Time and again I retrieve the memory from late-June of myself at the main table in the family home. I was sitting down and leaning forward on a chair nearest to our front door, crying my eyes and heart out to Eldest Sis. “I didn’t know it hurt this deeply,” I said as I sobbed between tears. “Something inside me is actually broken – literally, broken. This fear [of loving another] is real.” I was a mess that afternoon and surprised even myself – especially myself – for the tears.
“Do they think I am not angry over what happened? Are they kidding themselves? If only they knew… if only they knew… if they wanted to know so much – I can tell them. I’ll do it.”
A pause, with a frown. Dogged determination and stubbornness. Anger.
“How could they ask that when it’s them who knifed me? How could they when they’re the reason I turned out this way?!”
“To her credit… she didn’t know it would turn out this way. She didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did.”
“One of the hardest thing, perhaps the cruelest truth, to learn as part of adulthood is the realization that our parents are only… humans. They make mistakes just as we do; they don’t always know their way; they’re learning as they go along, much like us. Accepting and therefore finding it in ourselves to forgive them for how we turn out – sometimes because of the mistakes they made that have affected us – that’s maturity. That’s how you grow into an adult.”
“Not everyone are able to accept that their parents are, in the end, mortal. Humans who are capable of and make mistakes… It is on us to take those and contextualize them to determine how to react and respond. I think you and I… are the only two people who understand and can accept this. I think you and I are the only two who forgive them for being imperfect because you understand that they didn’t mean it that way; they tried, they’re really trying.”
“Because I think I’ve to face the reality that not all of us will.”