Lovely

MISSING LINK  "He was nowhere to be found... remained a no-show"

Confessions of a Girl In Search of a Father

"GROWING UP WITHOUT A FATHER could mean a lot of things. Nevertheless, it means a lot. I don’t know how I did it, but I’m a survivor of that great loss, of that unwanted situation, despite the bruises I suffered and the traumatic episodes I still feel even to this day. And I was able to get out of that mess, at least now that I am no longer under its spell. But it was a shitty position.

He was nowhere to be found then. Had I known that he actually abandoned me even before my mother could spew me out of her womb, I could have aborted myself and die with some dignity than having to go through the agony and the sadness I constantly felt for so many years. And I dealt that beating alone, notwithstanding, trying to reconcile the thought that there must be an available father for me out there, this, after suffering the claws of a bitter mother following their breakup. Such a predicament! It was as if I was born without any spoon around, and in order for me to survive I had to feel my way through, even if it means taking it by the hand. I knew, at an early age, it was not at all complete, not at all ideal, there was a complete lack of assurance somewhere, and the void was so deep and wide I couldn’t possibly swim across its insurmountable tide. All I knew then was this utter sadness I felt every time a significant moment in my life happens.

I can’t recall exactly how many times I envied my classmates seeing them with their families around, with a father and mother holding each other’s hands a few steps away from them. It was supposed to be a beautiful sight, but I struggled every time I had to go through that thing, wishing I had that kind of gathering, too, but detesting it at the same time out of my sheer helplessness and feelings of neglect. And I had to learn things quickly and painfully as the years progressed, just my way of coping with my own shortcomings as far as having a nuclear family is concerned. I had to grow fast for me to accept its inevitable realities.

I grew up hard and harsh like my mother, critical about relationships and anything that has something to do with commitment. You can’t blame me for that. Anybody in my position would probably do the same thing, even worse, but I gained enough understanding over the years. You simply can’t live in hate all your life out of that sad thing that happened to you, but I wouldn’t want anybody, who has undergone the same ordeal I once had, to forget about it.

So depressing was my childhood that I had to reason out with my meager understanding of life the idiosyncrasies that go with it, to accept that a father is nowhere to be found in times of need is like thinking outside one’s own comfort zone, not to mention my own sense of comfort being assaulted several times by my mother. When my father went out of our lives, she was practically alone, lost, hard to deal with, and most of the time not knowing what to do at all. It was as if she’s out there to smite him by raising me in hell, especially when I was on my way of choosing a college degree, making sure that I stay grounded, that I don’t leave her unnecessarily like my father did even before I was born.

"His presence alone brings with it a form of stability..."

I had great ambitions at that time, to study in a prestigious university and become a success later on in life, but there she was, getting ready to do the exact opposite of what I had in mind. At first I tried to understand her knowing that she probably wouldn’t want me to leave because it would remind him of my father. I felt sorry for that, and for her, too. Now, looking back, it was probably an understanding that wasn’t understandable at all. She was just being selfish, too severe for her daughter. After all, I’m just a casualty of their protestations, of their tryst, of their foolishness. Why would I have to suffer for that? That’s totally unfair.

And my father, like I said, remained a no-show during those years. Many times I did entertain the idea of looking for him just so to get out of that prison cell my mother created it for me. But he was so damn scared of that, I thought, he chose not to make his presence felt, perhaps in order not to aggravate the situation. He could have done something, the difference-maker that I wanted him to be, at least for a short while. But it never happened. So I was angry, and like my mother was.

But my heart goes out to her. She was never the same again when he went with that girl. I tried not to become like my mom, although I loved her with all my heart, her grip on me, however, was the thing that alienated me to her the most. So as an escape I said “yes” to the first boy who showed some interest in me, an athlete in school. That was during my senior year in high school. I figured if I could go serious with this relationship I could have my own life on my own terms away from her, away from her constant nagging and monitoring. I rebelled, even before am allowed to do so. That was fine. And besides, without a father around, things were a bit loose at some point. My mother could only do so much, but there were times when I would go my own way without even informing her. It was a precarious situation then. I don’t even know, at that point, if this boy was serious about our relationship and that I have no one else to cling to, except that not-so promising tirades of my mother almost every day. Things began to get complicated.

One of the reasons a father should be on your side growing up is that his presence alone brings with it a form of stability, a kind of shield from the hard arrows of life, a hand on your shoulder, a reassuring word out of the chaos of carelessness and doubt. I don’t have that for a very long time, and until now I’m still feeling its dregs as if it’s a regular phenomenon, not leaving anytime soon.

So when I got pregnant during my sophomore year in college, things began to disintegrate. I don’t exactly recall how she dealt with my pregnancy, but it must have been very disconcerting for her knowing that we both have the same fate, the same predicament at least. Only this time I was the one leaving the father of my son. I guess that was my way of dealing with my own sad past, my own private quandary. That was my way of saying “goodbye” to my long, lost father, who went away even before I could cry my first.

I left my boyfriend after carefully weighing my dilemma over a span of two years. I wanted to give him a second chance, but because old habits die hard, particularly his penchant of wooing other girls, I decided to put a stamp on it and left the whole thing and him completely. Then I concentrated on my studies, even went to the extent of transferring to another school for a change of scenery, trying to forget all the bad vibes in my life. So I changed course, and decided to become a teacher in the end.

But when my mother died, I did not inform my father until he learned of it two days after the funeral. That was the time I had this rare conversation with him. Not informing him of my mother’s death was quite strange and cruel, but I’m simply trying to reach out, giving him a dose of his own medicine, giving him a cruel reversal of fate, so that what he did so many years ago is now haunting him, and haunting him bad.

“Your mom was supposed to be the love of my life, but I was weak then, I did not listen to what my heart says, I did not marry the one I truly love,” he said. Despite my mother’s pregnancy, my father chose to marry someone else. And life was never the same again after that. Not that I don’t respect his decision, but I loathed him more than anything else. How could he do such a horrible thing, abandoning my mother like a mendicant in some forgetful street, and in turn, my mother dragging me along with her misery? If you can picture that out, that is probably worse than any natural calamity, it was not even an accident. And all because he can’t keep a tight rein on his pecker and be man enough if things go wrong. I refuse to accept that it was simply a mistake, and that I should not be born, in the first place. I deserve something better. And I believe that with all my heart. Anybody who has gone the same nightmare like I did should have a place in the sun regardless.

It was a nightmare, no doubt about that, dreadful, but out of the bowels of its blackness, out of the temerity of its sarcasm or the sheer irresponsibility of leaving a family to pieces, comes the thought that what goes around comes around. Now, he’s picking up the pieces of his recklessness and cowardice, and I’m on the other side silently moving on. 

I feel sorry for myself for having to go through that painful process. I just wish that nobody experiences anymore what I had been keeping to myself all these years. Most of the time I find myself so uneasy every time I need to attend gatherings involving a father or a parent for that matter--- that alone depresses me to the hilt. Maybe it has something to do with my lack of social finesse, particular with filial affection. It was supposed to be a special moment between a father and a daughter--- that strong devotion generated by his tight hug and steady voice, and reciprocated in turn by that innocent and helpless daughter in need of his care. That would have been the difference, the sight I so wanted to see, wanted to feel, wanted to have--- that would have been so lovely."

(photo: Michaël Dudok De Wit, thekidsshouldseethis.com)