Creative Content,  Literary Work

….. father

It’s been a decade since I lost you. Each day I move on from you, each day I forget a piece of you. As much as I want to remember, you’re not here to remind me of your walk and the way you talk. All I can do is reminisce the days I had with you and try to keep you alive in my brain.  

I see so many people with their father’s on this specific day. With you gone, I find myself looking for you in people. I look at these people and think to myself that maybe your characteristics lie in these people that I’m close to? Who else should I look for to replace you?  

Why did you have to go, father? Why did you leave me prematurely? You could’ve lived longer and see the growth of your own daughter. You’re no longer in this world and you’ll forever be the age of 36. 

Now as I grow older and wiser with my cluttered brain, I find that it’s so hard to remember who you once were to me. Each day that goes by is an indicator  of old and bittersweet memories with you. The more I live on, the more I forget about you for verily every human will benefit from a reminder and today is that day that reminds me the most of you.  

Today is the day that makes me remember you but only your name and nothing else. I can’t remember the voice that echoes through the house when you come home or the voice or the jokes you made. You are but a distant vision I have and will always have for the rest of my life. I can see your silhouette at the end of this tunnel but I am nowhere near it.  

It feels like you’re just a stranger to me now, like a passerby I met on the street. I have no idea who you are anymore even with all these photo albums of you. It frustrates me that I never had so much time with you from the beginning. I don’t know who you are yet your name is tattooed in mine.  

Maybe to me now, knowing you isn’t having to put a voice on your face or knowing the sounds of your laugh and sneezes but already having your name imprinted onto mine , you are me and I am you. Whatever I do everyday, you’re in my blood. I am an incarnation of your blood that’s been moulded, just like my mother. You are my heartbeat and every breath. 

Maybe you’re not so far after all. Possibly I do know and you’re not much of a stranger as I thought you once were. All I know now is that I can’t wait meet you again, my father.  


Tunku Muhammad

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