I got the secret key to my dad's heart!
And it only took me three decades to find it. This might have been one of the world's longest treasure hunts.
Happy Summer, everyone! I hope the sunshine brings a lot of joy, hope, and cheers to all of us. The Almighty knows we could all do with a bit of all of these now.
I wrapped up my Masters programme last week. That’s right. Two years’ worth of work came to a nice end (hopefully!) a couple of days ago. I couldn’t help but reminisce about the journey - my journey.
Three years ago, around the same time, I was a train wreck - I was at the lowest possible point in my life, didn’t think I have any future, was terrified of my parents, was working a job that was burning me out, and was coursing through an undiagnosed clinical depression. The same date, three years later, my redemption has been one for the books (If I ever write an autobiography/have a biography written, this phase would eat up a couple of separate chapters).
I was discussing how every single aspect of my life since then has improved by leaps and bounds, especially my relationship with my father. I can guess with around 80% accuracy the reason how it happened.
You see, my father is a basic man. He wants to feel respected and “useful”, especially now that his kids are all adults. No, his plan for his daughter (me) didn’t really work out at all. But, he has, over time, come to terms with it. He still loves me to bits, and all that. In fact, he has been the quiet voice of assurance all these months when I post a message about job rejections on our family group.
“You are there to study. It’s okay if you don’t get a job. Focus on graduating well”, he’d say. And that was enough fuel for me to cope. I was (and am…?) after all daddy’s lil girl.
During my therapy session yesterday I was trying to understand the reason behind this change. In the last few months, my brother and I have been intentionally making time for family calls (mum, dad, and us kids) every Sunday morning. These calls are fun - we reminisce, share life updates, make plans (and self-deprecating jokes), and the likes. My parents (and I) eagerly look forward to this call every week now.
Even outside of these calls, I have started sharing more glimpses from my life here, on our group chat - pictures of me outdoors, of dishes I cook, updates on school and jobs etc. And, added to all these, I have started calling my dad out of the blue once in a while, to just say “hi”.
Maybe this is what he wanted all these years. Maybe this is how he feels respected, and maybe this is his love language (…. “respect language..?”).
This was the magic key.
All of us have different love languages - it is either one particular thing, like physical touch, or a combination of things, like acts of service and quality time. We recognise love only when it is shown in a language we know. It is similar to communicating - we understand something only when it is communicated in a language we know, right? In my dad’s case, he understands respect when his family unit shares life events and updates with him and check in on him every once in a while. It is that simple. And it took around three decades for me to figure this shit out.
Dad and I are still gonna have a go at each other, but I don’t think it’s going to be as mad as it used to be a couple of years ago. And, this knowledge makes me glow inside. Maybe, moving 7500 kilometres away from them was part of the process.
All that remains now is to go to the beach and jump into the cool, blue, water.
Until next time,
M.