Letters to my father
I think the hardest part is realizing that nobody cares, not your friends, your family, or your little sister who you constantly shower with gifts and protect from the world. Most of the time I don’t need anybody to care because I’m a strong feminist bitch but sometimes, it’s just nice to have somebody around who gets you, and is willing to just let you cry really loudly, without asking you to shut up.
My dad always told me to stop crying. He had a valid point, that I could hardly explain to him as to what I wanted if I were crying and thus needed to stop in order to get my point across and so for the longest time I didn’t cry at all because strong people don’t cry.
Sometimes I don’t want to be a strong person. I don’t want to have to carry the burden of making difficult decisions and dealing with financial burdens. I don’t want to have to grow up too soon and miss out on being completely stupid and goofy. I wanted to be able the jump up and down behind my father along with my sister and have him laugh at us, with us, without a care in the world. I don’t want to burden him down constantly with all the money that I need from him. All of this just makes me want to go as far away from home as it is humanly possible and to never have to bother anybody.
I mean we come from nothing and go to nothing, right? “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” so nothing belongs to either you or me. I don’t to be conscious of the fact that my dad is paying my school fees and that I am in his debt. I feel like I am a horrible person all the time these days and it is a miserable feeling that makes me cry.
I didn’t crying for the longest time, because it is what is expected off a person like me. I wanted to be my father’s daughter and so I trapped myself in her image and for the longest time I lived without a feeling of any kind, simple breezing through my existence. I’ve got to say that it was an easy but completely devoid of happiness of any kind phase or me. I managed to become a mediocre human being capable of experiencing any real emotions. I could laugh and cry but they were thoroughly practiced to a level of mediocre perfection in the mirror.
It took me a terribly long time to look in the mirror and actually see what the body I reside in really looked like and it didn’t necessarily happen in one go, but rather gradually and again for the completely foolish reason of infatuation with another human being. It took me getting my heart broken to really begin to feel anything at all. I don’t think I felt the love till it was gone. So now I cry all the time, and I’ve got to say it feels great to just be able to feel and feeling, to hold on to it and enjoy it.
So I think I’m okay with crying dad; “Crying is wrong” is just a silly statement that nobody should utter ever again.
