The Dreamer ✓

Letter 03

NO. 3 ; A LETTER TO YOUR FATHER

DECEMBER 5th, 2013

Dear Dad,

When Mum passed away she took a large chunk of you with her. For the first few weeks all you did was lay in bed, you covered yourself in Mum's clothes and sprayed the room with her favourite perfume. Every time I passed your room, I would hear Mum's records playing, and every time it was like a punch in the gut.

Mum's sister took care of us for those weeks, took us to school, made us dinner, gave us a shoulder to cry on. She said that you weren't yourself right now and you needed some time to come to terms with Mum's death.

Eight months.

That's how long you stayed immobile in your bed, you were fired from your job and diagnosed with depression. It was the worst state I had ever seen you in and it broke my heart. Everything about you was just grey and everywhere you went you drained the colour and life. And for a while, I was scared I was going to lose you too. And I cried myself to sleep almost every night.

Don't you realise you have three daughters who were as deeply affected and devastated by her death? Don't you realise that we needed you?

It was a little over three years after Mum's death, I was around thirteen and I remember that particular November morning, I had woken up, pulled on my school uniform and gone downstairs for breakfast. I had been pouring myself some milk when a tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in a pink robe came waltzing into the kitchen.

She instantly froze and smiling sheepishly at me, she said, "Oh, uh, good morning."

It was then, Dad, that you came into the room. You placed an arm around her waist and smiled. "Morgana, meet my friend Jasmin, Jasmin meet my daughter, Morgana."

Friend. Huh. Jasmin's smile widened into a bright grin as she stepped forward and offered her hand to me, "Hi, it's lovely to finally meet you."

I blinked. I just stared at her, finding it hard to process the situation. Jasmin glanced worriedly back at you when I didn't do or say anything for several seconds.

You frowned at me, "Morgana, say hello."

In that moment I wanted more than anything to throw the bowl of cereal in your face. I shook my head and angrily stormed out of the kitchen. I couldn't believe it. You brought another woman, a complete stranger to our house without a care about us.

Did you think I would welcome her? Did you think I would be happy to see some strange woman in my house? Jesus Christ, for years all you did was stay in your room, for years after Mum's death you were a blank slate and then one day you just brought some random woman.

I was so angry with you, for the rest of day I was fuming, I didn't pay attention in class and I ended up in a pretty bad fight with one of the kids. Ariel said, we should be happy that you found someone and I didn't speak to her for weeks. What about Mum? You couldn't just replace her with some random woman.

Despite my protests (I was pretty loud about my opinions), Jasmin came round more often, and before I knew it she had moved in, and next thing I knew, after two and a half years together, you married her.

I want you to know that as much as I was against you marrying her, I want you to know that I don't hate her. I mean, at first I did but now, I realise Ariel was right. She does make you happy, you got a new job, and you're smiling and laughing more often now. And if Jasmin can lift you from the darkness that had engulfed for some many years, then I can't fault her.

Dad, you know I love you right? I don't show it and I don't act like it but I do. I love you. I try to be a good daughter. I try to smile and be the best that I can but 'the best' isn't in me. Nothing is. There's a hole where my heart should be, a big gaping chasm that sucks in any affection or love. I try to fill it with food, with laughter and jokes and false optimism but nothing works.

I haven't achieved or done anything noteworthy. I'm not smart. I'm not talented. I'm not beautiful but I'm not ugly. My grades are mediocre. Everything I do, I am is mediocre and I just don't understand how you can stand to be around me.

You realise that you don't know me, right? You don't know the simple things about me. My favourite colour, my favourite movie, my career plans, none of that. Yes, you know the general things like my grades and allergies but it's the small, seemingly unimportant things that turn out to be the most cherished.

I just. I wish you could tell me I was good enough. I wish you could tell me, that what I am, what I do is enough. You never did. You always saved the praise for others. You were always there for the others but never for me. Hell, the dog got more attention than me. The dog. And that mongrel shits everywhere.

Being the middle child of three girls is no good. There are absolutely no perks. You are hardly noticed. The attention is always on the eldest and the youngest and the middle child is left to fend for themselves.

Jasmin, tell me, because I know you're more truthful than Dad, tell me, I'm not the favourite child am I? I'm not.

A few months ago, during one of our arguments, Evelyn revealed that I wasn't. Evelyn is the favourite, then Ariel and then me. Whatever. It's okay. I don't mind. I like it. I don't think I could stand it if Ariel or Evelyn were your least favourites. I'm glad it's me. It's freeing, knowing that your expectations of me are so low they are barely even there. It means I don't have to stress myself out to please you. Because I'm done. Trying to please you that is. I used to crave your praise when I was younger, I used to live of it but now I'm older and wiser and filled with so much indifference for the world, I find that I no longer care for your expectations. You have Evelyn and Ariel for that. You don't need me.

Green. That's my favourite colour by the way. Green.

My favourite film is American Beauty and as for my career plans? No idea.

Love,  Morgana.