“Where do I stand?”

Some people have the picture-perfect family, some people come from broken homes. Some people have both parents present, some have one, some others, none. But sometimes it’s not all black and white. Heck, it could be a whole spectrum of colors. At least, she’ll tell you that. 

She started her early life seeing both parents every day, at least for the first 4 years. Dad’s presence suddenly started to fade away but she didn’t think anything of it. He works in another city, is what she was told and what she consoled herself with. He came back on weekends, very late at night and left before the dawn could even break on Mondays. There were little quarrels, fights, misunderstandings, but it felt normal to her. And then like the sound waves from an ending music, he faded. He just never lived at home anymore. Daddy suddenly had his own house and mummy had hers. A curious child she was but the questions she had of this situation were too heavy for her. Or maybe she was just scared. Scared of hearing the truth; that she now had a mum and a dad and no longer parents. As if a silent decree was passed, everyone stopped talking about dad - except it was to state something terrible he had presumably done again. “Don’t do this like your father” “do you always have to be *blank* like your father?” Those were the only times she heard her mother reference him. Was he that bad? She didn’t remember him in such a manner. He told her stories, bought her candy and always made her laugh. Was daddy really bad? Still, she couldn’t ask her questions. Only her mother could cure her curiosity but she didn’t like the anger and pain in her mother’s eyes when she spoke of him. She swallowed her questions and maybe even choked on them a couple times. The questions became silent each passing day and she now only remembered her mum. Her mum was her everything. She felt left out when people spoke of their dads. She had stories too but they were never really the same. Why did everyone live with their dads but she only got to see hers on Sundays at church? Why did everyone else go into their fathers’ rooms to talk to them but she got to speak with hers on the phone? Did she have a dad or not? She needed to know these answers. 

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. All kept flying by and with their passing, a chunk of memories and perhaps even love flew out the window. Her dad was now a friendly stranger to her. She knew him, she greeted him, he stopped by at her house, he bought bread, he gave her money. But that was it. He was like every other visitor that came by. He was in her life but he wasn’t really in it. She had the worst picture of him painted in her mind. “He doesn’t care about you and your sister’s welfare” “he only calls once in a while. What type of father does that?” He was a bad person for all she knew. 

Now here laid her confusion. Were her parents together or not? If they were together, why didn’t they live together? If they were not why did they still call each other, why did they take family pictures together? Why did they and even people outside still refer to them as husband and wife? Was it for the kids? Was it to paint a picture? Certainly not. Because they knew and they knew that they knew. Everything was confusing. She couldn’t fit in at school. She couldn’t fit in with kids that had a complete home, she couldn’t fit in with kids whose parents were separated. That’s when she started to eliminate Him completely from her life. She was from a broken home as far as she was concerned. No more dad talks. Just mom. She only had a mom. Of course, mommy didn’t fail to remind her that every other day. 

It wasn’t working though. Every time she tried to forget him, he popped up. He calls, he wishes her happy birthday or even happy children’s day with the long touchy message. She loved him again. She had a father again. But it never lasted long. She was reminded again that he didn’t pay her fees or buy her things and all he did was send messages. She hated him again. 

As she grew into a teenager, she decided for herself that she wanted to know him. She wanted to know who her father was; beyond the gifts, beyond the flickering feelings. She reached out to him, spent time at his house, snooped around for anything she could find about him. They were still very fickle knowledge. The gap was still there. What could possibly fill it? The “quality time” wasn’t cutting it, neither were the gifts. It was time to let him go, she thought. Perhaps nothing could ever fill the gap. Sigh. He was still in her life but he wasn’t really in it. 

Now she’s much more grown and a lot has remained the same. She doesn’t speak to her father. Oh but he speaks to her mother and sister. They did not have a misunderstanding neither did they fall out. They just don’t speak. The gap is still there, the questions are still unanswered, her curiosity uncured. “Am I from a broken home or not?” “Do I have an absent father or a present one?” “Where do I stand?” Her yearning heart still seeks answers. 

Nazam💜