Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

You might remember me but then again you may not so I thought I'd re-introduce myself again. My name is Audrey Hardwood and I'm your daughter. I was born on the 3rd of March, 2001 in the Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital. My mum's name is Nina Mueller; you were married for ten years but none of them were blissful. I have long auburn curls like her which often tickles my face when I don't tie it back. I always were concealer to hide the black lines under my pale blue eyes. I'm 5'4" and my shoe size is an eight in women's and I own a pair of socks in every colour of the rainbow. My favourite subject is biology as I want to study to be a vet in my tertiary studies, but I also like to draw. I like the way the pencil sinks in the page and I like the marks that it leaves. When I'm not studying, I like to drink lots of coffee and drown in a tale from a far off land where both the prince and princess save themselves. I like stories that have places that aren't black and white, but are grey and brown.

Even though you were never here and when you were here, you were far away, I miss you. When you walked out of the front door for the first time, I remember your stone cold face whilst tears were swimming down my face. I remember you driving down the street whilst I was sprinting behind you, begging, yelling for you to come back. Begging for a father. My Mum and I would beg together whilst we lay side by side, both of us afraid to sleep alone. You thought we were weak, but you were wrong. We were the strong ones and you were the weak. Mum locked the door behind us and opened a new one, with a new partner by her side who adores her and bore her another child. But I can't seem to put the key in my lock.

In my childhood, I was a puppet and you were my apathetic puppeteer; always pulling my strings too tight. You always wrapped me around your finger and I never knew how to let go. I was doll and you were my creator. My eyes were yours. My ears were yours. My tongue was yours. My body was yours. Yet still I look for you in stranger's eyes. I tell myself that there's no point looking for something; for someone that doesn't exist but I keep searching. I look for you even though I don't want you to come back. I look for you because I don't want you to come back so badly that I want you to come back.

The other day I found an old photo of you and Mum on your wedding day. You both looked so happy, so youthful, so full of joy. Mum in her beautiful elegant white wedding dress and you in your black tuxedo and polished leather shoes. What happened? Was it my fault? Did you split because of me? Were you not ready for a child? I don't think you were. Or maybe you thought you were once. Did you ever love me? A part of me thinks you did, in your own special way. It just got lost in translation, as so many other words did too. Words like "how are you," "I love you," or "I'm proud of you." Words that I yearned to escape from your lips but always stayed in hiding.

I haven't written my address as I don't know whether I want you to reply or not. Maybe I want both. Maybe I just want you to hear me speak, to read my words. Maybe I just want you to be proud of your daughter. Or maybe I want you to remember me. Yes. I want to remember what it was like to have a father; what it was like to live before I was controlled by both your absence and presence.