The smallest words to mend the biggest wounds.
In many of my previous posts, I’ve shared glimpses of my relationship with my dad, often painting him as the absent, grumpy, and sometimes distant figure in my life. But there’s so much more to the story, and as I write this, I feel tears welling up. It's hard to acknowledge that I’ve portrayed him in a one-dimensional way because, truthfully, there were things I didn’t understand back then that have become clearer with time. My dad is the eldest in his family, and while our relationship has been complicated, there are parts of him I’ve come to appreciate deeply. One of those is his love for music, something I’ve definitely inherited. I’m now a music and lyrics enthusiast, and I know that’s a piece of him living in me. He also has a deep love for books and perfumes ( something I’ve definitely inherited too)—he always had shelves full of books at his house, and he always smelled amazing. He knew how to cook, and he was great at it. His friends respected him, and he had a...
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