To My Little One

I love you.

I believe the greatest expression of love is protection. When it comes to you and your mother, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. I want to be a man capable of that—and I will be.

Being your father is one of the greatest blessings of my life. But it’s also a mirror. It forces me to face myself honestly, to see the world clearly, because I need that clarity for our family. And the truth is—the world is messy. That’s part of its balance, its duality.

My little one, I want to protect you from all harm. I want you to live a happy life—and you will. But understand this: the hardships you face will teach you something about life and about yourself. Don’t run from them, but don’t stay stuck in them either.

When I was younger, I judged my parents harshly.

I judged my father for being abusive and for leaving our family.
I judged my mother for her struggles, for her vices.

But as I grew older, I began to understand something deeper: people are messy. No one is perfect.

Now, as a father—with all the access to knowledge, tools, and technology—I still struggle to be what I imagine an ideal father should be. So how could I judge them?

They came from war.
They ran from pain.
They did what they could with what they had.

How could I judge my mother when she carried so much? When she escaped war, survived an abusive relationship, and lost the love of her life far too early?

They did their best.

And the truth is—we all are.

Life is messy. Humans are messy. But within that mess, there is also beauty—brilliant, creative, kind people and meaningful experiences.

So enjoy the ride.

And before your ride ends, leave the world a little better than you found it—so the next ride can be even more beautiful.

I want to tell you a story.

When I was a child, I lived in chaos. I was afraid of the dark.

One night, your grandmother gave me a cassette tape. I asked her what it was, and she said, “It’s from a man I’m seeing.”

I played it before bed.

It was a collection of songs—The Beatles, Elvis Presley—sung by this man, just for her.

I had never met him.

But his voice… it was comforting. It helped me fall asleep.

Before I even knew who he was, he was already bringing me peace.

That man became my stepfather.

He passed away when I was 16. And even now, at 41, I’ve never stopped loving him or missing him.

Because of him, I love music.
Because of him, I enjoy cooking.
Because of him, I understand what unconditional love looks like.

He wasn’t my blood. But he showed up.

He took me to school.
He tried to teach me music—drums, piano.
He cooked for me. He cared for me.

Before him, I was just drifting in chaos.

And he changed the trajectory of my life.

That’s why I don’t get consumed by ego. I don’t take full credit for who I am today.

And I’m telling you this because one day, you might wonder what love really is.

This is one example.

Love is showing up.
Love is protecting.

Know this, always:

You are loved.