Why I lost attachment with my father

I lost attachment because I had it once, as you can never lose something you never had.

As a child, I believed my father was a great man. Well, he was. My parents’ story were once my inspiration and standard of love. For a while I dreamed to have the same because I thought, back then, that it is the greatest love story ever.

But, it ended.

Eventually, I realised he became the great man he once was because he had the greatest woman behind her back, my mom. She had always supported him in everything he does and had always led him to the right decisions for our family. She was the backbone and foundation of the love they both lost and shared.

My mother was known as the typical ‘Maria Clara’ who’s always timid and reserved. My father was this chaotic young classmate who always picks on girls. It was funny for me to know that their marriage was actually bit arranged. It was rumored my mother wanted to back down on the wedding a day before but it still pushed through. I’m more than thankful with their decision because I actually have this life right now.

Our family was happy. My father hoped for a daughter but he was not given one even after trying five times. They loved each other, that’s for sure, because I saw it, felt it, and experienced it. They were able to provide for us, together.

I heard they had the most awkward start and I witnessed how painful the end was.

My relationship with my father was, for a significant portion, a collection of good memories. He encouraged and supported me with my studies, provided my financial needs and other extracurricular activities even when he barely had the means, and he celebrated my academic achievements.

He was the greatest dad I know.

Until it’s come to my knowledge that he has been cheating on my mother, for several times already. It was severely devastating for me because it brought me three ruthless pains– the fact that he determinedly hurt my mother, that my mother was strongly hurt, and that he destroyed my beliefs in life which hold the foundation of my very being.

I honestly doesn’t care about me getting shattered to pieces. It is my mother’s pain which keeps me breaking over and over…and over again. My mama’s heartbreak was the most traumatic and agonising heartbreak I’ve ever had, and still having. The wounds it left were still as fresh as when they were first inflicted.

Since then, I have been living in this universe of watching how my world fell apart, time and again. However, I am also here collecting shattered pieces of me. I pick them up not in attempt to fix my broken parts but in venture to put them back to their original places even as fractured and cracked.

I did not detach connections with my father. He cut the ties himself when he crossed the line.

And to note, even if I eventually give him the forgiveness he deserves, he can never make the pain any less or the situation any better.

There is no cure or healing for a wound that keeps bleeding.


Photo provided by pexels.

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