Dear… Everything I Ever Knew
I knew you when I was two. You were there, and I wasn't even aware. As I grew, the trees did too, they were a haven for me when I needed space and wanted to worry you.
All the things I knew started crumbling at age 16, when I asked too many questions and you went silent. I was expecting it, but knew I'd hit a nerve. You insisted we waited until we got home, so dad could be there too. It was a surprise, but not an unhappy one. I felt different, interesting, wanted.
Then came another shock. But it it did not change much, just my idea of who these kinds of things happened to. They were other families, not ours. That's what everyone always says. And now they were ours, and our neighbours and our friends. The world opened up. Secrets and surprises were everywhere. But when everyone knows apart from you - for no other reason than they thought you already did - it feels like you got lost somewhere on the way, unnoticed. No one's fault.
Then you grew up and did things that surprised you. You became someone that you would have been quick to judge and demean. And you worried what it meant for you. What kind of person were you? How did this happen? Your pit of empathy got deeper. You couldn’t judge anyone. Nothing could shock you anymore. But now it is happening again. The inconceivable, the truth you were never prepared for. You stumbled upon it and it makes no sense. What does it mean? Will anything change? How did this happen? How many more times will your idea of reality be plunged into doubt?
Everything you ever knew was simply not true.