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In my dreams, I yearn for a happy home—a mother who loves me and
a father who cares for me. However, this remains nothing more than a distant
desire.
In my imagination, my mother would take me out for bike rides, just a regular
bicycle. She would hold the handlebars with her large and comforting hands,
ensuring that I never felt afraid. In my fantasy, my mother would sit beside me
as I did my homework, watching me with a sweet smile. And when I was feeling
down, my imagined mother would gently stroke my head with her warm palms,
telling me that the sky is always blue and that even the toughest days shall
pass, teaching me to face storms head-on.
But this is only a figment of my imagination. In reality, she knows nothing of
my existence. I only hear snippets about her from my father and find solace in
the faded black and white photograph hidden at the bottom of a box.
I am aware of my father's hardships. On the morning of the parent-teacher
meeting, while my classmates busied themselves writing letters to their parents,
I cried. I cried as I watched Classmate A, who was filled with remorse, receive
comforting glances from his mother. I watched Classmate B, who whispered secrets
with her mother like the best of friends, lost in their own little world. When
my father arrived, I wiped away my tears. As he read my letter, tears welled up
in his eyes, like the reluctant sunset in the sky. He pondered for a moment,
knowing that his daughter understood him, and felt a deep sense of relief.
My father, so young and full of life, had yet to experience the joys a man
should have before shouldering the heavy burden of a family. While others still
enjoyed the comforts of their beds, he started the day by kindling the fire and
cooking. While others engaged in leisure activities and socializing, he seemed
to have endless fields to till and an infinite amount of earth to dig. When
others returned home from work, ready to relax and cook, he was still out in our
small plot of land, cutting pigweed.
That's my father. Despite his once jet-black hair now being covered in white,
his face resembles a pristine jade sculpture, forever adorned with a contented
smile.
With a father like him, I dare not yearn for anything more. My only wish, if
there is indeed a next life, is to be your daughter once again, Father. |
