NYAC | 3min Read
Published on May 7, 2026
Breaking Apart
Breaking Apart
Everything was always so wrong about it, yet it fit like the perfect puzzle. At such a young age,
having such thoughts led one to question the environment that stimulated those behaviours and
attitudes. I was too small to have made sense of its implications, but now, as I’m older, I’m
learning more.
I’m Aizenore, I’m nineteen, and my family has just been through something. It’ll become
apparent soon enough, but let’s talk about how my childhood almost completely contradicted the
fate of my family, yet in some sense heralded this storm.
Every month, I would get toys, those detailed figurines of characters and animals. The
mech-robos had a special place in my heart. Elaborate storylines, vast worlds, and clans
canvassed my room and became a part of normal life. The only time in my life when it mattered
not whether you were a fairy, a dinosaur, or Frankenstein himself. Harmony was the essence of
my voyages, that and defeating an evil galactic overlord. Most of the plots included certain
characteristic features, like at least one prison break, one messenger, and a royal couple.
Now, this couple, in hindsight, there was something always wrong about it. I don’t know how, as
an 8 or 9-year-old, I felt so accustomed to it. I’ve never really seen a child so comfortable with
infidelity. As I grew up, I finally learnt that it was a sin, but no god ever punished the Prince for
being with the fairy, nor did the Princess say anything to him. Only once I turned 17, I began to
introspect on what that possibly meant about my psyche.
What followed in the next two years only exacerbated my mental dilemma. Things started
getting tense between my parents. My brother, Nathaniel, couldn’t handle the heat at home and
spent days at his friend’s place. Me? My dad tried to drag me into conversations, defend his
work, deny my mother’s ignorance and fight for togetherness. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t, not for
these contorted people.
Dad’s friend had died one of these days, and on the day of his funeral, Mother thoughtlessly filed
for divorce. Dad experienced misfortune after misfortune; he was fired, his old friend had hurt
him, and another had just awoken from a coma, for which the hospital fees leaked through his
pockets. That old friend, Tessa, was the first person he went to after the divorce was finalised. He
didn’t tell me, but I knew something unsavoury had happened. Honestly, I had a nagging voice in
my head that told me there was something between them once before, one-sided as it was.
One day, as I was coming back home, a week or two after the split, I walked into the living room
to see Mother entangled with another man. Absolutely fuming, I stormed up to my room and
began to stuff my things in a suitcase. No way I’m staying in this dump, I’d much ratherNathaniel, and I go with Dad. This brings me back to what I mentioned earlier. The infidelity.
Both my parents seemed to have dabbled in the matter and … so have I, unconsciously. Does
that make me a horrible person, too? I’ve had such thoughts. I don’t want to grow up to be like
them, I won’t, right?
As I grappled with these thoughts at the airport, I heard Nathaniel, “Don’t worry. You could
never be like them.” I turned.
“I know what you’re thinking, you won’t be like them. Those games you played as a kid did not
determine your morals. It may be in your unconscious, but that’s all it is. Don’t let it influence
you. You can choose your own path”
Oh, how kids grow up. He’s so mature now, giving me advice. “Thanks”, I smiled, “I really want
to know more about it, and I will. I needed that.”
