It’s been too long since I’ve seen my father. Occasionally, I even forget his face unless I take a look at the photos I have of him.
He contacts me sometimes so I guess you can say we are acquainted. It’s not awkward at all. He is still my father. I know how to talk to him.
But it’s a little daunting to see him face to face.
Especially when today is the Father’s Day.
Should I greet him or not?
Should I pretend I didn’t know? Ignore it? It’s not all lies. I did forget about it. I thank facebook for making me remember days like that. And anyway, he knows I am terrible at dates... At least I hope so. I am her daughter. He should know some things about me besides the obvious.
We talk a few things... But most of the time it is filled with pauses and awkward silences.
Did I say awkward? Because it is. A lot. It’s really different talking to him on the phone and face to face. I did not expect that.
I was not prepared for this after all. Meeting a parent that hasn’t been with you for a long time now is seriously taxing.
But a little exciting too. Though all the feelings I had were not that overwhelming. I’m still feeling around, testing the water so to speak.
Then the woman he left us for comes, sits at another chair in the table we were sitting at with ease and smiles at me.
I didn’t see her overall expression. Or it is more accurate to say that I did not want to see. I just saw her lips curving into a smile.
I didn’t feel anything.
But I smiled back.
It’s wrong. I didn’t like her. I didn’t want her there. This was supposed to be about us. OUR time. I rarely see my father. I can count on one hand the days we see each other in a year. And it hasn’t even reached the double digit of hours.
Still, I smiled at her.
It’s wrong. But it is a reflex. An action I always do when someone smiled at me for no reason and I don’t know what to do.
I felt empty though. I didn’t feel anything. Disappointment, annoyance, anger... Nothing. It was like there is a strange, gaping black hole deep inside my chest.
My eyes are dry. My lips twitches involuntarily. My hands tightened into a fist while holding the phone I have in my hand.
I knew our time was running out. Her presence already dimmed the excitement I felt before.
He escorts me back to our neighborhood. He smiled at me, eyes shining and genuinely pleased to see me.
I saw him hold that woman’s hand.
I smiled at him, knowing that I did not feel anything while I did it.
It’s empty.
I don’t know if he notices. If he ever does, what would do he do anyway. I decided I didn’t care enough to know.
I took a hold of his hand and put the back of his it on my forehead as the usual sign of respect.
“Take care,” he said to me. I nodded, still smiling, even giving a small chuckle.
I wasn’t used to that voice, concern dripping from his mouth.
“Happy father’s day.” I said, the words reflexively coming out of my mouth. It sounded empty, a bland greeting. I didn’t know why I said that. I had no intention of saying that.
The woman’s presence cemented that decision. At least I thought so. Yet, I still went ahead and greeted him.
There is nothing happy about this day. Nothing to celebrate.
I shouldn’t have said that.
His eyes widened though, his cheeks reddened a bit and he was smiling widely while he, seemingly impulsively, kissed my forehead. His overall expression screamed of pleasant surprise. It was as if he was so happy to hear me greet him about some day that isn’t really important.
Because it is not.
I... don’t even think he deserves to be greeted. That thought saddened me for a bit.
“Thank you,” he whispers to me.
My chest ached almost immediately. It’s a little startling how it attacked without warning. I felt a huge lump on my throat and it is a little hard to swallow. I can feel my lips starts to wobble.
I remembered the times when he was still with us, when we were still complete and happy. When I could freely express my joy of having him as my father.
I remembered his happiness when he was with us. With every ruffle of his huge hands to my hair, how fussiness over my tomboyish attire, his protectiveness with regards to my friends.
But then I remembered the fights, the shouts, the silent treatment, the gloominess of the house, and his eventual leaving.
I remembered asking myself, how did it go so wrong?
My eyes, as if in response to my flashbacks, threatened to burn. I tried my best to keep anything more from happening. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to a pulp. It felt painful inside me. It was like I was being squeezed by a hand full of thorns. It’s a little hard to breath.
I didn’t know that what I read from the books I had at home describing about this kind of things happening when feeling an onslaught of overwhelming emotions are true.
It’s hard. It’s difficult to continue standing there in front of them as if everything was still okay.
I told myself to finish this before giving him a soft smile. It’s a little strenuous to do it now than before.
He gave me a 1000 peso bill. I felt shame while taking it from his hand.
It’s the least he could do for giving up on us, I said to myself. It would help. I won’t have to ask mom for my fare for a few more days, I continued assuring myself. That didn’t erase the shame I felt.
It feels like he felt the need to give me money after I greeted him. I know though that that wasn’t why he gave me money. It didn’t make this situation any better.
The money feels dirty in my hands while I’m holding it.
My chest ached fiercely. I gritted my teeth. I have to make it through this day without letting my father see. I don’t want him to see.
He had no need to see. He doesn’t have to see. He can’t do anything about it after all. Not that he will, I thought to myself almost absently.
That exacerbates what I felt.
The truth hurts. I already knew that though, even before this day.
It’s fine, I told myself. We’re still okay here. We don’t need him to be with us.
We’re fine. I felt my hands starting to shake and I quickly his them behind my back.
“Bye.” I said before abruptly walking away. I had to get away, now.
After a few seconds of pause, I finally heard the car screeching at my back as they went away.
I didn’t turn back to see. I didn’t want to see.
I swallowed hard.
My heart hurts. My eyes burned and I felt the tears I tried to hold back dripping down my cheeks without warning. I let it be for a moment. There wasn’t anyone around to see anyway.
He’s been gone for so many years already. I should be used to it. It shouldn’t affect me this hard anymore.
I don’t want to cry.
I won’t.
Father’s Day...
“Thank you,” he had said. I heard the unmistakable happiness in his voice.
I hate it.
I hate it!
I hastily wiped the bitter tears with my hands and tried my best to calm down.
I hate this day.