Dear Father,
I’m writing to your memory tonight because I miss you so much. I know that no words can bring you back, and no one can replace you. I will never, ever stop loving you.
Dear Father,
I’m writing to your memory tonight because I miss you so much. I know that no words can bring you back, and no one can replace you. I will never, ever stop loving you.
Mother told us how it was in 1969. She and Dad were raising three children in Jamaica. Dad sometimes traveled to the United States as a farm worker. We lived in a tenement yard. A lot of families lived in a big yard in different houses, but they all used the same toilet and kitchen.
To my beautiful Mom,
Where do I begin, Mom? I hope you can see me every day like you used to. Our deep and endless conversations . . . Will I be able to ever stop these thoughts? Who would ever have dreamed our times together would pass? The impermanence of life was disguised in your endless love. I cherish all those memories.
My father was 78 years old when I decided to emigrate abroad with my husband for the first time. My father wasn’t too old but not young either.
I remember my grandfather’s wrinkled, rough hands as he
held mine.
I remember his big hug protecting me.
I remember my feeling inside this hug, his face fresh with mint
from his aftershave.
I wish to see you one more time
Come and tell me how you are
Day by day and night by night
I hope to see you in every star
Never ever had I thought of making my own breakfast.
Never ever had I thought of cooking my own dinner.
Never ever had I thought of washing my own dishes.
Never ever had I thought of taking care of myself when I am ill.
When I was a child, my mother and I lived alone. She worked in a pharmacy, but the money was never enough because my father did not send us any money. We used what she earned to pay the rent, but there was not much left over.
Twenty-five years ago, my husband gave me a pair of beautiful round golden earrings. It was a gift for Valentine’s Day. Since that day, I have always worn my earrings. My husband would see me with the earrings every day and would tell me, “You liked my gift a lot.”
I was born in 1993 in Pakistan. I opened my eyes in a family that was rich with love. I had three sisters and one brother. I remember that there was enough food. Our hearts were big, and we gave to others; big and small colorful clothes were all over the house.