They say a father is a sons first hero & a daughters first love. I struggle to understand this... Because I've never had the opportunity to actually love my father.
From what I remember, my father wasn't the nicest person to my mother. As a kid I was told to go to my room countless times because a fight was about to happen. I'd hear the shouting through the walls of our apartment & after it was all done my mom would cry herself to sleep on my bed.
When I was 5, we returned to Malaysia with just a suitcase & a one-way ticket. I thought I was going to see my grandmother in Ipoh, turns out we were literally running away from him. I grew up knowing he existed but without any longing to meet him. In fact, I was a little scared of him.
Growing up without a father isn't easy. I'd always feel a little sad seeing my friends & their dads. Sure, I had memories of him - walks in the park, me on his shoulders, him watching Sesame Street with me. But I suppose the bad memories always over power the good ones.
Years later I had come to accept that I would never have a father, just the fact that he existed about 10,000 kilometres away.
When I went back to Berlin a few months ago... There was a sense of longing to meet him, yet a fear that he would still not be perfect. I can't explain how hard it is to work up the courage to meet your father after you've waited 26 years. Nevertheless, I tried & it didn't work out.
In short... I will never meet my 'first love'. I suppose the timing just wasn't right. It's funny how life works.
Sorry for this long, emotional post. Just thought I'd share my story... Happy #FathersDay, Papa. Wherever you may be ❤️ #Throwback
Search