my father died at 4:15pm on a monday.
i was still on the bus on my way to the hospital when it happened. by the time i got to the E.R., he was already on his way to the morgue. i haven’t said anything in a long while.
there’s just been too much to say, or too much strength needed to say it; maybe a bit of both, and maybe its still like that. but the more time passes, the easier i will forget that day.
it felt like losing.
i know that sounds weird but, i guess its kinda like that.
its kinda like stepping off a bus and not knowing
where you are.
maybe its knowing there’s nothing you can do.
i never liked that feeling - that things are out of my control, that i can’t even go back and ‘fix’ it because its permanent. i need change.
—-so i am always leaving.
i don’t have any amazing memories with my father. i remember more bad ones than good ones. i’ve noticed that bad memories become neutral over time. they turn into something tolerable,
they become associated as habits of character rather than pain.
in childhood, i didn’t care about my father. i was indifferent. existing in his life only fleetingly. as an obligation or chore, or because i didn’t know what to do. our times together, overall, were nothing more than me learning to reduce the uncomfortable-ness around him. that uncomfortable-ness is what made our relationship; compared to conventional families, we were more of unlikely friends. it was bad, upsetting, and even now it’s stressful - but there was a uniqueness in it that i appreciate even if everything else about him gets lost in time.
a burden i didn’t know i had, was lifted from me during the testimonial. hearing experiences about him through other people, all the harsh truths, his my-way-or-the-highway attitude, the cursing and yelling - that was the father i knew. Mr. cynical and bitter, (and selfish too, when he preferred to be) and yet… still undeniably selfless.
hearing personal stories from his friends, seeing into the man i never met, the things he did for others. i’m glad i was able to hear those things. i’m glad i can remember him for something he did that helped someone else - things that leave impressions on others so deeply, they carry it with them - even if it isn’t me.
sometimes relationships get ruined before they begin, sometimes they progress inconsistently, a little too fast or a little too slow—even a little too late. sometimes they are one sided before they are two-sided and sometimes they are not sided at the same time at all and never will be.
sometimes a father doesn’t change his ways for his kids, and sometimes his daughter can call him an asshole under her breath at the alter, and know he’s laughing about it on the other side because he’s a no-good swagger and knows i know this, as does everyone who knows him. yet, they’re still happy to have had him in their lives, it seems - and i guess sometimes this is just how things work.
so i’ll be honest. 1. there are things i probably won’t forgive or forget. 2. i’m still expecting an apology; a part of me thinks its weaved into the understanding that comes with growing up…
3. i guess that’s just another thing he’s conned his way out of, the old man.
i always have to laugh about it after i finish yelling about it.
some bastards are bittersweet.
and for the first time, i think i finally miss him. not out of love, not out of regret, not out of guilt, but out of the ‘lack of’, i miss him.
dying was probably the only way we’d make it to this crossroad. death gives birth to things that, before, were never there. i don’t intend to cry, i don’t intend to mourn, and all that comes as no surprise. but it does bring me to understand that maybe the best relationships are the ones where we don’t get to see each other ever again; just remember from time to time, and entertain the idea of how many children become like their parents, with nostalgic adults who have nothing better to do at 4 am.
wherever i go (whether i like it or not), he’ll be with me. in my reflection, in my soul—down to the bruised bones in my body; from the way i paint, to the way i drink, to the way i play the shitty cards in my hand that i’ve been dealt, and the step-ahead i’m always planning if it means someone else’s dollar in my pocket. to look good, no matter how bad i feel, to never settle for the smaller diamond. even in the way i cut people down with a swift tongue, and give them the bandage to stop the bleeding.
this is us—and all of the things i have learned from all of the things he experienced but never taught me. at the end of the day, i like him better this way, because at least i like him, at all.
not as a father—but as a moment of lesson from a stranger i wouldn’t mind getting to know better, in hindsight, if it was meant to be."
- if i do anything for you, let it be this (lynn)
If you like this list of life hacks, follow ListOfLifeHacks for more like it!
I couldn’t have clicked the motherfucking follow button faster after I saw the pinata cookies with mini m&m’s inside holy shit let me tell you
Saving for later use. We’re at a beach house and probably have a lot of the necessary ingredients for much of this stuff so it could be fun to get my fam to make some snacks together
Food porn. Kinda.
The hijab is not the most important part of being a Muslim woman, but it is certainly the most visible. In a time when Islamophobia only seems to be on the rise in the West, a practice that is so personal and diverse has become a warped and misunderstood part of a flat and monolithic picture of Muslim women.
GIRLS AGAINST CAT CALLING 2014
this is tight
omg i swear i reblog this every week
WHAT TEACHERS MAKE by Taylor Mali
I’ve seen the video for this, so I always read the comic in his voice.
It’s absolutely glorious.
So anyway I am working on a new book of people I hope you hate and are drawn to???