Scar

There is an age-old-sort-of-pain living in my closet. Every now and then, certain moments of the present stimulates that particular past that it literally aches. I can feel the weight. I wonder if it is visible to anyone else.  

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“I don’t want a child like this,” that’s what he once said to me. Although I knew at the time that he did not mean it, it did not make him anymore of a responsible father than if he did mean it. It hurts to know he cared more about having the last line than how I would feel. It broke my heart to learn there is nothing set in stone in the world – no one is unconditional.

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He knew that I knew he did not mean it. He did not have to be so honest about his attitude.

I would never say that regardless. Perhaps that is how I came to value deception as much as the truth. Whether it is truth or lie, whichever one is the best for the person is right. A beautiful lie could just as well be someone's saviour.  It takes strength to hold back as oppose to spill the beans and let someone else to deal with it.

Time after time, I relate any insecurity I may have about myself or the world to that very moment.

Is it “stingy” to hold onto the moment till now? Would I have turned out differently – less reserved maybe – if he had been more of a “man” and held it back? Or is it just the perfect excuse to blame any issues I may have on?