April 30, 2010

Something About You

There's something about you. Your gaze neither falters nor stares, neither belittles nor gratifies, glows nor dims, traces nor examines. In short, your eyes are the perfect balance. A hazel blue, contrasting against my cool brown, you are ignorant of everyone other than yourself or others like you. The world you live in is perfectly balanced, like your eyes. Your hair partless, mine parted to the side, dark-short-thick, wild and untameable--yours highlighted-long-straight and lovely. Your parents are here tonight, mine are two hours away, and my heart aches for them to be here.

Walking in front of me, you smile because you're life is exactly what it should be, I smile because I don't know what else to do. Like a caged animal, I bare my teeth, but my eyes stare down at the steps, making sure I step with conviction, holding the railing for support. I am out of my element, you skim through the crowd, buoyant upon the praise and adoration. Everyone claps for everyone, everyone is content with themselves.

And what am I? I ask myself this question every day. What is my purpose in this world of smiles, endless applause, and unstaring faces? God has lain a curse on my soul, Frankenstein reborn to take another walk around the world until I die, I suppose. If being content in happiness is my sacrifice, what is my reward?

I reach the podium as you sit down to watch. Taking my evidence and looking at my Benefactor straight in the eyes, I gripped my miracle tight in my hand, which shook from disbelief. I had, for a second, entered your world and saw with a brief ray of hope, what it felt like to be free from the curse. To try your best and never back down, to think only of the positives and never the negatives, to be one in many, and many in one, not just one alone. Because everyone was clapping for me, and I heard someone call my name with congratulations. And perhaps if my parents were there I would have cried, but they weren't.

I retreated to the back, and collapsed against the wall with a sigh. You might have forgotten who I am already, but I have never forgotten you. Every time your name is mentioned, I feel a mixture of desire-jealousy-sadness that threatens to overwhelm me, but each time I choose to continue to hide that part of my self away. That which will transform me into you.

Why? Well, perhaps once you realize I am still here, have been here, will be here forever (for how can I easily drift away?), we can work something out between us--be the person we once were.

Something about you seems to laugh when I cry, jump when I fall, succeed when I fail, pull when I push, sing when I scream out, at the top of my lungs--WHERE ARE YOU?

Frankenstein reborn, I am in constant searching for that something that cannot be found in earthseaskyheaven, only by the inner light of some undetermined event far in the future. In short, I am searching for you.

April 20, 2010

Dear Dad

I cried tonight, after I talked to you on the phone. In person I would say, "don't worry, I'm fine," but I know I'm anything but. You only know half of my life, and make up the rest, not giving me a chance to prove myself. In your eyes I am a selfish stranger, a whining kid who doesn't know respect and gratitude. I was...ten years ago--five years ago. However, you don't know me now.

You always laugh awkwardly, like you don't know what to say to me. I am your daughter. I will always be your daughter. We can talk about anything. I wanted to talk about my job, school, homework, Jared, visiting you, and laugh without constraint or nervous pauses. However, when I talk to you there seems to be a wall, that no matter how happy I am, you always seem busy and distant. Three hours and two thousand miles may separate us physically, but the only thing that keeps me from loving you is you.

Mom has told me stories about you before the divorce. Even though she could say very degrading things about you, she hasn't, only that you tend to be childish and irresponsible. However, the only person who can be my Dad is you, I call you 'Dad' and no one else. I hear how you used to sleep by my crib when I was a sick colic baby. I've seen the pictures of us reading magazines together before I ever could really read. As a child I remember you coming home from your construction job and letting me and Jared play with some tube-shaped cardboard reinforcement, rolling around the backyard and getting dizzy. Even though you were always fuzzy in my memory because you worked every day, you created a place in my heart that will never be replaced.

I am crying as I write this letter you'll probably never get.

Mom raised me to be strong and not cry in public. She has learned, through trial and error, how to respond to my many moods and tantrums, picking up on the signs. As I grow, she grows too, more knowledgeable on how to deal with me. That is the bond between a parent and their child. Instead of seeing me as a spoiled brat, try to correct it by teaching me. You never really took time to teach me anything, Dad. You always criticized and laughed. You never really took me seriously.

I love you, and I'll love you until I die. But it hurts. Our phone conversations happen almost once every year, and last three minutes. What am I to you? How do you see me? Do you know my dreams, opinions (because I'm very opinionated), or philosophies? When you hear my voice, older and wiser by a year, aren't you curious about what has happened up until then? Do you wonder as many things about me as I do about you? Or am I just a nuisance?

Remember last Christmas? I said you didn't have to buy me presents not only because of your money problems, but because you have never really given me the one present I've always wanted since eleven years ago, when you disappeared out of my life. Your love. I love you Dad. Please don't let me go so easily next time.

Your Daughter Forever,