I have always looked up to my father. For me, he was someone who deserved my respect, my care, and my love. As most people said, my father and I have had in common. I inherited my looks and traits from him, especially my eyes in which some declared that my eyes are identical to his.  He was my protector –someone who was always there when my playmates hurt me. He was my first teacher, and he taught me how to read my first English book when I reached first grade. He corrected my mistakes in a way that I wouldn’t be humiliated. He also taught me how to solve hard mathematical equations. Indeed, he was great. Yes, he really was. It has been a cliché as it might sound, but my dad was my Batman when he guarded me from blackouts, my Superman when he used to carry me on his back and when I was sick, and my Spiderman when he used to climb our rooftop just to retrieve my shuttlecock. My dad was my hero.

Yet, many things changed as I was growing up. My mom and my dad had fights about small things. They caught arguments into their heads and they reached to point when they started to shout and call out each other’s names. The scene was very terrible to me, and I wanted it to stop. However, I could not be of help. I was scared that it might either get me into trouble or it might make the things worse.

Then my father hurt my mom. It was too much for me to take. I could never bear seeing my mother cry for it was enough to break my heart. Consequently, I developed trauma from those scenes in which it continued until the later part of my high school years. My father’s heroic image was stained.

Now my parents do not have fight as they use to, which is such a relief to my siblings and me. He seemed to be a bit friendly these past few days. He is not as hotheaded as he used to do. My dad tries to joke around and he starts to show off his funny, gawky side. Yet, I am still uncomfortable around him. I even feel awkward to talk to him most of the time. Now that I reached college, it seems that it is hard to communicate with him anymore. I know he is proud of all the achievements I have had, but despite of it, my efforts to please him were not enough, are not enough, and will never be enough. I am trying hard; I am doing my best; and I really am. Nonetheless, he has such a cold heart.

I wish my dad would realize how much I value him. I hope that time heals those wounds and that I will never want to lose someone who once I held dear in my heart.

This is a story from Sarah Marie S. Salvaña, and this is edited by Marlon Castrodes Pagon.