I have spent a considerable amount of my prime years writing about people who hurt me, betrayed me, ranting, venting, and bleeding out pain. I lost a lot of blood in the process. Some of it belonged to blood relations too.
But somewhere along the way, I forgot about the people who genuinely loved me. Even before I got married. The people who stayed without demanding anything dramatic in return.
This goes out to my people. Some who do not live close to me anymore, but never forgot about me, even when I hardly bothered to check on them the way I should have.
This is an apology to all those people.
This is for the person who has been my best friend for years. Someone who talks his heart out, never stops, never judges me, and never thinks twice before offering help. I was always the opposite. I hated long conversations. I preferred silent companionship over endless talking. Even when the other person wanted to pour his heart out, his pain out, I was mostly just a listener.
Hmm. Yes. True. But I made sure I listened.
This is also for a friend I once thought was my enemy, until I realised I was the one who had wronged him badly.
Back when we were studying together, I threw a lot of mud on his name and reputation. Carelessly. Immaturely. I never apologised to him directly because I knew words would never repair the damage I caused through my actions.
So I tried repenting through actions too.
Years later, when we became roommates again while working together, I made sure I treated him like my own brother. I used to wake up early in the morning, heat milk in a vessel, pour him a full glass while he was still asleep, and quietly leave for work. I did that till the very last day I stayed there.
Don't get me wrong. Maybe I did it for my own salvation, too. Call me selfish, greedy, whatever you want. But I think that was my unwritten apology letter to a friend who is now married, has two daughters, and a family he deeply cares for.
This also goes out to my wife.
She came into my life a little too late, actually. At a time when I was still recovering from myself. From unpaid dues. Unfinished penance. Versions of me I wasn't proud of. And then she came in and offered me more love than I knew what to do with.
She held a goddamn mirror to my face and made me realise what I was slowly becoming. She pulled me back before bitterness became my permanent personality. And honestly, I carry guilt there too.
Because she deserved warmth and support from my family in the same way she gave it to me. Instead, there were times they took her for granted. Times she had to silently tolerate things she never deserved. Sometimes I feel guilty for bringing her into this circus.
And then comes my biggest apology of all. My son.
That cute little monster I created. Co-created, technically.
That boy asks for nothing except my presence. The moment I come back home from work and see him sprinting towards me for a hug, I genuinely feel like that's the greatest accomplishment of my life.
Not work. Not money. Not fake relationships maintained out of obligation. Nothing.
Just that tiny human being smiling at me like I am his entire world. And there are days when exhaustion, stress, unresolved grief, and the noise inside my own head make me slower in returning that same energy to him. Not because I love him less. Maybe because damaged people take time learning how to receive pure love without flinching. But that little boy completed something in me that I didn't even know was missing.
For years, I thought surviving was enough. My son made me want to become softer, too. More present. More available. Less emotionally absent.
Maybe I love all these people in ways I still struggle to express properly. But I know the flaws I had. I know the mistakes I made. And I know I cannot keep apologising only through words.
So maybe I won't tattoo a giant "SORRY" on myself for the world to see. But if I wake up early for the people I love, stay when it gets difficult, listen a little longer, come home a little softer, maybe they'll hear it anyway.
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