I'll try to write this as calmly and less fiercely as I can possibly be and not spit every single thing about my feelings toward Dad. Because I tend to be like a volcano spurting fierce lava whenever the topic of Dad is brought up. To help me out with this, I have my Spotify playing calming music, accompanied by the sound of rain tapping on the roof. I took a shower before and now am snuggled on my comfy bed. You see, I'm making an effort here. Let's see if I can maintain it as I proceed.
There was one time I wrote about Dad, sent it to Sepoci Kopi and was published. Let me see if I can find it... Aha, here it is: Father and I. Looking at the date it was published, apparently it was five years ago. Wow. How time flies. I was five years younger then, when I wrote the article. Everything was alright. Or at least it seemed alright to me. We were just like any other family. Mum, Dad and us, the children. It wasn't a picture-perfect family but it was a complete one. And we were together as family.
It didn't take a long time to destroy the twenty-five years marriage. In fact, it only took one single mighty-earth-shattering earthquake. Unfortunate, wasn't it? That's what people said. Everyone seemed to have their own opinion. Friends of family's got split up into two sides: Team Mum at the right side and Team Dad at the left side. Later we found out that they even argued about who was to blame. Just so you know, many blamed Mum and said things they don't even understand. Friends of hers turned their backs on her and aligned with Team Dad. For some other people, they didn't want to get involve with it but surely the news was something they were eager to talk about whenever there they had a chance. They would talk about it for hours, weighing down the facts and the rumors, and then jumped to a conclusion. They seemed to forget that they actually didn't know a single shit about us. Yet, they still talked about it in a gossipy kind of way. It was like pouring a gasoline into a burning fire.
While for me, and my brothers, it was simply a hell.
Years now, and the fire is still shimmering inside me. Thinking of what Dad has done to us makes the fire ablaze. Once in a while I would ask myself these questions:
Looking at him now, watching how his life has turned upside down ever since, I can't help but feeling satisfied. Am I happy to see him living in failure? Maybe yes, maybe no. I may not know the answer right now as he's still very much walking around in pride. But it doesn't feel wrong to me to feel happy when the time comes for justice, either. Maybe by then I will find out my true feeling. We'll wait and see.
I just got off the phone with Mum and she sounded better than she did this afternoon. She talked about my nephew and there was a faint of gleefulness in her voice. She always sounds happy whenever she talks about Gabriel, her grandson. Listening to her, I know exactly one thing. That Mum is all that matters.
Until next post.
There was one time I wrote about Dad, sent it to Sepoci Kopi and was published. Let me see if I can find it... Aha, here it is: Father and I. Looking at the date it was published, apparently it was five years ago. Wow. How time flies. I was five years younger then, when I wrote the article. Everything was alright. Or at least it seemed alright to me. We were just like any other family. Mum, Dad and us, the children. It wasn't a picture-perfect family but it was a complete one. And we were together as family.
It didn't take a long time to destroy the twenty-five years marriage. In fact, it only took one single mighty-earth-shattering earthquake. Unfortunate, wasn't it? That's what people said. Everyone seemed to have their own opinion. Friends of family's got split up into two sides: Team Mum at the right side and Team Dad at the left side. Later we found out that they even argued about who was to blame. Just so you know, many blamed Mum and said things they don't even understand. Friends of hers turned their backs on her and aligned with Team Dad. For some other people, they didn't want to get involve with it but surely the news was something they were eager to talk about whenever there they had a chance. They would talk about it for hours, weighing down the facts and the rumors, and then jumped to a conclusion. They seemed to forget that they actually didn't know a single shit about us. Yet, they still talked about it in a gossipy kind of way. It was like pouring a gasoline into a burning fire.
While for me, and my brothers, it was simply a hell.
Years now, and the fire is still shimmering inside me. Thinking of what Dad has done to us makes the fire ablaze. Once in a while I would ask myself these questions:
- Do I hate him?
- Am I holding a grudge against him?
- Did he even mean it when he disowned me in front of people?
- Do I care if he didn't love me?
- Do I hate him?
Looking at him now, watching how his life has turned upside down ever since, I can't help but feeling satisfied. Am I happy to see him living in failure? Maybe yes, maybe no. I may not know the answer right now as he's still very much walking around in pride. But it doesn't feel wrong to me to feel happy when the time comes for justice, either. Maybe by then I will find out my true feeling. We'll wait and see.
I just got off the phone with Mum and she sounded better than she did this afternoon. She talked about my nephew and there was a faint of gleefulness in her voice. She always sounds happy whenever she talks about Gabriel, her grandson. Listening to her, I know exactly one thing. That Mum is all that matters.
Until next post.
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