From the day I was born, I had no chance to know who my father was, what his face looked like, what his smile was like, whether his voice was warm or quiet. In my childhood memories, there was no figure of a man holding my hand to class, no strong arms to comfort me when I fell. There was just a void, quiet, silent, but enough to make me always feel like I was missing a loving half.
I am not angry with you, I do not blame you. Because how can I blame someone I have never met? It is just that, sometimes, in my dreams, I wish I could call out, “Dad!” just once, just one word would be enough, so I could know whether that feeling is sweet or painful.
Mom took care of me, raised me and loved me with all her heart. But I know, deep down, she also cried, silently, when she saw me grow up without my father. The more I understand that pain, the more I love my mom and the more I long to know who my father is, a real person, not just a name or a blurry face in my imagination.
I remember, when I was little, I once asked my mother: "What is dad like, what does he do, where is he now, mom?". Mom didn't answer, just looked at me and kept silent. There are things that only adults can understand, and there are hidden corners that mom can't say. I felt my mother's eyes drooping. Those eyes were so sad, as if she was trying to hide her pain, and silently apologizing to me for the losses I had to endure. I understood how strong my mother was to bear all of dad's love for me. But it was also that look that made me sad, because I knew, deep in my mother's heart there was always a void, the void of the man who was everything to her, and the man I had never once called "dad".
Then, over time, I gradually got used to a life with only my mother and no father. I grew up in the loving, protective arms of my mother, in a small, incomplete family. And I... once "forgot" that I also had a father in this world.
As I sit here writing these lines, memories of my childhood suddenly come flooding back. I remember the old days when my friends innocently teased me: “You are a child without a father”. At that time, I was too young to understand what it meant to feel inferior, ashamed or embarrassed. I just quietly walked past those slanderous words as a matter of course and continued to study and grow with what I had.
Over time, under the care and guidance of my mother, I gradually grew up. I finished university, got married, had a husband and two good children. I am happy with my small family and my current job, a life that seems to be complete. But deep in my heart, I always long to see my father once, to know who he is, whether he is still healthy or old, where he is and what he is doing. What his face looks like, what his voice sounds like... I have never known. I wish, just once, to "prove" to my peers that: I also have a father like everyone else. I just hope to know that my father is still alive - even if it is in a faraway place, so that I can smile happily and say the two words: "Dad...".
Now that I’m grown up, I don’t wish for anything too far away. It’s just that, deep in my heart, I still keep a small corner for myself, to remember my father as something that never existed but never disappeared. As if my father was always there… in a space of memory that I had never touched.
An An
Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong/202508/khoang-trong-mang-ten-cha-42812e6/
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