The Echoes of longing

I often wondered what it would be like to have a father who didn't make me feel like I was walking on eggshells, waiting for the next explosion. My father's love was conditional and I spent years trying to meet the standards he set for me. Being the first child in a family of six kids, I grew with the weight of my father's expectations, each disappointment a brick in the wall between us. At 22, my father didn't fail to remind me that I was his problem child each time I disappointed him. However, that was not to imply that he hated me, it was far from that. But I didn't feel like he loved me either, compared to my siblings. And I could say that I was the spark that set it in motion. A message buzzed into my phone that afternoon and for a long moment, I just stared at it, hardly believing the words. "Mum! The college I applied to just replied- I got a message!" I ran to the living room to show Mother my phone. "I was asked to come in for a change of course and institution so I could get admitted into the school since they weren't my first choice of school." When I read it aloud, Mother's whole face lit up. Her eyes softened and her lips curved into a smile that made her look ten years younger. " Oh, that's wonderful news!" she exclaimed, pressing the phone back into my hand as if it were a treasure. "I'm so proud of you- make sure to show it to your father when he comes back, he'll be thrilled." Her joy was so full, so unquestioning that for a fleeting second, I let myself believe her. Maybe this time, Father would surprise me. That evening, the sound of the front door creaked through the house, heavy and deliberate. Father stepped inside, his shoulders squared, his jaw set in the same stern line I had memorized over the years. He didn't smile, he never did when he first walked in. His eyes swept the room, the way a man might scan a battlefield- sharp, quick, searching for flaws. We greeted him and he answered- the way he always did, deep and cold, void of emotions. Mom gave me a little nudge, her eyes urging me forward. My palms felt damp as I rose, clutching the phone like a fragile offering. "Dad, I got a message from the college I applied to." He took my phone without looking at me, his thick fingers brushing mine only for an instant before it vanished into his hands. He stood in the middle of the room, still in his work clothes, smelling faintly of sweat and dust. His eyes moved over the screen with a detached disinterest of a man skimming a grocery list. The silence stretched too long. Then finally he gave a short, humourless smirk that made my stomach twist. "A college of education?" His mouth curled, not into a smile but into something closer to disgust. He shook his head slowly, as though the weight of my failure had confirmed something he already believed. "After all the effort, that's all you've managed? Hmph." His voice was sharp, clipped, each word heavy with disappointment. He thrust the phone back into my hand with a careless flick, as if he wanted the thing out of his sight. "You should go tomorrow then." Then he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, final, unyielding. The sting was immediate, sharp and merciless. My throat tightened and my chest felt hollow, as though everything inside me had caved in. I kept my gaze on the floor, willing myself not to move, not to breathe, not to betray the way his words had splintered something deep within me. Growing up, he barely hit me, the strike was small, almost forgettable but his words? They struck deeper, poisoning my soul. I carried the ache in silence, raw and aching. I had tried, I had pushed myself until nights bled into mornings, chasing the dreams he had planted in me, chasing the school that would have finally earned his pride. And still, I fell short. Still I wasn't enough. And though I told myself I shouldn't care... that his disappointment was as familiar as the creak of that front door...I cared more than I could bear. Some part of me still reached for him, still craved the words he would never give. Mother reached for my hand, her thumb brushing softly over my knuckles. Her smile was dimmer now, but steady as if she was trying to shield me from a storm I had grown up inside of. Yet, even with her warmth beside me, my eyes flickered to the hallway where he had disappeared. The silence he left behind pressed against my chest like a weight. I waited, foolishly, desperately, for him to turn back, to soften, to finally say the words that had lived at the edge of every dream I ever had; "Well done, I'm proud of you." But the silence held.... And I knew he never would. That night, I fought to keep the sobs quiet. My siblings were only a few feet away, curled up and breathing softly and I couldn't bear to wake them. I pressed my face hard into the pillow, biting back the sounds but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. The more I tried to silence them, the harder they burned, soaking through the fabric beneath me. My chest ached with every breath and the words I'd tried all evening to swallow rose up again, sharp and merciless. I cried until exhaustion finally claimed me, slipping into sleep with a damp pillow beneath my cheek and a heaviness I carried even into my dreams. The morning I left for college, the house was strangely quiet. Dad hadn't said much the night before and he didn't bother coming out to see me off, he just gave me some money to take care of myself in school and asked me to call him if I needed anything. When I was done packing, I went to his room to tell him that I was ready to leave, he looked up from his newspaper, adjusted his glasses and said " It's alright then, do have a safe journey and let me know when you get there". I replied in affirmative and left to mom's room. Mom and I set out early, my bags packed and our hearts pulling in different directions. The bus ride was long and jarring, the road stretching endlessly ahead. I pressed my forehead against the glass pretending to watch the fields and the houses we passed, but I had a million and one thoughts running through my mind. This was going to be the first time sleeping away from home, in a foreign place, I wondered if I would cope. Mom sat beside me, her hand occasionally brushing mine, her presence steady, almost defiant- almost as if she was determined to fill the gap Dad had left. When the bus finally slowed at the gates of the college, my stomach twisted. The campus was larger than expected, noisy and crowded with students hauling their luggage and calling out to one another. My backpack felt heavier than it should have, it's strap biting into my shoulder as if reminding me of the weight I was carrying. Mom's voice was gentle, offering words of comfort, small reassurances about new beginnings and fresh chances. I nodded but her words felt distant, like they were trying to reach me through water. All I could think of was Dad, the way he hadn't even offered to drive me to the park , as though my leaving didn't matter. Maybe to him, it didn't. Still I followed her through the gates, my steps unsteady, my heart caught between the ache of what I had lost and the fragile hope that somehow here, I might still find my place.