In this post, I speak of an emotional connection I have never been able to enjoy, for some reason I can never quite articulate. Sentiments described in this post are primarily derived from the movie – ROBOTS, in which I have come to realise the importance of fatherly love in the upbringing of a child, especially a boy, and the role it plays in bringing out either the angel or devil in the child.

Like most kids, I spent my premature years clinging on to the comparatively less temperamental mother, but as sense kicked its way through innocence, turned to my dad for direction and inspiration. Till date, as much as I hate to admit it, I have yet to find a way to diminish the respect I have for my old man, and this is probably the main trigger for my pursuits and my falls, as much as I would like to personally take responsibility for them.

As a role model, my dad could only be clocking way above the regular folk. He excels in languages, culinary skills for various ethnicities, DIY fixtures, computers, music, travelling and foreign knowledge, commercial management skills, and is always well informed of happenings around the entire world. Even with my current self I trail miserably in his shadows, clumsily trying to mimic his multi-talenting feats.

As a dad, however, he is probably the worst, or if he has yet to earn himself that label, he is at least an enigma, as my friends would describe. I might not have lead an overtly glorious life, neither had I the privilege of a smooth sailing financial accumulation. Nevertheless, my humble achievements should be at least a nanometre above the normal 22 year olds.

As a kid, I was probably a lot easier to raise than the rest. School fees were never a major problem, even though I may not be the cream of the crop, since half the time I was on scholarships, and the other half bursaries or similar. My parents never had to pay for a single luxury item I own, since I had to work part-time since 14 to accumulate my own savings. I may not be the moonlighting student-celebrity who takes home a million per annum, but at least I made my first 5-figure at 14. I may not have enrolled in multiple CCAs, but at least I find passable mastery in commercial designing, arts, literature, draftsmanship, music writing and adventure sports.

So… Why does my dad curse me to failure in every pursuit? Nothing I do ever seem to satisfy him. Sometimes I think to myself, that perhaps what my dad truly wants to see is my downfall. Maybe he can’t bear the sight of me soaring to greater heights. Oh my, this sounds so ridiculous!

I have endeavoured, and perhaps even internalised the desire to pursue knowledge in every single possible aspect of life, not just to be a jack of all traits, but a master of all. Consciously or sub-consciously, I am chasing the shadow of the man who explicitly despises my very existence.

Maybe, just maybe, I should, if I shall ever one day achieve enough, dedicate whatever that remains of me to the execution of this single, personal vendetta. O how I long to surpass this man and turn back to crush him!

But then again, if he were to be my role model, and also the one who fervently desires my failure… maybe I have to disregard his existence first, before even moving on.