“Let’s go out somewhere.” he’d say sometimes, usually on Sundays.
“Where?” I’d say back, too concerned with missing an episode of All That to care that my father wanted to take me somewhere.
“Let’s go.” he’d keep saying in a question-like tone but I always knew I had no choice.
I’d take a few angry, deep breaths. Roll my eyes so hard that they’d hurt for the next hour. “WHYYYYYYYY MUST THIS MAN TORTURE ME!!!?” I’d think inside my head as I got dressed looking forward to another boring night. Why couldn’t my brother go instead? Or at least join us so I could have someone to talk to?
“Where are we goooooing?” I’d ask, desperately, even though I always sort of knew.
“Out” is all he’d say and it drove me mad.
My poor father. Worked every day and almost every hour to give us an okay life. Worked until he had no hair and eventually no body fat. My poor father had to beg me to spend time with him, sometimes. I was an awful, angry teenage human.
My poor father didn’t know where to take me, I’m guessing, because we’d always end up at a casino or we’d take walks along the beach. The thing about these outings was that I always dreaded them but when I was actually in the moment I didn’t mind one bit. The nights usually ended with the both of us feeling rather happy and fulfilled. I knew my dad cherished those moments more than I could understand at the time and with time I realized how important it was for me to be easier on him.
Now I sit and think of those times when I’d be dragged to the casino, the same one I sat at alone tonight because I had a good feeling. And the good feeling won me $25 bucks and so I thought of my father. I thought of his big smile and the way he says “Alriiiight!” when cheering someone on.
I remember impatiently waiting for him to finish gambling because I hated it. I was so jealous of how easy it was for him to give away his money once in a while and that it was so hard for me to get any out of him ever.
And all I can think of right now is how much I wish I could get him on a plane, fly him to me and spend the day with him doing all of the things I used to hate.
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I'm twenty five.
Peruvian/Kurdish.
Currently in Florida.
Fashion/Style blog
Photography blog
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I miss eating on the floor and using my hands to scoop rice and vegetables into my pita bread. I miss drinking tea at least twice an hour. I miss the call to prayer even though I never participated. I miss my grandma asking me if I’m hungry every thirty seconds. I miss sleeping on the floor. I miss my hard headed father and my giggly cousins. I miss walking to the bazaar at midnight to get baklava and walnuts for a midnight snack. I miss being surrounded by at least twenty loving souls at all times. I miss the cats that roam around the streets scared to death that the neighborhood kids will throw rocks at them. I miss the sound of goats being slaughtered outside my window.
I do not miss shitting into a hole in the ground.
Currently missing the hell out of Kurdistan. Even the bad less awesome parts like there not being any toilets or eating the same food every day or getting dizzy in the car or my dad treating me like a 12 year old. I miss my cousins a lot.
