Some stories are never written. They gather inside you over time, and one day, they ask to be told on their own.
Abzu’s Touch is, for me, far more than a piece of music. It is a deeply personal journey that begins with the birth of a child and stretches all the way back to one’s essence perhaps even “home.” When I became aware of this story, I realized it had been within me for a long time. I just needed to listen.
Everything begins with a touch.
Listen to the song while reading the text.
In Sumerian mythology, Abzu represents the deep, unseen waters where everything originates. To me, this is equivalent to a child entering the world — a being without a name, without a sense of identity yet. In the most minimal, fragile moments of the music, I tried to capture that feeling — like a first breath, uncertain yet real.
Then, the journey begins.
As the child starts to understand the world, they also begin to discover themselves. But this discovery is not just about growing — it is also about losing. As we learn, as we lose, as we change… we face the strange contradiction of being human: knowledge gives power, but it also forces us to leave parts of ourselves behind.
At a certain point, the story rises.
This rise is not merely about success or the pursuit of power. It is also a form of rebellion. A search for identity. The complex relationship with the father, with the past, with inheritance becomes more visible here. Sometimes you want to escape it, sometimes you become it… and most of the time, you don’t know which is right.
But eventually, the return begins.
And this return is the hardest part.
Because it is not a victory, it is a confrontation. With your roots, your past, and the inheritance you carry deep within… perhaps with your father, perhaps with yourself. It is the moment you realize that what you were running from is, in fact, what defines you.
In this story, the child grows, but does not completely change. They simply understand.
For me, Abzu’s Touch is the sound of that understanding. Not a closure, but an acceptance. Not an ending, but a return.
Perhaps all of us are doing the same throughout our lives:
We move away, we get lost, and in the end, we return to where we began — no longer the same person we once were.