This Will Make You Think

I'm currently knee-deep in preparations for two looming court appearances. It's a personal matter, and one that I feel extremely passionate about.

It's no secret that our society views violence by women against men in a completely different light than the reverse. As evidenced in a viral video, when a man hits a woman, good Samaritans rush to the woman's aid, as they should. But when the roles are reversed, bystanders smirk and jeer, assuming that the man must have provoked the attack. No one rushes to help him.

Shocking statistics reveal that violence against men accounts for a staggering 40% of all reported incidents of domestic violence, and that number is likely much higher due to the stigma and shame surrounding male victims. It's a pervasive attitude that will take generations to shift, much like the fight for women's liberation in the workplace. While women had to work harder to prove themselves competent, men face a similar uphill battle when it comes to domestic violence. It's time for attitudes to change.

Two Little People

The arrival of my two little people at six in the evening today has brought my writing to an abrupt halt. For the next 48 hours, my mind, body and soul will be consumed by the unapologetic domination of my children. It's a feeling of overwhelming joy that I have been looking forward to for weeks, after the agony of separation from them in a prison cell, just fourteen days ago. The memory of our reunion earlier is etched into my mind and heart forever. Every second of their presence is a precious gift that I will cherish deeply.

Initially, I started writing out of necessity, to document the events that were unfolding before me. I had no idea that it would become a source of comfort for me, and hopefully for others too. Though the experience was far from pleasant, with time, I can already see that it has been a positive one. My hope is that it might offer solace and guidance to other fathers (and mothers) in similar situations.

To my surprise, my writing has been receiving a lot of attention, with over a thousand hits in just a week. It seems that someone, somewhere, is following along with bated breath. I have two more instalments to share with you, though for now, they are nothing but scribbles on the back of prison induction leaflets.

So, dear reader, I bid you farewell for now. I will return next week with the conclusion of my story. In the meantime, savour your freedom, and make the most of the time you have with those you love.

Part 1 - Incarceration

Part 2 - 56 Days

Never Give Up

On September 29th, a glimmer of hope shone through the bleakness of recent days. As I stepped out of my abode, the scent of fresh air enveloped me, and the promise of a new day filled me with a sense of well-being. For the first time in a long while, I was reacquainted with the beauty of each day and its boundless potential.

As I sauntered up the road, I encountered a familiar homeless man, whom I had seen many times before. Despite his repeated requests for money, I had always been unable to assist him, as I, too, was in dire straits. Nevertheless, his persistent pursuit of my help touched my heart, and I longed to extend a helping hand.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back, offering the destitute man a five-pound note. As we sat down on the pavement together, a moment of understanding and shared experience ensued. He confided in me that he was not a drug addict, but rather someone who had once lived a life similar to my own. However, he had lost everything, and his current situation was a result of that tragedy.

During our conversation, we both acknowledged the pain of being subjected to disapproving looks from passers-by. Yet, our human connection and the ability to share our experiences with each other was worth far more than any amount of money.

On that fateful day, I learned that never giving up can lead to extraordinary moments of connection and understanding.

Navigating Grief: The Loss of My Kids and Best Friend

Becoming a father was the most significant decision of my life. I grew up not knowing my own dad and haven't seen or spoken to him in over twenty-five years. My stepfather was an admirable man who raised me as his own. He did everything he could for me; he was the most selfless person I have ever known. I couldn't have asked for a better role model as a father. However, the love, respect, and admiration I felt for him could not cover the emptiness of not knowing my biological father.

I often wondered why my father didn't want to see me. Did he hate my mother or do something terrible to her? Maybe I was a mistake he wished he could forget. The truth is, I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. Whatever the reason, I always felt like I had done something wrong. Even though I had a happy childhood, I knew something was missing.

Growing up, I saw that relationships come and go, and it's rare for a couple to stay together forever. Most of my friends' parents were divorced or separated, and I didn't want my children to grow up without both parents. I knew the impact that could have, and I didn't want my kids to feel the way I did. So, I took the responsibility of parenthood very seriously. I spent my twenties in a happy relationship but didn't start a family. I knew the person I had children with had to be special.

After three years of being with Natascha, I knew she was that person. We were friends for a long time before things got serious. She was much more than my girlfriend; she was my best friend. I trusted her, and that was why I wanted her to have my children. It wasn't because she was pretty, talented, kind, or strong; it was because we had something deep, meaningful, and strong. I knew I had a friend for life, and she felt the same way. We were not rushing things, and we had something special that went beyond love.

However, eight weeks after the birth of our second child, Natascha fell out of love with me and destroyed our friendship. I am not angry with her; I am a realist, and I know falling out of love can happen. But, I am upset that she insisted we never see each other again. Becoming a parent isn't easy, and if she loved me, wouldn't she give it a little bit longer than eight weeks? Especially when our children's futures depend on it?

I still love her, and I always will. I thought I would love her for the rest of my life. I loved her not because she was gorgeous or loved me more than other girls had, but because of how I felt when I was with her. Being with her felt right, and we fit together perfectly. We used to call each other 'puzzle,' and I long for her company now. Even though she doesn't love me anymore, it doesn't stop me from loving her. I wish it would sometimes, but it doesn't.

If she doesn't want to be with me, I accept that, but I don't understand why we can't be friends. I can't force her to be with me, and I don't want to be with a woman who doesn't want to be with me.

Difficult

I’m often difficult to love.

I go through dark periods like the moon and I hide from myself.

But I promise I will kiss your wounds when they’re hurting. 

Even if they’re in your soul,

I can find them with the light in my fingertips.

I will lead you to the river so you can remember
 How beautiful it feels to be moved by something that is out of your control.

And when our dark periods match, we can breathe with the grass and look at the night sky.

The stars will remind us of the beauty in our struggles,
And we won’t feel lost anymore.