| My mother graced a portion of her beauty onward to me, the older I become, the more my looks resemble her. And perhaps character as well... but there is that other half that cannot be matched through her lineage. Although I do not remember my father, I have this one video of him celebrating my 1 year birthday party with my very visibly unhappy young mother. She was my age at the time of the video. But she was then already a woman. Supple in movements, radiating maternal instincts through the screen. My mother... so painfully beautiful. What has life made of you and your beauty? Though you smile now, I still cannot help but weep for all the suffering you have gone through. I know it is not my cross to bear, but I feel the brands of these lashes across my back, this beauty that has made a mockery of us all. Back then though, I was a bright eyed baby. So happy and alive with wonder. I don't even remember that kind of innocence anymore. Perhaps that is why I love children so much. They possess a naivety that makes the taste of each day more sweet. We as adults, wish to preserve this in them as long as we can. Why? Have we lost it in ourselves irretrievably, that we must live now vicariously through our children's? The party has begun. The guests start to arrive. I am running around the floor, greeting everyone and making contact with everything. The camera zooms in on my parents. For a split second, we see my mother tugging on my father's arm while whispering something into his ear. She looks so beautiful. Long golden hair cascading down her shoulders, matching her golden dress. He pulls away from her with a cold look and gets up to leave. She sits there scorned, complete unhappiness all over her face. When she realizes the camera has focused in on her, she forces herself to smile. Unsuccessfully. I always loved my mother's sincerity. My father disappears for sometime then reemerges again what seems like an hour later, sitting in a corner by himself smoking a cigarette. Shortly after, my mother's cousins come over and throw their arms around him. Hellos to the Camera Smiles and laughter. He does not possess the kind of striking beauty his wife has. Though there is a mystery that is found in his eyes. The same eyes I have inherited. The same shape, the same mischievous quality everyone loved so well despite his aloofness. Undoubtedly, he is better at masking his emotions. Yet his eyes betray him in the end. Now I am my mother's age, but where is my baby girl? Gone... never to exist. Those hazel eyes and sweet, mixed features. I have seen her in visions, but I chose an alternate life where the story of the young girl without a father ends with me. I vowed on her death, my daughter would have a father. One who loves completely his baby's mother. The way she loves him back. They way their devotion blooms new life, nestled in the arms of an unbroken family. This was the pleading in his ear, the wanting written across my mother's face as she sat alone in the golden dress. Left there by my father. I would be lying if I said that there is a part of me that doesn't still despise him. My first memory of a man, and I hate the species beyond words compare. But the sadness of this truth is that because of this hatred, I have rejected half of myself. All the qualities that I have inherited from him, that have proven self-destructive in the end. I do not know who I am. I am a mystery wanting not to be solved, but to be felt. I want to forgive my father, so I can cease this pursuit of him in the men I meet. Men who resemble his capricious, cold qualities. Leaving my mother starved, off to fend for her daughter alone because of his apathy. God, how the pain of this runs so deep! Even writing this, my hands tremble with fury. And so I look for men, unmistakably, to father me. To provide for me - Dorrina - whose other half is wildly independent and desires only to look after herself. A paradox that gnaws away bit by bit. Can I give the memory of this man back to the fire that burns away all to ash, to reincarnate my soul's one desire? To become whole within myself. To love and respect all men, despite their limitations. To not project their shortcomings as the failures of my father with respects to my mother. The pain of her life following their divorce pushes tears even now, out of my eyes. I know this is only one truth, and there is a greater truth that bridges this back to beauty. But I cannot help but feel a witness of my mother's beauty go to ruin. The exploitation, the judgment, the poverty and pain I witnessed haunts me everyday. I have not made alchemy of my anguish, it has merely crippled me instead. And my hope is that this year becomes the year of letting it go, and healing within me the weeping Masculine, that needs and wants so badly to be loved. |
1 Comment
Nina
1/19/2016 07:20:00 am
https://www.facebook.com/EcstaticDanceThursdays/
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Categories
All
Archives
July 2022
|