And all of a sudden, it all made sense again.

And all of a sudden, it all made sense again.

She told me that she didn’t know it was possible to think so much until she met me. He told me it was the best compliment you can receive.

And all of a sudden, it all made sense again.

The way she accepted the pieces of me I thought were broken. When I realised that amidst my brokenness, I forgot who I really was. Explaining myself as something broken, something to be fixed. When I was fixed all along.

All of a sudden, it all made sense again.

The way I could accept myself. Every last drop.

And all of a sudden, it all made sense again.

The way mother finally started to realise she is not invincible. Maybe it was the long way around. Maybe I deserved more. But maybe there was no other way. Because the beauty in struggle. The beauty in strife. Is that it truly forces you to unveil what you believe in. It makes you question every bit of yourself. And only in doing so can you come as close to what you are meant to be.

Maybe my life was orchestrated. But by no one more than myself. And that gives me solace.

Finally, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I weight no therapist could lift. No person but mother herself. The power she held. Truly held over me. The power I could never admit. Will never admit. But in doing so, the power will be learn itself to be wielded with care. Everything that is right, will eventually fall in itself. But you can never rush it. Everything that is meant to be in the universe finds its way to its worthy position. However it is done. No matter whether you think it is you. It’s decided before you have a chance to intervene. But intervening is all you do, in the effort and in that guise, working for no one but what is bigger. What cannot be described. But holds all the power and all the decision of what is to come. What is true. And fair. And always worthy of living to be a part of the plan of.

Mother, I could never truly be me without you. Without you, I am nothing. But without you, I became me. With strife. With hurt. I could be me without you. Not easily. But for that, I was willing to bear. But perhaps being willing to do so meant I no longer had to.

I will live another million lives baring it. But perhaps, that weight is a little lighter now. Not that I need it to be. Not that I ask for it to be. But it is. For that, it is luck. I am grateful for it. But I don’t need it. I don’t ask for it.

All of a sudden, it all made sense again.

The way she skipped through the streets of Lisbon, understanding every piece of me without me needing to ask. Perhaps I asked for too long.

Now I know that someone who didn’t could eventually; but why is it my job to show them the light? To plan, to engineer, for those who may never truly appreciate its value?

Maybe C was special. Maybe she wasn’t.

I told father I loved him. For the first time I did so. And I do. I really do. And for it, everything made sense again.

Maybe my coming of age was realising that nothing made sense. Just so I can make sense of it all with my own words. My own words, which fill the gaps, of everything that can never be articulated. Everything that mattered most. That can only be felt. Never to be put into words. Because there are no words to describe them. Because perhaps not enough people have felt them. Or never will. Maybe there is no need for a word. Because for those who have, the understanding is so great, that words are not even needed. No attempt to explain is needed.

And all of a sudden, everything made sense again.

The way the sun felt on my skin. The way his smile could set the whole world on fire. The way what we think we can never know, lies just beneath our feet.

And all of a sudden, everything made sense again. When I stopped trying to make sense of what was simple. Simple and wrong. There was a simple explanation to those things that didn’t make sense. Just like there was for the things that did.

That simple explanation, is just a half-baked thought. One you wished not. Could not imagine could be held in anyone’s mind’s eye and give them solace. But perhaps they don’t seek that solace. Perhaps they are happy lying in the in-between. At least they have company.

I find company. The search is forever. But is worth every second of it. Because the beauty and the joy that comes from it, most never get to experience. And would jeer at the thought of.

And all of a sudden, everything made sense again.

I thought I grew up without a dad sometimes. But in reality, he was there all along. More ever-present than anyone in my life. Maybe the idea of it made things easier, but it didn’t. Every time I said it, I felt like a lie. Another half-baked explanation. Maybe it was a narrative that could explain the broken parts of me.

The versions of me so difficult to understand, it was easier to explain with brokenness. The parts of me I’ll regret ever forgetting. The parts of me I have no choice but to embrace. Because I have no choice but to be happy. But it’s funny that I have no choice. But it is also the right choice.

Dad, I love you. And I understand now.

And all of a sudden, everything made sense.