Dad

Hey Dad,
You wrote a message on a masking tape, pasted it on the wall so that I could see. You wrote to tell me to water the plants that you have grown from the seeds that grandma gave 10 years ago. I did not see that message, neither did I see the masking tape. The plants look thirsty and dehydrated and I saw the sadness in your eyes. The flowers died and the leaves were left dangling on the branches. You asked me whether I saw the message at all. I never knew. I was seldom at home. And when I came back, I did not see the message. The message was ripped apart by hatred and never to be found again. I would have water the plants, I would have forgotten, but I did not.

And then, I remember the days when I was still a toddler. You and your famous masking tapes. How you pasted the masking tapes on the edge of the walls and measured my height. You marked my height with a pen on the masking tape and measured it with your masking tape. You also measured Mum's height and I remembered that was a lot of fun. The masking tape of all our heights were left on the walls for many years. Till it disintegrated, till it got eaten up or run ragged by lizards.

You are not the man you were before, Dad. You look haggard and you look tired. Your wife hates you and your son doesn't talk much to you. You spend countless nights in your little room watching TV on your own, eating on your own, listening to your favourite old songs. You listened as Mum and I joked about little stuff outside your room. You closed your door softly unlike Mum who slams the door at your presence. All the soups and fruits you prepared have all gone to waste. Your wife gets upset when your son eats your stuff. Your son feels reluctant to eat the stuff sometimes so as not to anger your wife.

I have forgotten that middle-aged man who talked about those Chinese stories that I love to hear. Those stories about filial piety, those stories of the highest moral values. I come home to see an old man stuck in that perpectual darkness, walking in and out of the room only to relieve himself with his head hang low.

You told me you've tried your best. You told me you never smoke or drink and was never unfaithful to Mum. You told me you longed for a nice dinner downstairs at the coffee shop with Mum and I, watching TV together. You told me you're tired and there's nothing more you can do. You have tried everything to win her back but you have failed. You now work your socks off for someone who doesn't love you anymore. You said you've gotten the past the sad part. You have pondered over and over again in that little room. What happened and why your life has gone so wrong? Why other wives stick by their husbands even when they smoke or drink? Even if they're ex-convicts? Even if they're drug addicts? Even if they've no money. You now live life by paying bills. Start of the month, end of the month. That is your life. You eat your reunion dinners alone and you come down from the lift, walking past your wife and son like they are strangers.

I've never seen you cry Dad but you must have cried a million times in that little room of yours. And there's nothing I can do. Nothing. You may be full of shit sometimes and I despise you when you always talk about what you are going to do when you strike it rich. And how morally righteous I am not. But you are a strong man Dad. You talk to me like you're so strong Dad. I hope Mum understands one day. It is hard but we can always hope. 23 years of marriage.

I will start watering the plants.