A daughter, who’s been, estranged from her father too long, and, it’d finally dawned on her, that her father, loved her so, but it was, too late, he’d, passed away, translated…
My mother called, told me, that the newest station in Hualien started up, my mind however, shifted, to that barely noticeable back station.
The memories I’d had with my family of origin weren’t any good, and I’d, always, wanted to run away. Every time as I was headed to the station, I’d walked, faster and faster, as if, I can’t, seem to, wait to, get away.
In my second year of high school, I’d finally had the opportunities to, leave home to Lugang for a four day three nights’ seminar, my father worried about my safety, rode along with me all the way from Hualien, I’d felt upset by him, thought, my problem is NOT achieving my own independence! I’d, intentionally, not told my father about the time when my seminar ended, it was the era where there wasn’t any, cell phone available yet, but what was weird was, as the pick up bus from the seminar arrived in the train station in Changwha, my father appeared before me, in a moment’s time, and I was, too displeased by this (because I wanted to keep on riding on the busses with the boy I’d met in the seminars, to carry on in my conversations with him).
After high school, I got my wish, of headed up north, then, I’d, stayed in Taipei to work. People always say, that those who’d drifted far from home will miss it, but I don’t. Every time I was, due back home again, I’d, fight with the thought inside my mind, but as my father knew I was arriving, he’d, always dressed up in his usual bluish gray jacket, khaki pants, faux leather sandals, a yellow safety helmet, with a cigarette in his mouth, waiting.
And every time I was headed back up north again, if the time permitted, he’d always taken me to the station, even if it was just a short, five-minute walk from home to the stations. And, when he couldn’t give me a lift, he’d told me, “I can’t get away right now, I can’t take you to the station”. His tone of voice carried that scent of apology, I can hear it, but I’d always replied back to him, coldly, “it’s fine, I can go to the station on my own”. Later, I’d chosen to live in Taipei. He couldn’t see me home again, and so, he’d, visited Taipei a lot, but I’d still, made excuses, to dodge him, to run away from that awkwardness between father and daughter, and the discomfort I’d felt with him around.
illustration from the papers online
After a meal from ten years ago, my father, he never, woke up again. As I was told, on that night, all the trains from Taipei to Hualien had already, left, I didn’t know how I’d, managed to ride the greyhound, then, transferred onto the trains that night. All the way, I couldn’t tell what I was feeling exactly, I’d felt, extremely calmed and rational, until as I’d, arrived at the back station in Hualien, and not seen my father, and that was, when I’d, melted down finally, and on that night with the chilling drizzle and the cold winds, we were, separated, by the worlds.
After my father died, a lot had happened, I’d often run between Taipei and Hualien a lot—didn’t matter if I was, willing. And, every time I’d ridden the escalators, approached the exits, there were, so many thoughts, running, through my mind. But, unfortunately, there’s, not that familiar figure behind the gates of the entrances anymore, there wasn’t, that regretless, that longing figure, that couldn’t wait, to see me home again.
I’d feared seeing that barricade so.
It’s like that between parents and children, as we grew, the parents watched as you get farther from them; and one day finally, it’d be you, watching them, leave. Then, you are, separated, forever.
The regrets I’d carried, was just that whilst my father was alive, we couldn’t, share a conversation, and as he’d passed so suddenly, I didn’t get, to say my final goodbye to him either. And so, after he’d gone, whenever I was reminded of him, I can, only, sigh on.
The trains still came and went in the station in Hualien, it didn’t stop or slow down because of something that’s happened to us, nor will there ever be again, a train, that takes me home, when I can, see my father again.
There’s, that new station built up at the Hualien Station now, and yet, my memories, stayed, behind those iron fences, that’s, easily, missed out by other people.
And so, this, is the regrets, of not being there when her father died, and, even though we’re not quite certain what happened between this father-daughter pair, there’s, that strong scent of estrangement, and you can see the father, trying so very hard, to reach out to the daughter who was, too unreceptive of him, and in the end, she had, nothing but regrets, because her father had, died.
This is a lesson, that we can all, take from: make peace with those you love, so you won’t have any regrets one day in the future when your family members are gone for good!
