Today, I would like to dedicate a long entry to my father – a man who has made many sacrifices for me and loves me unconditionally. Today, of all days, I fully comprehend and realise the extent of his love and sacrifices. In my misery and self-pity, I emerged and felt the pangs (perhaps only a small portion) he must have felt time and time again.
Today, I received enlightenment, or rather a rude awakening. I realised that some dreams I have cherished almost all my life, even subconsciously, will never be fulfilled. I realised that some dreams have to be forsaken, and others may never be possible even if I worked really hard or tried my utmost to be good. I could virtually hear dreams being torn and ripped apart around my ears. My heart felt as if many brutal thorns were sticking into it.
My god! If this is what I am going through, and it hurts so bloody much, what must it have been like repeatedly for my father?
My father always provided me with whatever he could. The best of everything, even if it meant that he had to do without certain things he would really like to have, or to suffer and put up with things he could have given up and walked away from. He always wanted me to have what he thought I should have, what he thinks I would like to have. Most of the time, I took what was offered and what I wanted, occasionally asking for more. I did not take everything for granted, but I may as well have. Taking from him was so natural and he didn’t really seem to mind. It seemed totally justifiable for a father to provide, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I am so completely ashamed of myself now, at this very moment. I have been a very blind, selfish and ungrateful person. I did not appreciate the fact that, every time he made an offer, it was more or less a sacrifice on his part.
When I was little and wanted attention, he gave. When he came home after being away for work and wanted to spend time with his little daughter, I frequently had better things to do.
When I was young and thought expensive in-line skates were cool. My parents agreed to it (paid by my dad, of course) even though my relatives frowned on them and told repeatedly how dangerous those new skates were. But, I believed I had earned them with my school grades.
When I was going sixteen after my O-levels, he rather awkwardly told me I could go and date guys if I wanted to. He thought that was what every teenage girl wanted. Indeed, it would have been a dream to my friend who had to sneak out to meet their boyfriends. However, dating was a rather far-fetched thing to me at that time, and I took the ‘gift’ the wrong way. I thought he viewed me as a unattractive bookworm and was worried his ugly duckling may never attract any attention if effort wasn’t made.
When I was eighteen had all sorts of insecurities about myself and my appearance, he did whatever a non-New Age Guy could do to help. I took whatever favours I could us without thanking him enough.
When I felt pushed into a corner, he allowed me a break from work to go off to study (a luxury he hardly had). I went and enjoyed myself immensely even though I knew it would cost an arm and a leg.
When I felt frustrated and upset with work, he tried to advise and help. I didn’t like what I thought was “listen to me because I know more than you do”, and found him an easy target to offload some of my anger and pain.
In good times, I sometimes forget him. In bad times, I have to rely on him to get me out of problems I cannot handle. He was always there even though it was not always apparent. He sends my mother to help me, talk to me and comfort me. I seek comfort automatically from my mother first. I know he is sometimes envious, or even jealous, and remind myself to divide my attention more equally.
There are so many similarities between my father and I. It is so easy to see when you strip of various things like gender issues, his responsibilities that keeps him in check, his commitments, his burdens, etc. I can imagine when he was young, he must have been exactly the way I was – full of life, full of mischief, full of hopes, dreams and aspirations. I can imagine how he went, as I did, off to a foreign land (and, later, more foreign lands) as a teenager off on a great adventure with a whole bunch of new friends around his age. How some wonderful memories must have remain so ingrained I still observe him reliving them in his mind on dreary days, just as I do when I long to turn back the time to more carefree days, How frustrating and painful it must be all these years to have to put away the dream and longing for more wonderful days, free to do what he would have wanted to do; to return to everyday reality and to remember his commitments and responsibilities, especially to his wife and daughter, both of whom are often guilty of not appreciating his internal struggles when wrapped up in their own problems. He transfers some of his dreams to his daughter, but many a time she is rebellious and is reluctant to fulfil them for him. His dreams torn up once because he is unable to fulfil them, and once more by his daughter’s reluctance or inability to fulfil them. He must have bottled it all up for my father came from a time when men were supposed to be tough and macho, before the dawn of the Sensitive New Age Guy.
Pa, I am so feel ashamed and so guilty right now because after all these long years, after all the observations I have made of you, after all my ‘higher education’ and so-called experience, I finally feel and understand your pain and your sacrifices, and finally gained only an inkling of the extent of your love for me. I harboured so much anger towards you as a child and teenager that I don’t think I have truly shown you my love for you. I love you so much. I hope you realise that. You have always given the best to me, and I shall do my damnest to give the best to you. My best is nothing to shout about now, but I shall do my utmost. I promise.
An if I ever dare to be ungrateful again, I shall come and read this.
