Good Intentions, Deep Wounds.

My Dear Self,

You were lying on your bed, listening to a lecture on the role of fathers. And even now, you love yours. You pray for him — you always have.

Your father was a good man. He meant well for you. He wanted you to be perfect, so he chose to be strict, chose to be harsh. It was a tough upbringing, my dear self. But hold this truth close: his intentions were never bad.

I know how deeply wounded the inner you still is.

I know what it felt like to be scolded for placing fifth in your class, to hear yourself compared to another student. You cried that day — alone, where no one could see it.

Do you remember never being validated, never being appreciated? Do you remember helping him in his shop, refusing to sell cigarettes because it went against something in you, and being humiliated for it .,scolded in front of everyone?

Do you remember waking up on a school morning, asking for a hundred rupees for an extracurricular activity, and being turned away?

Can you remember him always saying he had no money for your Awurudu clothes, always sharing his own grievances with you — until a mindset took root in you, quietly, that you should not ask your father for anything?

My dear self, do you remember how much you loved studying — and how, when you asked him for tuition fees, he dragged his feet, and the tears came anyway? You turned your back before anyone could see them and walked away.

Do you remember earning your own money for your A/Levels?

Look at how far you have come despite all of it.

The cut runs deep, my dear self. Deeper than you have let yourself admit most days. That is okay. It is okay to still feel it. And it is okay to take your time healing — there is no clock on this, no deadline by which the wound must close.

Care for your father. Love him, my dear self. Whatever wrongs were done, he never intended to wrong you.