Series
Ready To Die — But Wait! The Force!
Disclaimer: My thoughts and intentions are entirely philosophical in nature and my writings are mere reflections of myself and the world I perceive. I am not literally preparing for physical death anytime soon or having any notion of intentional self-harm.
I just received a text message from my sister, Maddie.
“We’re coming to visit next month! Woohoo!”
Yes! That’s awesome! No Covid travel restrictions as of today! And who’s coming with you?
“Your two nephews.”
Cool! I miss those boys. And?
“Mom.”
Good, she’ll be so happy to be on familiar turf. Alright, so I’ll start making accommodation arrangements for you guys…
“And…Dad, too.”
………..
“Hello, are you still there? Hellooo?”
………………….Shoot me.
***
I don’t know how I’m going to handle myself around my father. I say “father” like how Luke Skywalker referred to his infamous dad.
“If only you really knew your father,” he might say.
You, you murdered him!
“No, son, I am your father.”
Noooooooooooooo!!
You might have guessed. I don’t have a healthy relationship with my old man. It’s felt like a nuclear disaster with my sanity in a state of meltdown each time he has made me sit at the dinner table across from him and listen obediently to his truths, often putting the blame on me for his countless disappointments.
Am I being over-dramatic? Umm…nah. My sister would agree, except she’s made of tougher skin than I am. Call me a weakling and a coward who could never talk back. It’s fear — naturally. But I dare to consider that it’s also a manifestation of a child’s misplaced, unconditional love towards one’s abusive parents.
If parents tell their kids routinely they are loved despite their shortcomings, those kids will most likely learn compassion. In contrast, kids who are repeatedly told they’re ungrateful dimwits and treated as such, they come to believe it and become people fitting that description, as probably was in my case.
The slightly odd thing is that I’m not saddened by being called an idiot so much as being called an ingrate by a highly accomplished father. It has indeed been a struggle to deal with being called ungrateful. And now that I believe it, I feel I am always failing to show my filial love and gratitude.
To cope with my self-disappointment, I’ve read loads of self-help books and subscribed to motivational or philosophy podcasts over the years. I’ve also tried mental training like meditation and listening calmly at boring staff meetings, as well as physical activities such as martial arts, marathons, and rice harvesting.
Writing on Medium is my latest effort to distract myself from worrying about the impending visit. I think it’s working. My writing is still “meh”, but I’m enjoying the community feeling.
I won’t be able to finish this article in a clear, crisp, and conclusive fashion, mainly because my family hasn’t visited me yet. But countdown has begun. It’s now half a month prior, and the clock is ticking louder by the day.
Some who read this far and are understandably critical or judgmental about how critical, judgmental, and fearful I am of my own Darth…cough…dad, may want to know more about why and how I’ve come to feel this way. That’s for another day, after I have had more time to reflect with my sanity remaining intact.
Lord, I know you don’t exist in my atheist mind, but my spiritually starving self is beseeching for you to give me strength of mind and resilience of soul when Darth…Dad slices off my other hand next month. Inhale. Smile. Let go. Exhale.
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Citation: Reference to climactic scene in Star Wars Ep.V – The Empire Strikes Back
