My eyes fixated, mystified by the void on the family tree under the label “Father.”

“The space frightens me,”My existence questioned.

Born from my Mother’s homey womb, then catapulted into a frigid, ignored and orphaned existence. Reminiscent of a stray, left to fend for itself.The burden of the word, “Father,” weighs heavily on my mind. My transition from blossom to bloom and ripen to grow, obsolete.

I’ve witnessed eager father’s carrying their young on their backs. From atop their father’s broad shoulders, The privileged children gazed below, upon the deserted bunch, with their heads high above the clouds. Snobbish boy’s securely draped in their future carried by their father’ surnames. As if, they had accumulated all of life’s wealth and security within their palms.

“Who am I?” I often mutter to myself.

“Where is my father?” I demand, anxiously. Heavy sighs and pain in Mother’s eyes, foretold a haunting question — which burdened her soul as much as it did mine. Once again, Ignorant of my existence. She refutes my request, leaving me puzzled, abandoned and orphaned. 

It is said, our first love is a seed planted from the fruits of love from our parents. If that relationship, bears stale or rotten produce, then imitating Snow White’s Apple, It will poison or kill the rest of our future encounters.

“Who is my father?”

Out of the need to belong somewhere, I cleverly forged a perfect image of “the man,” in my inventive mind.” My father’s an astronaut, a very wealthy businessman, he is never around, but he loves me,”I gushed to my already suspicious peers. These lies were comfort, even though they were falsehood, nothing more than a child’s imagination. 

Comfortable, I remain nestled in my bed of lies with the idea, of a perfect father laying beside me and reading me bedtime tales out of a Dr. Seuss book. Comforted by solace in my deception. My parched lips and hungry speech would, too, desperately crave the taste to utter the word “Father”.

I remain gawking in through the perfectly decorated windows, at the flawless lives, of all my peers. Left naked, alone, shamed and unnamed in the unsympathetic cold air. I observe how they lovingly time passes and picturesque family meals with their “present,” and loving fathers.

Bitter resentment had found a home, in my heart. Such a life I desired for myself. My childlike memories carved the joys, fragrance, and touch of a father. A child robbed of happiness, security and ultimately, his identity.” Father,” to me, is a daunting blank space, unknown territory.

A Father’s duty is to teach their sons, how to love and teach their daughters, how they should be loved. They demolish their dreams, block by block, to build the dreams of their children. Not every man is worthy of the title, “Father” but every staying man, is a trying father. As for me, my head remains in my dreams. 

Like a fallen leaf, blowing swiftly in the wind to his next destination, like a tree without roots, nowhere is home. Like a lone star, floating into a dark abyss, unsure of its final destination. No sense of belonging.

My eyes fixated, mystified by the void on the family tree under the label “Father.” 

“The space frightens me.” 

“My incomplete existence, my incomplete family tree.”… I mournfully, mutter to myself.