«Most people say their dad is the best dad in the whole world, it’s impossible for them to imagine anyone as amazing as he is. And that’s how I feel about my dad. It’s hard to believe there could be someone like him. There’s no one like him”.
That’s how a piece I wrote about my dad ten years ago starts. Why did I write it? At this point, I don’t remember. It is a mystery. Maybe I was just too hormonal and with my heart full of hormonal love, we’ll never know. What I do know is that it wasn’t a school assignment or a letter. I know it because no one else ever read it but me.
The first thing I feel when I read that paragraph is a mix of confusion and shame.
Right now, I feel so detached from that love and those feelings that I can’t even remember what it was like to have them.
«My dad is my hero. Even though there are still many things I don’t know about his life, I know he’s been through a lot, but he’s still here, doing his best for me and my big brother.
He’s not the kind of person who shows his emotions with hugs or kisses, but he knows how to make me laugh. And when he tells me -I love you-, I feel a tornado of emotions in my stomach. I wouldn’t know how to describe it.»
I read that first paragraph and I laugh at the irony. Now that I know all the things I didn’t back then, I wonder: What did I imagine he was hiding from me at the time? No idea.
But one thing’s for sure: I wasn’t expecting the number of uncomfortable truths I’d end up facing over the years.
The original text is much longer than what I’m sharing here. At first, my idea was to do a sort of breakdown of that piece I wrote ten years ago. But the further I went, the harder it got.
It’s sad to think about how quickly relationships can change. How your life can suddenly turn into a low-budget telenovela once you find out about secrets that were buried for years.
Sometimes you have to keep digging and digging, not knowing whether what you’ll find will make you feel better or worse.
«But that’s enough for you to know a little about the most important person in my life. And even if I never tell him —maybe because I’m a teenager and expressing emotions isn’t my thing— I love him with all my heart, and I’d give my life for him.»
And that’s how it ends.
I think that was the hardest part to read, mostly because that teenager no longer exists in me.
If you made it this far, thank you. I still haven’t fully decided where this is going. I imagine I’ll jump back and forth between past and present, but for now, this is just a way to let it all out and reconnect with my writing.
Also, I always wanted a blog (of course I was raised by Awkward).
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Thank you for reading.
See you soon.
fer de erratas 