It was while I was searching for the family album my eyes caught sight of a certificate tucked beneath its weight. The information on it clearly says that my mom and my dad divorced when I was four-years old. Really, divorce is no big deal. but the fact that I'd been kept in the dark for over a decade left me reeling. I was too shocked to put back that paper without its weighty implications lingering in my grasp.

 

It actually rings the bell. The memories become jagged pieces in the puzzle of my family's hidden truths. I recalled stumbling upon unfamiliar images on my father's computer; I recalled my futile attempts at discussion met with my mother's stoic indifference. The unanswered questions from my parents, the uncertainty of my father’s presence at home. Every detail, every nuance, etched itself into my consciousness.

 

I found myself surrounded by the fear of confronting the unspoken truth beneath the surface. I retreated into a facade of indifference, like human’s natural talent for defense mechanisms that safeguard ourselves from even further fractures. 

Since that afternoon, I could never view my family album the same as before. its pages now tainted with the stains of secrets and silences, while it is just a heavy door covering what’s beneath.