent—one who prioritises children above all else, often at the expense of personal identity. Against this backdrop, Qi’s words disrupt expectations. He did not frame himself as a model father, nor did he attempt to soften his stance with performative humility. Instead, he spoke as someone still negotiating his role.

What makes this conversation significant is not whether Qi Yuwu is “right” or “wrong,” but what his honesty reveals. Many parents, particularly fathers, struggle with similar feelings but rarely articulate them publicly. Emotional distance, discomfort with play, and the need for personal space are realities that exist in many households, even if they are quietly buried beneath social norms.

Qi’s comments also challenge the assumption that good parenting is measured purely by time spent. While presence is undeniably important, parenting is more complex than physical proximity. Some argue that children benefit from independence, learning to occupy their own emotional and imaginative spaces without constant adult intervention. Others counter that emotional availability, not just space, is crucial to a child’s development.

The discomfort surrounding Qi’s remarks may reflect a larger societal tension: we want parents to be honest, but only within acceptable boundaries. When a public figure expresses vulnerability that contradicts the idealised image of fatherhood, it forces us to confront our own expectations and fears—about neglect, emotional absence, and what children truly need.

Importantly, Qi Yuwu and his wife have maintained strong boundaries around their children’s privacy, choosing not to expose them publicly. This suggests a form of care that does not always align with conventional expressions of affection but nonetheless reflects a conscious approach to family life.

In the end, Qi’s remarks do not offer a blueprint for parenting. Instead, they offer something arguably more valuable: a moment of reflection. They invite society to reconsider whether honesty should be punished, whether parenting must look the same for everyone, and whether space and care can coexist.

Perhaps the real takeaway is this: modern parenting is no longer one story. It is fragmented, complex, and deeply personal. And sometimes, the most uncomfortable truths are the ones worth listening to.