Picking up the pieces

Sometimes when everything falls apart you can finally see things you never noticed before; like how your parents are just human—filled with flaws and good intentions. You see people’s fears, their vulnerabilities, and you can’t help but feel an immense amount of what-the-fuck-happened-here? I’m starting to learn that there are profound lessons to be learned amid chaos and instability. That people will disappoint you over and over again but you have to keep loving them anyway; because walking away and pretending not to care is the greatest tragedy of all.

As I slowly pick up the pieces of the catastrophe that has been my life for the past 1.5 years I can’t help but smile. Good things have come from everything that’s been broken and lost—strength, independence, empathy and altruism—it has been a humbling experience to say the least.

I finally understand the meaning of love—or rather, the meanings of love—since I don’t believe there is only one. When it comes to family, love is accepting their shortcomings, dramatic outbursts, irrational decisions, hurtful words and unfathomable actions. I am beginning to learn that just as my negative words and actions come from a place of fear, so do theirs. They are a reflection of me and I am a reflection of them—what I see and dislike in them, I see and dislike in myself—we are one and the same (even though none of us would admit to this).

It never ceases to amaze me that I find joy in the simplest of things now—watching a movie in bed with my sister, hearing my mom laugh hysterically at something that’s not funny at all, watching my dad get excited about my accomplishments (no matter how small). I can’t help but think that these are the most important things in life, recognizing and appreciating these magical moments, which are often disguised as insignificant and just ordinary.