A letter to the person who’ve hurt me the most
Dear Dad,
It’s your birthday today, and it’s been a long time since I celebrated it with you. I don’t have the courage to send this letter because deep down I think you’re still the same person and wouldn’t react well. I remember when I was a kid, I stopped writing you birthday letters after you tore up the card I made for you one year. You laughed and told me to spend my time studying instead. That’s okay. I just need to release what’s built up inside me, so here goes…
A part of me knows you love me, but another part struggles to believe it. I recognize our relationship wasn’t entirely bad, yet I can’t seem to remember the good moments. Whenever I try to recall when you were truly a father to me, it’s as if the memories escape me. Perhaps I’ve repressed the good moments, overshadowed by the weight of the bad ones.
When I was 7, you made me watch you punish my older sister. That memory still haunts me. I feared if I ever fell short of your expectations, you’d put me through the same pain all because she didn’t get straight A’s. Little did I know this foreshadowed the start of my nightmare.
When I was 8, you caught me lying about my tuition homework. You stormed into my room, said I didn’t deserve to look pretty, and cut my hair off with scissors. That was the first time I experienced your frightening side myself. From then on, I believed I had no right to feel beautiful if I failed your standards.
When I was 9, my teacher called you about an incomplete assignment. I came home shivering in fear, knowing you’d follow through on every threat. I prayed desperately in the altar room, hoping you’d show mercy to a little girl. Within minutes of arriving home, you took out the cane, whipped me in anger, dragged me toward the stairs, and tried pushing me down. I ran out of the house covered in bruises, fearing for my life. I vividly remember the humiliation as neighbors drove past in shock.
When I was 10, you caught me opening the safe. Instead of explaining its seriousness, you slapped and strangled me, then beat me with the cane. I held back tears, terrified they’d trigger more punishment.
When I was 11, we were eating lunch together. You criticized how I looked and ate, threatening to throw a glass in my face. Why did you resent me so much? I was just a child, yet your words crushed every bit of confidence I had left.
When I was 12, my brother was born. You forbade me from interacting with him during my PSLE year. I remember watching through the window as the family enjoyed the pool, while I felt isolated and deeply outcasted. That year, I felt so badly about myself that I penned my first suicide note. Why were you so cruel?
When I was 13, you caught me texting boys on Instagram. You retrieved deleted messages, printed them, and showed them to our family, humiliating me deeply. You made me feel incapable of finding love, afraid you’d sabotage any happiness I sought. Even now, as an adult, relationships feel wrong, and I close myself off to the world.
When I was 14, you came home drunk. My younger sister simply asked you to quiet down, and you reacted violently, attacking our family. The police had to be called because you lost control. The next day, you blamed Mom for our “bad behavior,” initiating divorce without acknowledging your own mistakes. Your narcissism blinded you from seeing your faults.
When I was 18, I got caught sneaking out. Waking up to panicked calls, my lifelong fear of you paralyzed me. Until then, I’d lived carefully, hiding everything from you but now I was exposed. Terrified, I lied about where I was. At home, seeing you waiting, cigarette in hand, all the trauma resurfaced. Finally, something snapped. I screamed back at you, releasing years of pent up hurt. After that night, we never spoke again.
Dad, some people might think this isn’t a big deal. Perhaps even you wouldn’t understand how deeply your words and actions impacted me, but they affected me profoundly. You were supposed to be my protector, but because I grew up enduring your abuse, I no longer believe I deserve to be loved. You’ve shaped my struggles with trust, self worth, and relationships in ways I’m only beginning to fully understand.
I wish you’d been different. I wish I’d felt safe, loved, and proud around you. I wish you’d disciplined me with care instead of violence. Yet, despite the pain you’ve caused, you’ve unintentionally taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of kindness. Because of you, I’ve discovered who I am and who I never want to be. I strive to succeed, partly to prove you wrong, but mostly to prove to myself that I’m worthy of the love and happiness you denied me. Perhaps one day, I’ll heal enough to forgive you completely, but until then, my focus is on becoming the person I needed but never had.
Love, Fei