2

In English, I am hiding.
In Vietnamese, my mother tongue,
All these thoughts are sacrilege
They mustn’t exist.
I am not and will never be
Capable of standing up for myself
I am not and will never be
An entity. But a character, barely.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
How far could I ever get
The seed’s rooting deep inside me.

What doesn’t kill you
Brought you to life
I killed the character
To be alive
I broke free from your world
You broke mine.

One calls it grow up
I call it survive
Between the lines
You put me inside:
Being perfect to show off
Being never enough to approve
So once again, in pages,
I am hiding
From you. From my own language.

I know you gave it your best
You weren’t born into being my dad.
I just have to speak
As now I can use my voice
I just want to be heard and understood.
Even though never by you.

“What’s wrong with you”
“Why didn’t you try harder”
“Don’t be so annoying, it doesn’t matter”

Sabotaging translated to encouragement
Demotivating interpreted as self-effacement.
All disrespectful expressions
Should be read nicely by me
Between the lines, under teary eyes
We were speaking the same language
Your well-meaning got lost in translation.

That’s how I should love you: unconditionally
As you do too:
A roof over my head, food on the table
Despite my misbehaviors:
Your parenting failure.

* * *

Sometimes I do miss it, those days
When you’d play with me a little
Until you wouldn’t anymore;
When you’d pick me up
The moment you opened the door
Until you just let me down
Then, and evermore;
When I still called you father
Genuinely as a name
Not a daydream
Out of my lifemare.