The Unwritten Letter

Paps, I know this is pretty lame. Especially because I am not a Heaven-believing person. But I hope that nothing is too late. Although apparently, EVERYTHING is too late.

I spent my childhood imagining how you'd look like.. Imagining whether you are a cool dad, a bad dad, a mean dad, an unfeeling dad. It gave my childhood an air of mystery and drama. I am the protagonist of a lame Filipino teleserye, waiting for my dad to come and send me gifts, play with me, or teach me cool stuff. It was kinda fun. Although we met when I was younger, I never remembered anything about you except for unclear images of people arguing on the living room - you, mom and nene and some other person as I'll eventually learn about; a guy lending me his cap; and a pat in the head from you telling me, "I'm going now."

Come high school and I started blaming you for everything - why I never was motivated to study even though my diagnostic tests tell me that I should be among the top students of the class; why I don't have a computer, a playstation or a flashy cellphone; why I don't have stuff teenagers my age have; why I am me; etc. I loathed you. And I vowed that I'd kill you or hurt you or forever ignore you if our paths ever crossed.

Then college came and of course, I found you. I pitied you. I felt sad that you are you - drunk, aimless, wasted. I wanted to change your life. I wanted to be the one who understands why you sometimes cry when we are just alone together. I wanted to graduate from BA Psychology and learn some technique to save your from alcoholism and depression. I was in love with you. But my patience and pity was short-lived and all my desire to spend time with you or to even talk to you vanished.

I lived my life. Thinking I'd visit you once in a while if I felt like it. I thought you'd be good on your own. I thought you'll be ok. But the day came. The news arrived. You're dead.

I felt weird - I didn't expect that I'd feel not that bad. But I know that the emotional path ways on my brain is now damaged and that made me adept in suppressing feelings. I felt nothing about your death. That's why I felt guilty about myself.

It's 8 weeks now, more or less, since you died. I haven't had a good sleep ever since. Nightmares plagued me. Hypochondria is attacking me until now. I think my body and psyche wants to tell me, "Grieve!", but I can't.

Paps, if you can read this. If you can read my mind. If you can see every move that I make. I hope that it tells you that I have loved you. And I sincerely wish that you are in a good place. I am still grieving. I know it although I don't feel it. I miss you. I wish you turned out to be a better man. I know you could've been good, successful, happy. I know it. But the time for that is long gone. You are gone like my childhood imaginings of a faceless but laughing man who will come and change my life. Gone like the old days when I knew that I can save you. Gone. Gone forever. And I am here unable to do anything.

 ALTASHHETH