The Human Touch ⋆｡°✩

It was my graduation day, a milestone that should have been solely a celebration of academic achievement, a testament to hard work. As I stood there in my cap and gown, heart pulsating with a mix of anticipation and apprehension, I had no clue that this day would unravel the very fabric of my emotions. 

The sun's golden fingers caressed the landscape, as my name was called, prompting a polite applause from the audience. And then, like an unexpected gust of wind, it happened. The moment that changed everything. My father, a stern man hardened by his own battles with masculinity, extended his arms toward me. For a split second, his eyes softened, revealing a vulnerability I had never seen before. The crowd watched with bated breaths as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into an embrace that felt alien and uncomfortable. I felt as though I was suffocating. All I wanted in that moment was to vanish into thin air, to wake and discover this was only a nightmare. But a rise from slumber did notcome, this was reality and there was not a way to escape. 

As my father’s rough hands clamped onto my shoulders, I recoiled, but it was too late. I was trapped within his arms, a prisoner of a moment that would change the course of my life. My mind raced, my heart pounded, and a powerful surge of anger coursed through my veins. How dare he? How dare he think that he could suddenly offer a gesture of affection, the exact opposite to what he represented for so many years? How dare he attempt a counterfeit display of love, after years of emotional neglect and abuse? I was merely a young boy craving to be loved, to feel comforted. 

The tears that blurred my vision that day were not ones of joy and pride like one would assume on such occasion. They were bitter tears of betrayal, of a floodgate I had hoped would never open. I had spent a lifetime shielding myself from any physical touch, avoiding the vulnerability it represented. I had built walls extremely high that even the thought of being touched sent tremors of panic and fear through my chest and throughout my whole body. 

As the graduation ceremony concluded, I fled the stage, my feet swiftly carrying me away from the disapproving gaze of my father and the sea of curious faces. Behind the curtain, hidden from view, I wept. I wept for all the years I had yearned for a father's embrace, a mother's soothing touch, only to be met with silence, indifference, and unavailability. 

And then he appeared, a beacon of light in the midst of my darkness. Matt, my best friend, whose heart was as big as the oceans, whose laughter could chase away the shadows, whose love knows no bounds; as limitless as the sky. He had always been the embodiment of affection, freely giving hugs and gentle touches without reservation, comfortably offering love and care without the slightest worries of seeming emasculated. Matt was everybody’s favorite person, and it was highly evident why. For that day, when he found me huddled in a corner, my face buried in my hands, he sensed something was amiss and he was determined to help fix it. 

"Dude, why'd you run off like that? It's your graduation day!” Matt's voice was laced with concern, the joy he had exuded earlier now replaced with genuine worry.

I tried to mask my tears, to put on a façade that everything was fine, but Matt immediately saw through the pretense. He always seemed to see right through me, even when I was determined to hide.

"Were you crying?" he asked softly, his eyes searching mine for the truth. 

I hesitated, the walls I had so carefully constructed crumbled when faced by his unwavering gaze. And then, I let out a sigh. An exhale that carried the weight of years of suppressed emotions. It was as though I’d let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I met his eyes once again, then weakly nodded. The admission was a bittersweet release, a letting go of the stoic act I had maintained for far too long. Matt gave me a soft expression as he settled down by my side. His voice was a soothing balm as he offered words of understanding and comfort. He assured me that it was human to feel. That my emotions were valid. That I never had to carry the burden alone.

Then without another word, with such tenderness and caution, he enfolded me in his arms. A shelter of warmth and safety that I had never known before. It was a hug filled with every ounce of love and affection he had freely shared and offered throughout our years of friendship. It was a hug that held no expectations, no hidden agendas, just the simple comfort of human connection.

In that embrace, as his heartbeat echoed against my chest, I felt something shift within me. The icy grip of fear and aversion began to thaw, replaced by a tentative curiosity. He then looked at me to confirm my consent, I simply clung tighter. As I rested my head on his shoulder, I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to surrender to the sensation of being held, of being cared for.

And then, as if the floodgates had burst open once more, tears flowed freely. But this time, they were not tears of anger nor resentment. They were tears of release, of healing, of all the emotions I had suppressed for what felt like an eternity. In Matt's arms, I mourned the years I had spent deprived of touch, of affection and love, the very thing that made us human. Matt sang a chorus of “it’s okay”’s and “you’ll be fine”’s to help soothe my shuddering sobs.

As the tears subsided, I realized that perhaps physical touch wasn't the enemy. It wasn't a reminder of pain and betrayal, but a gate for connection and understanding. In Matt's embrace, I discovered that touch could be a lifeline, a bridge between souls, a language that transcended words. “Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.” I voiced my thoughts. Matt nodded, grinning widely. “You know you love it.”

Now, I walk forward with a newfound understanding—that touch, in all its forms, has the power to heal, to mend, and to transform.