A Letter to the Grave

Dear Father,

I don’t know how to begin. The last time I saw you in 1999, you were taken to a mosque and my final chance to say what’s inside of me went out the window. I thought gone were the days of uneasiness and doubtful feelings of an insecure daughter. How wrong I was. Last night after almost 15 years of denial, I broke down.

You were there for us, but you were never there. You were the pillar of the family and the backbone providing us with whatever we asked of you. But Father, did you ever love us? As a person. As your children.

All these years I carried with me a sad thought that you never ever held us in your arms just like a normal loving father should. How could you not do that? How could you never have the desire to at least lift us up and cuddle us? It hurts and I grieved for the missing caresses. It affected me in a way I never wanted to acknowledge it until now. It has shaped me to become a woman I am today. Indifference.

Maybe in your own way, you loved us. You just didn’t know how to show it. The truth is, I don’t know whether I could say I love you. I know I never uttered the words. How could I when you hardly pat my back for my achievements or hug me when I fell off my bike? When I failed my studies, all I wanted was a hug and soothing words telling me everything was ok but to get up and face life again. And when I was getting better, encouraging words would have help too. Did I ever received them? Never. You frowned or smiled, but never showed your true feelings. I know you were proud of me but not once you ever said it to me. Sometimes I needed to hear the words to make me feel better because I definitely can't read your mind.

Showing your emotions doesn’t make you less of a man, Father. You didn’t have to be serious and strong all the time but it seemed to me you never allowed the closeness and tenderness in our life. It looked like you never displayed any interest or paid attention to my emotional needs. And oh how I craved for a little bit of touch from you, but in the end I grew tired of waiting.

I might be able to understand you if, for once, you faltered over in your life because as we grow older, we became wiser too but I never understand you. Was it because you're given away as a child that made you distant? The fact that your parents didn't want you didn't mean that you could treat us the same way you were treated. We needed you. We needed your warmth and love.

I fear you as a father but to respect you, I doubt it. It didn’t take you long before you married again. 5 months, Father. 5 fucking months! She wasn’t even cold yet in her grave when you remarried. And you dare said we were not being fair. Weren’t we entitled to be angry and felt betrayed by you? I resented her but I tolerated her presence and I was cilivised because I didn't know where to vent my anger.

Is it any wonder why I hated going home, even for Raya? I’d rather spend my time with my friends’ families who adopted me into their lives. I see them as a strong family institution and my friends are my family I never felt I had. With them I shared my miseries and my happiness.

Is it any wonder why I have little trust in men in general? They have to earn my trust and show that they are capable of loving or else I would be blinded to see them as you. Believe me, I am a romantic fool. It’s either all or nothing. I don't want my children to feel like what I have suffered emotionally. It seemed like your sons and your other daughter managed to build their lives just fine. All your grandchildren are wonderful and they know how to show their emotions. I love hugging them to show that I love them dearly.

I wish things were different and I wish we were one big happy family, but this is me. I bleed and I was bitter. I’m sorry I didn’t cry at your funeral. Should I?