Diary Entery

Ashwin Manhasa,
August 8th 2010

Dad's home....I never thought I'd say that...Dad's home.

It's strange, one moment your imagining images of kind eyes, and sweet smiles, a face like your own, worn with wisdom and experience, and the next moment, it's all....different. There's no way to describe it. It's just...strange. Let's just say being warped into the reality of the fact that my father is...not as I expected, is slightly hard to take.

To start off, he looks nothing like me. Not a slight bit. He was surprised when he saw me, not in the happy way, in the "You exist?!" way. It wasn't the happy, movie-ending-touching moment, I expected. He didn't squeeze me in his tight grasp and tell me how much he thought of me when he was away; he didn't burst into tears of joy, and set way too many fishing trips for us to get to know each other. Nothing. He grunted, and looked at me with this disapproving glare that I soon learned was his permanent facial expression, and strolled into the front room, like he had been living here for years.

Ma said that he had gone abroad for work, and sent us a cheque so that we can take care of ourselves. She said she always expected him to come home someday soon, and yet, when she opened the front door, and stared into his cold, wicked eyes, she looked petrified, and almost stunned. If she could move, she would have slammed the door on his broad figure, and hoped that, like any other nightmare, he would just disappear. She’s been on edge since, jumping like a ferret at every small sound, or slight movement; angered at very tiny disturbance and slight miscalculation. It was almost like his presence agitated her.  

Once I had finally found enough courage to set my eyes on his own, black dark beady ones, when at last I saw his thin dark lips curl into a crude unwanting scowl, it took me only a few moments to realize, he was a stranger to me, and that he wanted things to remain like that. I wish he would go away, and leave me to be ignorant of his existence, still hoping an imagining that kind-faced father-figure, with the slightly protruding belly, and ever bright smile. If only he hadn’t shattered that sweet and wonderful image I had before the truth had to slap me in the face. Maybe that's what's meant by "ignorance is bliss." I wish I was ignorant of his annoying and terrifying existence.


The End

18 comments about this story Feed