CHAPTER THREE: A Remaining Questions
1124 Words
As I grew up in the same environment that broke my heart and desires, I've always had this question inside of me. "But, why?" After all, that's all I need to know. . . Why.
I've always wanted to give my purest love to people who want it. Still, all I got was broken spirits, heartaches, and suffering. Maybe people wanted me for the sake of experience, but it was like they would treat me as trash. From then on, they will leave.
Why do people have to leave? Why did you left us? Why do people choose not to fight us? Where do they find the courage to open the door and leave, as if it is the easiest thing to do?
Growing up in a family that lacks a member felt pretty much empty. A piece of my childhood heart's was torn the day I witnessed my father walk out that door.
As a kid, I always questioned my mom about why my dad left. She didn't say anything, but I knew she was hurting inside. I didn't get the chance to know the answer to why he left, so I always wondered why he chose to abandon me. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? It's funny because I had all these questions when I was growing up and knew nothing but football.
The day I saw my mom crying in front of my father's closet, I just refrained from asking. She might not have said it back then, but I knew that she didn't deserve any of the pain she felt. All those nights I heard her silent cries, the days I saw her swallow eyes, and that morning I saw her throwing the necklace my dad gave her. Even though I was aware that I was seven at that time, I still blamed myself for his absence. If I can be honest, losing my dad isn't what hurts me the most, it was knowing that leaving me as his child didn't hurt him. Like I said, the easiest thing for him to do.
As far back as I can remember, I dreamed of love with a guy, but I was scared that it might be easy for them to leave me too. Honestly, no one since then has proved me wrong, yet.
My dad never gave me anything. He didn't bother to give me bracelets, or candies, or even let me play outside. He was afraid of me being a child and having a scar. Little did he know, he was my first biggest heartbreak. He made me afraid of being attached to people, yet, he became the reason why I please people not to leave me, for the reason that I am afraid to be left behind again. I am so afraid of seeing people leave me, afraid of not being enough to be finally loved and taken care of.
I can't even remember the last hug he gave me, the last food that we ate together, especially, the feeling of his arms around me. I was too young to remember the sympathy of his love. To me, he is a nightmare that consistently haunts me and appears in my dreams.
Every father I see with his child having a good time with him, a teenager with their father receiving their awards or diplomas on the stage, and even a father buying ice cream for his little kid on that street. Of course, I can see them and can't seem to figure out what I did wrong to not deserve that kind of life, that kind of love. . .the love from my father.
Sometimes I feel like I never knew what love is after at all. But my mom? She is incredible. The only love I knew was the love from her, the love from a single parent, no father. My mother's love for me was the same as the adequate amount of love that I had to offer, that I could give. A love without asking for it, an unending love, a love that is so pure, and a love without any hesitations. I witnessed her struggles, sorrows, and tears falling from her eyes.
Although I was unable to grow up with a father, I did have a mom. I had a chance to end up like the stereotyped child of a single mom who went down the wrong path, but I never did. I didn't have any man beside me to help me fix my bike, carry my heavy sports bag and water bottle after my game, or even play with me on the field. Imagine my mom kicking a ball just for me to have fun because my dad never let me before.
My mom. . .she is the best. She is the bravest person I know. However, I still hear my mom cry every night. She even tries to put such a good smile on her face, yet I still know that she's broken. And she is broken because of those people who chose to walk away. Even though she's laughing with me, the dark circles under her eyes give me a message that I should get away with this. I should be able to handle that my dad left us because she handles it so well. It was a part of the belief that she was enough. That we are perfect together. That there was never been a 'Missing Piece'.
Maybe she does spend her nights wondering why too. Isn't that too hard to do? You're a silent crier at night and a very cheerful person in the morning? I don't think I can do that, pretending that you're fine. But maybe that's what we do for love, for the people we choose to love.
I don't know how old I was when I first realized that I was in that very deep black hole. But, I do know that the day my dad chose to leave and walk out that door, my happiness never stayed the same.
It disappeared with him.
I'm aware that I won't be able to understand everything, but that's okay. Maybe it was meant to be not understood because not everything that had happened to you is for you to understand. Sometimes, we have to let go and step up. We have to appreciate those people who want to feel our love, want to love us, and never think of those who left. We are somehow perfect the way we are, and they are just so wrong about choosing to leave, to walk away, and to never came back.
First and foremost, I am now sure that, 'Father' is just a word for me after all.
- Writer
