After fighting, there is peace.

Or at least a period of peace.

It's been four days since that big outburst of emotions last Friday, and overall it's been relatively calm. New year's eve (Saturday) we managed to sit down at the table as a family and share a proper meal together. There was good food, wine and conversation. No finger pointing, no swearing, no shouting. Mum said how happy she was that we could finally sit down together and have a proper meal together. Dad, in a rare expression of his feelings, told us how proud he was of us (the children) and our achievements. Brother talked together, mostly about the car that he wanted, spurred by my dad, who promised to cover half of the costs. Between the clinking of our glasses, we wished each other success and wellbeing. I silently wished everyone peace and happiness.

We even managed to talk about some more 'sensitive' issues... like the uncertain future, and how to deal with the certain property and assets, especially due to the ill-health of both my parents. Before, dad would always stubbornly refuse to touch on the subject, but this time he softened, and we all managed to sit down with a family lawyer just yesterday and discuss things in a civilised manner. All this talk of money and property seems so cold and so 'de-personalising', but it's something that needs to be done sooner or later.

And for the first time in a long time, we took a trip together into the countryside the other day, smiling, laughing and sharing. Precious times, priceless times. Of course it wasn't all easy, and at times I needed to jump in and 'direct' the conversation to avoid confrontations and outbursts. Overall, everyone seems happy, and this seems like the beginning of something new, something beautiful, something I had longed for for so long.

Yet, beneath the smiles, the nice exchange of words and well-meaningness of it all, I feel like it's all so surreal. Still numb from the explosive exchange of words a few days ago, it's as if a part of me is half expecting something to go wrong, or perhaps even hoping that something would go wrong just to prove right that this family is indeed hopeless. And all the time I feel so tired, so exhausted from just being around them and having to 'intervene' and reconcile potential words that might just break everything down again.

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.