Open Letter to my Father

July 24, 2010
Sunday


Dear Papa,


I remember back then, when I was little, about three years old. We were as sweet as a father and daughter can be. We were always together and you were the greatest for me because you make me my bottle and you always carry me in your shoulders so high I felt like I am on top of the world. You sang me Spanish lullabies to sleep and when I woke up, we played around, you and me, together and forever.

Last night, Papa, I opened my memory box again. I saw your letter to me when you were overseas. We used to write letters, don’t you remember? I was always in blithe spirits when I received them – your exquisite cursive handwriting in each card, scented and unscented, white paper, yellow parchments, all those sorts – I longed for them. Where are those times now? Where have they gone? I couldn’t imagine something like this could happen. I cried when I read those letters despite the fact that I’ve read them for like a million times already. They're my only tangible memoir from you. I don’t know why I cried so hard, the letter wasn’t even sentimental. You know, Papa, I miss the old times; I miss that version of you.


We barely talk now. We barely have contact. In the later years of my life I avoided you, your gaze, and your fatherly touch. We haven’t talked in so many years, and when you’re at home I stay in my room. I did everything to escape from you. There’s a gap between us – a gap so unbreakable and indistinct I don’t know how it even transpired.

Looking back, I really did hate you. When you went home after your employment contract overseas was finished, you were so unfamiliar to me. I didn’t recognize you at all. You lost your substance, you lost your thought, and you lost yourself. You may have never thought of it, or noticed it but I see it, I saw you slip away, I see you forgetting what you and me had, Papa. You changed – in ways I never imagined.

You started to hurt us - me, mama, and my siblings. Not only had that crushed me. You become so pompous and proud; you’ve forgotten your love for us. It’s as if our father is not our father any longer. We became indifferent from you. You made me hate you, partly because you made us cry, you made us sick and mildewed. I repulsed you.

Sometimes, you’ll never know this, but I cry for you, for the lost you, for a father that is nowhere to be found. When I lie in my bed and I couldn’t sleep, the thought of you haunt me, the thought of how we used to be, Papa. I don’t want you to see me cry, because I don’t need commiseration from you, especially you. I just miss you, papa. I miss you so much and I feel like a huge part of me is missing since the day you went out to the world.

At night, I always pray that God would bring back my old father – the one who used to love me, who kissed me, and hugged me, who wrote me letters, who carried me around. For the past twelve years of my life since you left and returned back to us, I never felt like I have a father. The wall between us just seemed so impenetrable now and I have no intention of breaking it. I don’t have the guts. I thought I was stronger and wiser now; after all we’ve gone through, but what a shame to find out that I am scared still, of you, Papa.

I don’t know what will unfold between us, Papa and I'm sorry things turned out this way. When I think of all my other friends who have their dads by their sides, it makes me so sad that I just want to run and hide. Papa, I want you to know, that while I’m writing this I can’t help but weep. Please come back, Papa. A lot of years are wasted by us and our time is ticking. I hope to see the real you before our time runs out.

Lastly, Papa, I want you to know that despite the terrible things you did and I did towards you, I still love you. You are my Papa, remember? I will be waiting for that moment, for those lost moments to be found once again, whenever that will be.

Your loving daughter,

Neng Kate