Dear my nameless, faceless Ba

Dear my nameless, faceless Ba,

Can you hear me?

I haven’t spoken to you, or written, in a year. Life feels hard again. What is it about this time of year?

I wish I had known you, your name, your face. In my mind you’re stood still, your sari is catching the breeze. The hem of your skirt licks the dust as you turn away.

I wonder if you’re proud of me. Of my siblings, my cousins, my aunt, my father? What would you make of us? What would you think of this mess we made?

You seem to hold part of that missing piece for me. I’m not sure which piece it is.

I often speak to you, I’ve no idea if you hear me. But it feels good. It feels good to look up into that enormous sky flecked with starlings and I wonder if you once looked up at the same piece of sky when you walked this earth.

– Saffron

My Dad is a child

My Dad is a child- aggressive, angry and then enormously sulky. Perhaps this is because he missed out on a childhood/parenting/loving wife/happiness, you can take your pick.

This morning was my big day back at work, but we had a problem buying my train ticket due to an invalid rail pass (which had been purchased in a pervious fury-enduced frenzy). So naturally Dad responded in a whirlwind of aggression and rage. I felt really bad for the young woman behind the counter, and embarrassed that everyone in the station (all 35 of them) were staring at us.

I only just caught my train (phew)- jumping through closing doors, hair blowing in the wind style. Sat down victoriously and then knocked my cup of tea over myself (a nice reminder that I am still not in control of my own life even at the ripe of age of twenty-something).

So this was at 6.45am.

Later, around 7.10pm, Dad picked me up from the station after work (of course he did, because I am still not in control of my own life even at the ripe of age of twenty-something). Avoided discussing the invalid rail pass. Instead made the wise decision to give him some helpful driving advice after some road rage- don’t overtake a cyclist while approaching a bend in the road, because there might be a moron coming the other way at 1999mph. Sound thinking, if you ask me.

I was wrong. Dad jumped to the usual ‘you never blame anyone but me’ line, and then proceeded to use the rather painful ‘you’re exactly like your mother’, ‘you take the first opportunity to attack me’ shots. Nice one Dad. Anyway, after failing to hold my ground and keep the situation calm, I forced him to stop the car and walked the rest of the journey home.

At 7.45pm Dad had disappeared upstairs and refused to eat dinner, sulking.

I refuse to avoid passing criticism in the hope it’ll keep Dad happy. I refuse to apologise simply to encourage him to eat his dinner and stop sulking. He is responsible for his own actions, especially when he behaves so aggressively. He is not a child, he is my father.

– Saffron