Gone through two weeks of grief and pain, I finally have the mood to write something. I knew before I came to America that the past half year would completely change my life. But I never thought it would be in this way. Everything that I used to believe and treasure seems untrustworthy and fragile. I wish I could easily tell myself that people who love and care about you will eventually leave you because they think you’re strong enough to live by yourself. But I can’t. I believe in my father’s eyes I’m always a little girl who needs his love and protection and he will never want to leave me.
Everyone feels sorry for me. But actually I never feel sorry for myself. I just feel sorry for my dad. He was too young to leave. I’ve been thinking for the past few days. What was his dream? How did he plan his life in the future before his sudden death? What did he expect from his only child? I’ll never know. I can’t help imagining what the day was like when the accident happened. He didn’t get up until the noon because he stayed up too late to watch TV the other night. Then he decided to do laundry. After the clothes were dried, he thought maybe he should iron them, and he found out that there was no ironing table at home because he just moved in this new house not so long ago. He wanted to buy one right now since he was the kind of person that wants everything pops in his head to be done right away. So he went to the mall to get a table by bike. After leaving the mall, he didn’t go home because he wanted to visit his friend who leaves nearby. They chatted a little, and then he found it was time to go home. He bought a lottery on his way home as usual. But this time, he would never know whether he would win or not. Fifteen minutes after buying the lottery, he ran into the god damn car that would end everything. This crapped car driven by a drunk driver hit him and fled. And there came endless darkness and silence.
He was the kind of person that was good at hiding true feelings. He wasn’t thrilled like me when I finally got the chance to study abroad. But he googled everything about my school. He never told me he missed me. But he told mom that he’d like to receive a call from me. Mom used to say that I was dad’s lucky star. Then I guess he was so unlucky this time because his lucky star was so far away. I feel that I will be killed by those memories, since they are like knives cutting through my heart.
People tell me to forget and move on. But I don’t want to. I just want to stay right here, waiting for him to come back and never leave me.