As a boy, I drank into my character a dark, jagged emptiness that haunted me when my parents made a wise decision to strike their marriage apart. In hindsight, it was clear to me that, among other things, I needed to become a therapist to my siblings and I had to cultivate the skills I needed to heal. I needed to understand this marital brutality in reality; I only saw marital desolvation in movies and TV shows. I did this unconsciously, not out of any great love, but out of an instinct to save myself. I wanted the legacy to stop. I was not prepared, by training or experience, to reach so deep into a man’s inner pain.
No man or woman would ever wish to let their long life committed marriage with children slip off and they wouldn't do anything about it. It was enervating to even think. While I was growing up, I had the shallow thought system that adults didn't make grave decisions that could cost their entire lives. I thought they were "adults". My parents weren't the richest bu, but I saw them do so much with their little some point, I thought adulthood was only about companionship; as long as you had someone to support you, you would probably get through life endeavours; the thought had failed me
I remembered that morning, it was quiet and the lights from the passage illuminated through my room. I starred at the fainted lights that pierced through the curtain from my room. I heard my parents engaged in the conversation; my dad asked who he was and why she went out with him. It was a question of infidelity; why did she do it that he didn't love her enough. She claimed they did 'food business' together and that was all. My father was more of an open book. He was always opening his palms to situations.
At the thought of the situation, he knew what it felt to be clawed by suspicions and at that moment it all became messy. Even I healed, it taught me that everyone would choose themselves first irrespective of what they had or the kind of experience they find themselves in.
It was already bright in the morning and all hell had let loose. What started as a lofty conversation escalated to a wild goose chase, and it all happened quickly. My mom was picking out her "stuff", she was moving out and I wasn't dreaming and it happened with tears in my eyes.
The truth is I don't remember most of what happened anymore, I still feel like it shouldn't have happened. I concluded that people only say what is true to them. Even if you ask me about this story, or my parents or siblings or even witnesses, you'd completely get different versions of the same event.
In the end, every teller of that event will embrace what is only true to them as they know it.