Last night when I came across someone’s blog at the internet, I suddenly realized that we haven’t seen each other for more than ten years. I doubted that you could still recognize me if we ran into each other on the street, or could I still recognize you? I tried to conjure your face out of those buried memories, but all I got was a rather fading image. I might have some pictures of yours, but I’m not sure where I put them and I have no intentions of dredging them out.

Perhaps I should be feeling something when I thought about you, but I was empty. How could I miss someone I barely knew? After all, it’s your absence, not your presence, that had shaped my life. And those rare time when you were around, please allow me to say this, are not really happy memories.

It’s not easy for me to write this, like touching an old scar---it doesn’t hurt any more but still rakes up the past that better lay buried. Still I’m writing this, not to you, obviously, because you don’t read English, but to myself. Ten years are a very long time, and it’s time to let some past ghost rest.

I knew it could be worse. You could be one of those losers who took out all the terrible tempers on their wife and children, or you could be some reckless gambler who drag the whole family down to the ruin. You are neither. Fairly speaking, you are a decent guy on many ways. The only problem between you and me is I could never be the Son you wanted so much.---not a problem that anyone could fix though. Fortunately, your second wife finally gave you a son, and I’d, without you, grown up to be a happy woman. So I guess it’s a happy ending, after all.

The chance that we could meet again is really slim, but there have been possibilities. What would happen if that day came? Not a tearful hug, that’s pretty for sure. But at least I wish it could be a peaceful reunion. For that, I knew I must push those unhappy memories aside, forgot things like that once you got drunk, you dragged me out of the bed and threw me out of the door. I must hang on to some less painful memories about you. I remembered once---how old I was? Four or five?—we came together from grandma’s home. After I got off the bus, you were gone. To and fro, I ran frantically to look for you but you were nowhere to be seen. I cried, I yelled, but finally I realized that I was left on the street, in the dark, along. I tried my best to remember the way home. It still took twenty or thirty minutes’ walk from the bus station to our old house. I somehow managed, when I finally saw our door, you suddenly came out behind, picked me up and gave me a great hug—that’s one of several occasions I remembered that you had showed being proud of me. You wanted to raise me as a son, you wanted me to be brave, to be tough—that time I showed the courage and somehow I met with your expectations, but I was never a brave kid, I failed you on many other ways. One thing I never dared to tell you, after that, I was dread of going out with you. On those rare occasions that you took me out, I could never relax. I was busy looking around, trying to remember every road, I was afraid that you might leave me behind and this time I could never find the way home.

I remembered, once I was running a high fever, I felt dizzy, and you played tricks to cheer me up. Is that really happening or was I just imaging things under the influence of fever? Honestly, I’m not sure but I must believe that.

Despite all the old resentments, I wish you know that I don’t hate you, but I couldn’t say I love you neither. If one day you wanted to forge a relationship with me, that’s fine with me. If you don’t, it’s really OK. And there is another thing I’d like to tell you, in case you are interested, you have a grandson now, a healthy, cheerful four year old boy.

All the best wishes

Yours sincerely

Daughter