My Last Name Is Yours

Slowly realizing that I am a part of this family, they are a part of me. Demanding me to tell you the truth as if it was you, who made the sun, the moon, the planets and the stars too? When we both know you’ve only seen them up close with your paper view. To my friends in UK, who don’t know that he calls him self my parent, without being present or even trying to parent me? He doesn’t exist in my so call parenthood of a home; he was never my teacher or preacher. My home was made safe by my mother’s love. My family tree was seeded my by grandmothers words of wisdom. His family has contributed with something too – it’s call nightmares and a bad excuse. They don’t know where I’ve been or where I’m headed to. All they know is that my mum called my dad a fool. To much hate was around me when I was born. I get nostalgic when I think about how tragic things feel, when I think of the way she looked at me, when she saw how I walked, how I talked and how I started eating my lips. My sister and I look just like you, it didn’t sit well with me, never suited my picture of, how our family was going to be. There’s no room for a dad who only exist by name and fame – status ain’t for fools or tools. Don’t come here when your whole house is on fire, you’re not welcome in my home. My sister’s might let you in, but I won’t. I don’t even know you. My brother once said that, he would know the sound of your voice just by hearing two single words. I looked at him in gaze and asked him how he knew. He laughed and answered me with eyes full of love: “He used to yell at me, so much that I at the end just closed my eyes. His words were so sharp that they now are written on my skin, I’m made by him and he made sure I knew that I was his son. That was his way of showing his love by controlling us children.” I smiled and said: “Thank God I was one a year old, when he let us move away from him.” He smiled back saying: “I think you’d understand him better then all of us. He loved you more then you can imagine.” I imagine, he is a loving father for some children that he has healing powers, and a forgiving soul. I know I’ll always think about him, I’ll miss him forever and forever he’ll be in my blood. Bloodless I’ll still be his daughter. Thinking won’t help me out of this misery, he has created for me. Strong I have become because of all the love my mum has cooked for me, for all the advice she has sung for me, for all the monster’s my sister’s have fought away from my nightmares and made them into my lovely dreams. Dreams that I have dreamt for days and laughed about, daydreaming got me through it all.

I used to stay in my room not wanting to go out and play with the other children. I used to paint, write and create silly places in my mind. Rewind the time and travel to a different time. All the movies in the world where in my room giving to me by my siblings, they knew that I would learn from them, and they could talk to me about it. Our way of communicating through movies, plays and music, it what introduced to me in Arabic the first time! My family was laughing, singing songs and remembering old memories, my childhood was good when they were near me, no fears and no bad times. Only good vibes existed before you started calling us again, the craziness came back. Mama started getting mad and said. You had moved on and married a new woman. Before I knew it I wasn’t the youngest anymore, others came after and suddenly they were three – two boys and one girl. Now it was time to let it go, you weren’t mine no more – no more daddy this daddy that! You changed and it changed all for good. I lost you even before I met you. When we finally met the sadness took over and everything I ever feared came true. You yelled at me the first time we ate together, mad at me while saying: “Why you so skinny, no skinny child will ever be mine, so eat up!” That made me so mad, I started talking about you in Danish that made things even worse, the distance got bigger between us. I distanced my self from you.

My brother-in-law was the only man I trusted and I didn’t trust you.  You weren’t trust worthy never was never will be. I was 7 and you never asked me, what I wanted to be, when I grew up. The last time I saw you was with my brother Aziz and mother. They both were your two biggest issues.  I was none existing and I loved it. Like flies on the wall I stayed out of sight. It suited me just right, I was surprised of how I loved not being seen. It made be see a whole other world, no questions were asked. Mum was not panicking I was so happy, and she still loved me. I had no care, I was trapped in my own universe and Saudi Arabia was my forest. All the good went bad too quickly; he ended it by trying to get me on his side. I didn’t like his explanation, and mum thought I would go against her. I only said: “Don’t make me choose between the two of you, because you will loose. I don’t know, who you are, she is my mother, the one that always was there.” She knew from then that I really cared about her, and her nature of taking care of me came back. I was her baby girl and she was my love and my heart belonged to her! He got jealous and I left him without saying goodbye. I’ll never forgive him for not noticing the wrongness in Aziz’s eyes and his stinking breath. His sorry excuses and the bigness that was turning into heaviness, he was heavily obese and a junkie. The biggest fool in our family and the funniest man I’ve ever met, my teddy bear and sweetest brother – how I love him. He taught me how to always remember my feeling; they show who you are and what you want in life. I learned, I had wings and words that could be used by others. So I asked him how I could control them, and use them for my own sake. He said: “You are special because we have the same mother and father – we are glued to the hip like this”. He laughed and danced the sorrows away with me, I still have the picture. We drew it too. He liked to paint his joyful moments and made me do the same. I knew he was my true friend, I wished my dad could be something special to me or my children. I will never know what mean to him or if I’d ever belong to him.

I never learned his full name, or know what my identity means to him. He’ll never be more then the man, who gave me my surname. I don’t want more from him – bye dad, don’t come back! My last name will never be yours or mine. It belongs in the past! No doubt in my heart where I belong, there’s still nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love – Daddy I will always love you – my past, my childhood is always yours to have.

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