Hold on me.

Father is home. Before he came, I ran around the house cleaning, pushing everything back into place, opening up cleaning products that have never been used.
I made the house sparkle, inside and out.

After I was done and was out of breath, I looked at my hard work, and had this deep urge to destroy everything.
I wanted to tear the plaster from the walls, break all the glass windows and burn the furniture.

Now that I look at it, the battle of rage and tears rushing through me was not one of mere anger at a paternal figure, but because I was just so goddamn pathetic.

I still wanted to please him.
I still wanted to have his acceptance.

It was a mistake to think that I was  rid of him.

He still has a hold on me.

"Do you love him?"

Father is coming home this week.
Which prompted me to ask mother, "Do you love him?"

Guess

There was silence on the other end with intervals of silent muttering.
"I think so," she finally answered.

An interval of silence lapsed.
She asked, "Are you asking because of the hardships we have between us?"

I wanted to laugh out loud, not because of the obvious problems they had, but because she had considered the unbelievable pain Father put her through as mere 'hardships.'

"No. The last time I asked, you said 'No.'"
She stared at me with guarded eyes that accused me of stabbing her where it hurt.

"I guess you changed your mind," I stabbed again.
"I guess I did," she said.

20 - Voices in My Head

When Father asked me what I thought about him divorcing Mom, I wanted to smack him. I was sitting in the backseat of his car, so I couldn't reach his face. Wasn't he supposed to try and keep the family together? Betrayal at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

But to be honest, I wanted him gone. It's true that hating someone is a lot easier when you can't see them. Yet, the kids needed their "Daddy," the guy who was a role model who was on one side fluffy like a teddy-bear and on the other, strong as a rock. So I said, No. No divorce. The kids need you. He smirked, as if he had already known my answer.
I proceeded to get out of the car and hightail home, trying my very best to forget his reply: That's what I thought, too. I couldn't have said it better myself.

To myself, I thought, You're such a self-sacrificing hypocrite. I couldn't have agreed more with the voice in my head.

Voices

18 - Falling Apart

My father is a peculiar person. Not too friendly, and not too shy, he is the epitome of the working man. His rugged beard and East Asian culture never stopped him rebuking a stranger to defend his integrity. His accented English would always ring through my head as it was he who  told me to dream big and to dream loud, for if something is impossible, it is all the more fun to achieve it.

Our relationship can only be described as the father-daughter love so keenly dissected apart on TV shows. He was my hero, flaws and all.  I was his little girl no matter how old I was. I am -- no, I was -- cherished, respected, and above all, loved. And like all relationships, ours fell apart.

It was subtle and came with a bang. His words and actions that was spoken to me meant nothing because of his one action at that one time. It shattered everything I held dear.

Now, conversations are used with only the necessary words, and eye contact is non-existence. I haven't seen Father in 2 months.

He's coming for Christmas, and I'm really starting to hate the apprehension and fragility.

Fear