Back when I was a child, before life took away all my innocence. I had a happy and jubilant life. I had a life many other kids would wish upon a star to have. A loving father and mother, a life where I got everything I wanted whenever I asked for it.
I remember that there wasn’t a day that would go by where my house would not be filled with sounds of laughter. There was a piano right below the stairs where my father would show off his skills and my mother and I would cheer him on. There were times when we made up ludicrous lyrics when my father played and it would send us all in fits of laughter. My father would take my mother’s arms and wrap them around his waist as both of them sway into the night. I would then slowly and silently leave them to indulge in their own world.
Life seemed pretty awesome from my point of view. Until one day, it was a late sweltering afternoon and I just got home from soccer practice. I walked into the house where a familiar scent of baked lasagna was filling up every corners of the 5 bedroom house. My tummy grumbled giving me a hint that I was famished. Before I took a step I heard the sound of glass shattering onto the wooden oak floor. The jarring sound stopped me in my tracks, then I heard my parents muffled yells coming from their bedroom. My heart palpitation tripled as I heard them fought their way from the room towards the hallway where I was standing. I stood rooted to the ground as my parents came towards the hallway and at the sight of me they stopped quarrelling. My mother’s eyes were swollen and she had a tear stained streak on her face. My dad stomped past me and out the house. I heard the slamming of his Toyota SUV door and the sound of the engine slowly fading away.
“Foods on the table dear go ahead without me”. My mother croaked as she headed towards her bedroom. I lumbered towards the kitchen and felt my appetite slowly being replaced by an irrationally feeling of fear. I’ve never seen my parents fought this way before and scenes of a broken family slowly made its way into my mind. I shook my head trying to get those images out of my mind and reassured myself that God would never allow that to happen.
The next morning came, I felt restless as I jumped out of bed. I hadn’t had a goodnight sleep and I found myself tossing and turning on my bed. As I made my way across the hallway, I stopped when I saw a figure in my parents’ bedroom. Looking through the crack of the door I saw my dad slumped shoulders stuffing his luggage with his clothes and belongings. I let out a silent gasp and covered my mouth with my hands as tears coursed slowly down my face. The door opened and my dad was gobsmacked when he saw me but the surprised look vanished as quickly as it came and he walked past me towards the garage. Like a little lost puppy, I followed behind him. “ Where….where are you going ?” I asked my dad. My dad threw his luggage into the car and stiffened a sigh. “This was what you asked for.” He said as he directed his words towards my mother. Then, my father got into the car and pulled out of the driveway.
A surge of adrenaline flowed into me and I started running after the car, down the empty lanes of the still asleep neighborhood. I ran as fast as my 12 year old legs would permit me. The car slowly faded from my sight as I fell on my knees exhausted. I hauled myself up and staggered home. The ache in my heart was unbearable and I felt like at any moment my heart would burst into tiny discreet particles.
Life after my father left was somber, it was as if a blanket of sorrow and despair had been placed over my home. My mother always woke up with dark circles around her eyes and she smelt like alcohol most of the time. Sometimes I would hear her crying in her room for hours and the crying eventually stops.
Anger and confusion was the only feeling that was left in me, I wanted to hate and I tried to hate. But however hard I try to hate, hope would always creep up and overshadow my anger. A hope that one day my father would come back to our lives and things would be back to normal. A hope that maybe one day, my mother would have the chance to dance with my father again. A hope that one day, my father would walk me down the aisle when I was to get married. Hope was the only thing I was clinging onto to retain my sanity.
Every night when the stars are out glimmering in the sky, I would look out my window hoping and willing that I would see the familiar car drive towards the front porch and my father would step out of the car like he never left. I would stare out into the night for hours until my eyelids were heavy and I would lie on my bed fervently praying and hoping that God would bring back my father. Then I would drift into a deep and troubled sleep.
On the day of my high school graduation, I still remembered looking at the ecstatic faces of parents as they stood by proud of their child’s achievements. That used to be me, I thought as I saw myself beaming from ear to ear as I waved my results at my parents. My father would then treat me to my favorite ice cream. Then, I snapped back into reality and knew that my father was not here to witness my graduation. However sad I was, deep down I secretly hope that he would show up and be able to see my accomplishments.
Till this day, even though 20 years has passed since the incident, the hope of a little girl to have a father by her side and to feel the warm embrace of a father would always haunt my thoughts. My father never made any contact with my mother and I, maybe it was the heap of regrets and shamefulness that was holding him back. But I hope that he would realize his mistakes and one day return to us. I hope that when that moment comes, we will be able to sit and reminisce about the happy times and forget about the past regrets and sorrow.
