Carrying on a tradition
Hey Dad — It’s been a long time since I wrote to you. But I’m back now. I just figured that I could do this. So, why not.
Things have not been going so well. I really miss asking for your advice and seeking your wisdom. I’m finding myself stuck in recurring patterns, behavioral patterns that result in hauntingly similar situations, just in different coatings.
Hey… Dad. Things are not going that well. The other day, just before my birthday, I was strolling alone in the rain outside without a phone or anything but a coat and my keys. I was thinking of giving up.
Giving up — I mean in general. Life itself. I kept repeating to myself, ‘Dad, if you can hear me, please help me.’ ; and it seemed like you heard me. I feel like I am talking to you right now.
I just turned 29, Dad. This is my first birthday without you. I should be happy. Things should be working out for me. Life should be simple.
I should be simple. Loving me should be simple. Right, Dad?
I should feel supported, not punished. Right? Accepted, not judged. Is that correct?
Is that right?
I can almost see your face; your eyebrows wrinkle as you succumb deep into your analytic thoughts. You’ll come up with a conclusion soon that’s deprived of the human psyche and psychology.
Why does he tell me that it’s so hard to love me sometimes and that I am the most complicated relationship he has ever had? — perhaps I already know the answer myself. I am just asking you to reassure me.
Dad — What am I doing wrong? Am I really hard to love and hard to understand?
Probably. — But then, how come I feel that I have a strong sense of introspection, and perhaps I am scraching the surface of my own mistakes — at least I know that I am not a bad person. I’m fighting so many things in so many layers.
But when will my time come, Dad? When will I feel that I don’t have to teach anyone anymore, and when can I feel that I can lean on someone too?
When will I feel that someone understands me?
When will I stop blaming myself for everything? Sometimes, even for being alive too.
When will my soul rest? How do we get to that point, Dad?
I remember your face; in the end. You just gave in. There wasn’t anything you could do anymore. Your physical body wasn’t functioning anymore.
You had to let go. Life.
And you did it. I’ll never forget your bravery. The example you showed me will remain with me forever.
You’ve shown me how to stand in the face of death and how to greet it.
I’m breaking down — Dad. Nothing is working out for me. I am ‘too complicated’. I am ‘toxic’. I have ‘mental problems’. I am ‘the most difficult.’
It's so hard to go on Dad. Sometimes I feel like — it would be best if I just followed you.
You told me you will wait for me. But when I kissed you goodbye, you were already unconscious, Dad.
The next time I saw you, you were ash and bones, Dad. Locked in a jar.
Dad — things aren’t going great.
I wish you would be here to help. We all need you.
Dad. I am not happy.
I’m sorry Dad. I really tried.
