Where the Heart Is Kissed
Hello. You may not know me, but I understand you.
As I write these lines, a ceramic plate is drying, and my coffee is slowly growing cold. Maybe there’s a child crying outside.
But I didn’t want to silence this feeling growing inside me.
When I decided to start this blog, I had one wish:
Let it not waste time—let it touch people.
It’s been a long time since I’ve written. There’s a weight that has built up inside me.
And I said to myself:
“Maybe no one will read this… But write anyway, girl. Write for yourself.”
Writing has always been a kind of healing for me.
Maybe one day, these words will heal someone whose heart was kissed—or wounded—just like mine.
And maybe we can be good for each other.
Living Through a Miracle
Not long ago, I came face to face with the fear of losing my beloved father.
He survived a terrifying truck accident—a true miracle.
His ribs were cracked, and his shoulder was dislocated.
I never thought I’d be so relieved to hear someone say, “Your father’s shoulder is dislocated.”
But yes, it was just his shoulder.
And that…
Was the most beautiful miracle of my life.
The Truth That Woke Me Through Tears
A well-loved gentleman in our city passed away recently.
His precious daughter buried her father.
Weeks passed, but I kept crying.
Today, I read what the daughter wrote for Father’s Day.
And my sobs echoed through the house.
My mother came and said:
“Isn’t it enough already? Your father didn’t die, after all…”
In that moment, something snapped in my mind.
Why was I crying?
Because…
If I had lost my father in that accident, I would’ve been just like her.
I had been crying for weeks—because of the fear of losing him.
I was unprepared for that fear.
Unprepared for the ache it planted in my chest.
But really, how can anyone be prepared for something like that?
Would I Give Five Years?
When I was lost in my own thoughts, I found myself asking this question:
“If some higher power said: your father will die unless you give five years of your life… what would you do?”
Before I even finished asking, I already knew the answer:
I’d give them.
Without hesitation. Without question.
Because I am a daughter.
A girl whose father means everything.
And who is everything to her father.
A Quiet Kind of Love: My Father and I
My father never attended a single parent-teacher meeting.
But he always waited for me in the schoolyard after every exam.
He never went shopping with me.
But the clothes I wore always made me feel like a princess—because of him.
We never joked around like “best friends.”
But we laughed a lot together.
He never tried to control me.
He never criticized me.
He only supported me.
Always supported.
Fully supported.
And I know he always will.
I’m Kissing the Bruised Part of Your Heart
To those who lost their fathers too soon,
Or to those who grew up fatherless while their fathers were still alive—
I’m kissing the most tender, bruised part of your heart.
I know…
That kind of pain cuts deeper.
But it also makes you stronger.
And I hope—
Even if you didn’t grow up with the right kind of father,
You’ve chosen the right kind of father for your own child.
Your Turn
Do you want to say something about your father too?
Share your story in the comments.
Who knows… maybe you’ll help heal someone else.
I’ve left a letter here, from heart to heart.
Thank you for reading.
See You Later…
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