So my dad fluctuates between messaging me with incredibly ridiculous yet incredibly hilarious statements (i.e. “That’s why you all call me the big pops”) with knowing what to say and when to say it in the way that a mother would. (He started off by sending my brothers and me inspirational e-mails that, when opened, would play the sounds of waterfalls and light, beautiful music with some sort of rainbow or butterflies emerging on to the screen as a words to a poem would start to form that would tell us a lesson about life. He’s gotten much better.)
I check my e-mails before I even open my eyes in the morning, and this morning I saw a subject line that read “Thought you could use this”.
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.”
39 months. That’s how long I’ve been away for, living and travelling overseas.
