Father.
We are strangers
to each other,
we've always been.
Even now, at his twilight years,
I feel nothing but regret
while you are around.
Strangers...yet we are
father and son,
and as the years goes,
I become, more and more,
like a mirror image
of what he'd been.
But we were always,
always,
detached...
we never got along,
and now you ask,
"what have I done wrong,
since no son of mine
will talk to me,
will visit me,
what have I done wrong?
Didn't I give you a proper
education, on rather expensive
schools? Didn't I brought
food to the table,
and clothed you all?"
Yes.
you were not
a terrible father.
Might be I'm a terrible
son.
Because I always feel
regret
while you're around.
Strangers.
Total strangers.
I tried, I really tried
to bond with him,
but I cannot agree
with a number of
memories,
etched, carved deep
down inside of me.
Sometimes I remember
seeing other's people
fathers...they called them
"dad" or "daddy",
while my father
was always
a father,
not a dad
never a daddy.
I know, he's had
a difficult time
growing up,
I know all the stories,
all the punishments,
all the harsh words
from his own father,
and mother.
I remember when,
while I was still at school,
and confessed, at a
certain class,
about all the abuse,
of all the violence,
the lashes, they hurt so bad,
they bled, they ached,
and they've robbed me
of whatever was left
of my self-confidence,
because I received them
at the most random times,
whenever I did something
wrong, yes, they were wrong,
but I did not deserved
lashes
for being curious,
or being naive,
or even contradicting
what he'd just said.
I confessed, I made the
beatings public, to the class,
the teacher looked concerned,
and just said
something
I just can't forget
will never forget -
"Fathers tend to
repeat on their sons,
the mistreatment
they've received.
And it goes on
and on"
And I realized,
terrified,
that I would do
eventually
the same.
That was the
day I decided
NOT to have
any children,
to break the cycle,
to end this legacy
of respect through
raw, raw fear.
Yes, I was beaten,
I was punished,
sometimes I've really
earned the punishment,
but sometimes it felt
like he was NOT
punishing me,
but rather
relieving himself
of some hidden
stress, or awful secret,
he was always surrounded
by these secrets.
I'm fucking old now,
And he's even older,
and yet I feel
regret, and even contempt
when he's around.
What you done wrong,
you ask.
Maybe I am a
terrible son,
but I just can't
forget,
I can't forgive,
what you've done
to us all,
to the whole family
at the long-lost year
of 1993.
There was no beatings.
No violence.
That was just you
giving up on us,
going nuts, completely mad,
giving up on everything,
leaving us all behind,
with all the money,
all the future you
had in store,
for yourself,
for ourselves.
You threw it all away.
You burned money
like it was just pieces
of Monopoly's money,
you give up on us all,
went to your whores,
to your so-called "friends"
abandoned us here,
to handle things
on our own.
And I realize, 21 years
later, that it was even
more bad that it should've been.
It left a scar that won't ever heal.
I never abode such display
of madness.
You had four underage
children, you had a wife
a housewife, with no job,
you had responsibilities to us all...
and you just said,
"Fuck you all."
Yes, I remember everything,
that's my doom, my "talent"
that I wish I didn't have.
I remember everything.
Even before you sent us
to a fucking financial hell,
I remember, when I was 7,
the question every parent
make to their children:
"What do you want to do
when you grow up?"
I fucking remember it,
and I wish, I didn't.
Because you sighed at me,
"That makes no money whatsoever."
Do I really need to
tell what was my answer?
That was the day
the dream I had,
began to crumble away,
because, like a curse
like a father's curse,
it never, ever, made me
any money - at all.
And I've resigned it.
Gave it up.
Your sigh,
your fucking answer,
remained etched forever
in my mind.
And it echoes,
whenever I pick up
a pencil, and blank paper,
I just hear the fucking curse.
"Why THE FUCK
you WASTE your
time with something
as USELESS as
this shit? Drawing?"
Regret.
That's what you make
me feel, father.
whenever you're around,
I'm never comfortable.
We all never got it.
None of us.
Yes, when you were
somewhat still "sane",
you gave us the
best education,
brought food
to the table,
But what you've
never
ever
brought us
was what I noticed
on other's people fathers.
Something that money
can't buy,
something that
even the poorest of
parents didn't have to buy
because it can't be bought,
it can only be shown -
affection.
Love.
All I feel now is regret,
because I look upon
the ruin you've became,
and I feel I'm heading
the same way.
The curse, ain't broken.
I'm like a "pirated DVD copy"
of yourself,
even worse,
because at my age,
I've accomplished far less
than you did, at the
same age.
And I repelled people,
repelled feelings,
because deep down,
I know I'm just the same,
and I hate myself
for being like you.
But, alas, I am.
The only thing
that comforts me
is that I got no children
to verbally
and physically
abuse,
I've got no family
to let down,
because of
my fucked up
choices, career-wise,
life-wise.
Regret, oh, I regret,
being your son,
doomed to be a poor
copy of yourself.
Strangers, complete
strangers.
I still feel the weight
of each word,
of each lash,
of each curse,
you've thrown at me.
But what I feel
does not change what
you've done,
by that fateful year,
when you decided to
left us all behind,
burn all the money
we had, as a family,
spent it all on fucked up
"business" with no bosses,
no contracts,
no legal advice,
ignoring all our appeals,
all our advice,
ignoring us all.
"Fuck you all,"
Was what I heard,
that year.
And here I am,
awake at 5 AM,
so filled with regret
that I had to write
this shit down.
"To vent,"
some would say.
"To be an asshole,"
some others will say,
because I never fully
recovered, from all
that he's done to us.
All the cheating.
All the beatings.
All the money,
I had to steal
from his pockets,
while he was at
the bath,
because he wouldn't
give me any,
even if I asked.
And, oh, the dreadful,
most painful beatings
I've got, when I
got caught on such
"crimes",
And then he proceeded
to tell me that when
he did the same
- the fucking same -
to his own father,
he also had to steal,
because the fucker
wouldn't give him anything,
he told me,
the abuse was even worse.
So, it is a curse.
A curse transmitted
from father to son.
An eternal cycle
of no-love, "respect"
through dreadful fear,
"Respect."
All we had, you've
wasted away,
on your whores,
on your so-called
"friends", that
curiously vanished
when you had burnt
all the money you had.
Regret, is what I feel,
whenever I look
upon you,
upon me,
who is you poor copy,
with all the same flaws,
the same hatred for life,
for bosses, and things alike,
the same cold stare,
the inability to feel and show,
any love whatsoever.
I'm fucking old now,
I'm fucking thirty fucking
seven fucking years old,
and have even less, way less
than you had while
you were my age.
I still feel each lash on my flesh,
I still hear the phrase on my head,
"That makes no money whatsoever."
What it takes to be a "dad", or a "daddy"?
You are, will always be -
a father.
Because you've never truly
loved us, as you offspring,
you've never encouraged us
to follow our dreams,
it was always about
the fucking money.
Money, that you had,
you did have. LOTS of it,
and suddenly,
you up and left,
burned it all away,
left us behind,
"thrown the towel",
YOUR very words,
that I've actually read,
in a fucking email,
I wish I haven't,
ever
read it.
And you still ask,
why I keep as far
away from you I can get,
when you're around.
Call me whatever you like -
a son who can't forgive,
who can't forget,
let bygones be bygones.
I just can't.
As I know you did
the same to your own
father.
Whom you've never
ever
called
"dad"
"daddy"
Just like me.
It's the curse.
Well, I'm breaking it.
I'll leave no offspring
behind. I'll bear no children
to molest, to abuse,
to leave behind,
to their own devices,
I'll never ever have
someone to hut like
you did hurt us all.
Never. Ever.
Because I know,
this curse's like a
fucking disease
I do have on me.
I always had on me.
I've always felt it
growing on me.
Yes, I'm a terrible son
to a terrible father
of a fucking worse grandfather,
and it goes on and on,
backwards.
But it shall never
ever
go forwards.
Because I chose to end it,
once and for all,
that's my choice.
Yes.
I am a terrible son,
who can't forgive
who can't forget
what he has done,
not only to me -
but to us all.
Fucking education,
fucking clothes,
fucking food,
we had it all,
before your fit
of raw insanity
on 1993.
Midlife Crisis, so
they call it.
Midlife bullshit,
midlife irresponsibility,
is what I call it.
And yes, I've just as
bad, I've been just
as dry, just as unable
to feel and/or show love,
I've thrown all I had,
to the pyre of drugs
and resignation,
lazyness,
I've burned it all.
All the chances I've had,
I've thrown them away
I am, just like he is,
so filled with this cancer
called fucking PRIDE,
that I won't never, ever,
humble myself,
ask for help,
or even bother to try,
because it might
hurt my fucking pride.
Fuck me.
I'm a copy of a copy of a copy
of a lineage of fucking failures.
All fucked up men.
One of which turned out to be
my father,
the other,
my grandfather,
and finally...myself.
Myself.
The ultimate,
natural born,
loser.
Well, at least I
can take comfort
in one fact -
he had two sons,
who will NEVER
have sons of their own,
so the cycle will end.
A bitter period point.
To this fucking curse.
So be it.
Regret.
Is what I feel,
when I see him.
When I see my brother,
when I see myself.
But in a way,
I sense relief,
to see that
such curse,
will come
to an end.
Finally.
No more abuse,
no more fucked up advice,
no more lashes,
no more cheating,
no more drug abuse,
(I did pot. He drank alcohol.)
No more.
There was never
too much to be
salvaged,
anyway.
Because all of us,
all three of us,
are strangers to
each other.
Yes, even my own
brother, is a
complete stranger to me.
But I know, I've seen it,
he carries the same curse
I do, my father did, and so
my grandfather, and so on,
backwards in time.
But it will not go forwards.
He had two male sons,
who will never have children.
That's a fact.
And yes, I know,
I'm the worst of all,
because my brother,
he is what I dreamt to be,
but never been able to be.
Because all the lashes,
all the curse words,
all the arguments,
turned me into this...Thing.
Afraid to leave his own room,
afraid of people and their
fucking opinions,
afraid of "oh my god what will they say?"
So that's why I feel this -
Regret.
Whenever the man
who produced me,
is around.
Because I sense, I feel,
contempt for him,
for what he did, not only to me,
but to the whole family,
and yet I sense...and I know...
I'm no fucking better than him.
In fact, I'm even worse.
A good friend of mine,
said it's useless to make
such a comparison,
things were different,
to each one of us,
we are different people,
leading very different lives.
True.
But it doesn't help me
not to feel this fucking
regret
when I see himself on me,
inside of me,
all the bad things
I accuse him,
I've got them all tenfold.
He did not run away,
at least not until
he had the so-called
midlife crisis.
I, on the other hand,
I've been always running,
always hiding,
always lying,
to myself
and all the others.
But a man can lie
to everyone else,
never to himself.
That's a fucking fact.
I see him...and I see me,
"I am yourself tomorrow."
So I regret.
Yes, I regret.
I accuse him of all
this evil things,
but maybe it's my fault
as well, because
I am him.
I am as unable to express love
or feelings, just like he is.
Maybe all he needed was a fucking hug,
I just couldn't give.
I am him.
He is me.
We're both useless,
we're both prideful,
we're both dry,
we're both...the same.
The same.
Accursed.
But it will end,
it will not go forwards.
Not because of me,
not because of my brother.
Regret.
Fucking regret.
I am him,
He is me.
And we both lost.
We just lost it.
Everything.
Faith.
Dignity.
We've lost it all.
We've burned all the bridges
we've once had.
We've turned down
everyone else
we've ever touched.
I am him, he is me.
And we're both fucked.
And that's it.
But it will end.
No more curses upon
our supposed children.
No more beatings,
no more cheating,
no more drugs,
no more faulty,
fucked up brains,
filled with regret
and failure,
and pride,
fucking pride,
that prevented us all,
- or at least Him and me -
to ask for help,
to accept our failures,
to be strong and
build ourselves
a better, improved
version of our own.
We've thrown it all away.
At least Him, my father,
and myself.
My brother, somehow,
made it through.
I did not.
I've failed.
Just like my father,
I've fucking failed.
And I am still filled
with these awful
things, inside me,
corroding me,
corrupting me,
pride,
prejudice,
self-loathing,
hatred,
contempt,
regret.
I am him, just like he is me.
I am my father.
And I hate him...
for being me.
Just like me.
But the curse will
end. It will.
Because both of us,
his sons,
the victor,
and the loser,
will never
ever
push it forwards.
Not by choice,
but for being
what we really are.
"It runs in families",
so it does.
Like the curse,
that we both carry.
but will not pass
it around, to anyone.
It will end.
It must end.
I'm sure of it.
It. Will. End.
No accursed
offspring will
bear it to the
future generations,
generations that
will never
ever
come to be.
So I got this slight,
tiny relief inside of me.
But, alas, I have to
carry the curse
while I'm alive.
I have to look upon him
and repeat, over and over,
"He is me,
I am him."
And I'm lost.
Filled with
this awful
regret
of being
him.
