If this goes out to the most imperfect father, it comes from the most imperfect daughter. I know i may have a good list of what makes you an un-ideal father but i also know there'd be longer list on how i fall short from being your ideal daughter. Some intensely unique part of your being i despise and clearly, a greater part of my being is something you can't be proud of just as well. I am myself just like you were and are yourself the way we can only wish otherwise and sigh. Growing up with an invisible fine line of animosity in between, like my normal cold virus, frustratingly irritating and yet expected, accepted, without some panic. I can't count the times you've hurt me and us and perhaps that's the most mutually-shared experience that has left distinct and permanent imprints. Some things stubbornly attached to me that identifies only myself. I am most despicable like this, too honestly harsh. That's what you are too.
Loud, obstinate, constantly irrevocably right and extremely domineering...we were shivering kids who grew up, militarily trained under your command with nothing but a sir-yes-sir-conversation. Is it easy to love you?
Things have changed so much. Can you see your dominion,your supremacy has glided on it's slope of decadence? Since when did you lose control? They hate you so much. Sometimes. Only sometimes when something triggers the past back. Never dead... just sleeping... I hope soon it dies. Do i hate you too? A lot. Sometimes. But I have not much reason to than others in the family. Perhaps because my past was never both of physical and mental torments.
When i see you grey and weak sometimes attempting to re-establish reign, or sometimes repentant and submissive it pricks me somewhere in my heart.I guess the dead should completely be burried. Would love to settle with life anew without threat nor fear for any ghosts reappearing. Guess what? I have two windows. I shut the other one down and i'll look at the other. I'll see and hear more of story-telling nights, reading nights, lecture weekends, recording days. You never ran out of those and we did laugh and sing and learn a lot.
Is it strange even now, there's a room for love.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!