Wounded

25th September, 2014. 11:35am

Blogging 101, Day Nine: Be Inspired By the Community

Today’s assignment: write a post that builds on one of the comments you left yesterday. Don’t forget to link to the other blog!

Demi Lovato Unbroken

Photo c/o: WeHeartIt.com

Today’s assignment is interesting and at the same time, frightening for me. Yesterday, when I chose the blogs I’m going to put a comment on, I chose the ones that I can relate to; something that speaks to me. So today, I’m going to write a post on the first blog I commented on – An Open Letter To My Dad by Confession of a Ginger – because out of the four I read, this one hurts the most.

Before I continue, I wanted to apologize to whoever is reading this because this is going to be a very long post.

Ever since my Mom passed away, things have never been easy for me and siblings. Being the youngest, it was the hardest for me. I was 17 when it happened, and I had many sleepless nights the first few years following my Mom’s passing. Sometimes I would even wake up in the middle of the night and just cry. No one knows about it, at least that’s what I know. But him, my dad, he found someone else two or three months after she died like it was nothing. That fucking hurts.

I tried making sense of why and how did he do that. Since 2003, I keep telling myself that maybe it’s just his way of dealing with grief. I should just be happy for him. But how can you be happy for someone when you can see that he’s on his way to destruction? When my Mom died, she left a big sum amount of money for us and in less than a year, Dad spent all of his money… on his girls.

Because we live in a family-oriented country, his siblings went in our defense. Ever since Mom’s passing, things have been not okay between him and his siblings (he has six), and it got worse with his current girlfriend (who, btw, is younger than me. All of his girlfriends, except the first, were all younger than me). I hate the fact that he keep saying that there’s not a chance in hell that he would reconcile with his siblings, that he thinks the greatest thing that has ever happened to him is his whores. Again, it fucking hurts.

I’ve done it before you know, writing him a letter to get his attention; to give him a piece of my mind. But it didn’t work. Writing never worked. Some people say he cried when he read my letters, but I never see any changes. He always revert back to his ways like it was a drug. So shortly after my Mom died, I went on-air on the radio show I listen to every morning and talked about him – what he’s doing. I know what I did could be wrong. At that time, I wasn’t sure who I know was listening, I just know I have to put it out there. One of my Mom’s sisters heard it and she talked to me about it, but it was okay. To me it’s like taking a breather, like I was finally able to fully recover from a terrible asthma attack.

Eleven years later, I wasn’t getting any younger. People have been telling me to have a boyfriend, get married already. I want to, I just couldn’t do it; couldn’t find a man who will not do what he’s doing to me and my siblings. People don’t understand. They say I’m just picky. What they don’t know is that my heart is already broken by the one person who should be protecting it in the first place – my Dad.

My sister once told me that I’m clouded by hate. Some people keep telling me that I should just understand my Dad. It’s easier said than done, of course. I don’t hate him. I hate his actions and decisions, but I don’t hate him. I’m disappointed at him. Disappointed because if what he says is true that he understands us, then why didn’t he think about what we’re going to think? How we’re going to feel? Clearly, he didn’t.

I can easily write the amazing things about being an Asian, I have already said a couple of times how I procured my blog name, I have considered choosing how the-one-that-got-away gave up on me. I could ramble all day about my Dad, but the first one, this open letter to someone else’s dad, opened up a scar inside of me like I just got it right now. And like any scars, I will forever take it with me til the day I ran out of breath.

KTHXBYE.

j

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