In need of the father I'd once had

2008-05-30T09:01:40+02:00

I'm tired…so very tired.

For a long time I've thought that my dad loved my sister far more than he did me. It's not as if he's ever proven otherwise. It's actually not fair. I can hear the differences in how he talks to us. When he talks to my sister, he's so animated and happy (etc) and when he then turns his attention on me, the spark is gone. He'll look as if he's lost all interest in me and would rather turn his back on me to talk to his dearly, beloved youngest.
It's not as if I suddenly want to be treated like a thirteen year old, I'd just appreciate it if he could spare me a second thought... I'm not demanding a sudden change of life and lifestyle; I'd just like my father to see me as a daughter that he enjoyed seeing and not as the child that went horribly wrong.

It doesn't help that my sister's two persons and that she almost kills herself to please my father. When at my mother's house, she's independent, has a sense of humour, and enjoys having a European view to life. It's how we were raised. However, at the sight of my father, she turns into an Afrikaans little popsie. She's suddenly discarded who she's always been for someone who'd only buy clothing if her father thought it was alright... And I seem to be stuck in the middle of it all because I don't change. I'm who I've always been. Corinne. Just plain old me who has an opinion and doesn't believe that Christianity should be forced down people's throats.

Not only am I the mutant gene, I’ve also acquired the job of household slave. Poor Danielle, she can’t cook and clean or make cups of tea at the tender age of thirteen. What shall we do? Oh I’ve got a smashing idea… I’ll be a lazy parent and force it all on the eldest.
I hate the idea that he’s undermining me as a woman… that all I mean to him is the next meal or the next clean window. Quite frankly, I’m bloody sick and tired of it. I’m not a replacement for my mother and refuse to be treated as such. I’m actually surprised that both of his marriages lasted as long as they did, because I really don’t see how any woman can enjoy being shut up and told to cook and clean; being told when to go to the movies and who she can visit.

Along with that, I don’t like having my religion dictated by my father. He forgets that he only became a Christian at the young age of thirty and doesn’t see how hard it can be to balance religion and life in general.
He keeps saying that he can’t understand how I can live with the view that I have of God. I could say the same for him actually- I’m sure God won’t give you a job if you just pray and have faith but do nothing at all. Someone once told me that God gives you the opportunity to get what you pray for and doesn’t just hand it to you on a silver tray…

Then there’s the little issue of him only wanting to work for himself. So much so that he’ll quit a job because there’s someone of a superior nature working with him.
And honestly he keeps making the same mistake over and over again (praying for a job, doing bugger all…) that I don’t want to hear how he lost his job again. I don’t care that his finances aren’t what he’d like them to be! Do you hear that?! I don’t think its right for children to go through life knowing that their father is struggling to get by… that he once had to beg for money because we were coming to visit him that weekend.
I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT ANYMORE!
And I’m actually too afraid to tell him that because he might lose his temper with me again.

Then there’s my music. My father was a singer before he did insurance. He had so much talent and he threw it all away. He now plays bass guitar for the church.
I inherited my father’s music genes. I play piano and sing and excel in class. I actually stopped telling him what I do in music because he doesn’t care. When I tell him, he looks angry… as if he blames me for using my talent where he never did… like he holds a grudge. I can’t believe that the one person, who understand my ambition and knows what it entails, would rather die than listen to me. When I sang to him once, he nodded his head and walked off. I know I’m not a bad singer because I’ve been in so many choirs and concerts… all of which, he’s never heard about.
He continues to judge me, more than any audience would. Is that right?
I’ve stopped inviting him to plays and musicals because after the show he says, “It was good,” with so little emotion that I dare not believe him.
My mother, whose passion is economics, is so supportive and so willing to come to shows and musicals. She and my grandmother recently came to one on mother’s day and the praise was tremendous. My mother, later, came to the grade’s music show and told me how we got the loudest applause. It may be a biased opinion, but my mother’s never one to lie to me if it was awful. She’s not exactly blunt, but she’ll say, “I think you need to work on it for a while longer,” or “Maybe next time.”
I’ve learnt now to trust her judgement and not get creative around my father.

On Monday he’d hunted me down at my mother’s place so that he could yell at me. He was so concerned about his own feelings during the fight that he took no notice of how I’d felt: discarded and blamed. He kept throwing things that I’d told him in confidentiality, back in my face.
We haven’t spoken since then. I don’t think I have enough energy to go back and apologise for something that wasn’t my fault. I’m not going to do it again. I’ve always been mature enough to apologise first, but this time I sit, knowing that it’s not going to happen again.

My mother says to give it time, that I’ll need him later in my life.

I don’t think I’m able to fix this one.

I wish I could travel back in time and visit the man I'd once thought could do no wrong. I wish I could have now, the father I once had and not this stranger.

I wish I had my father back.

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Art now, is it?

2008-04-02T19:59:32+02:00

I'd never liked art. Art was always the subject for stupid people or those who had nothing better to do in life. I'd seen it all before- people, family even, failed miserably in life because they'd chosen such an 'iffy' field to study. They had no money and struggled to get a meal on the table because their painting had sold for less than half that day. I'd heard that their parents had bought their art so that they could help clothe their kids. I'd seen it as a waste of time and precious money, of no value to anyone, and yet the artists continued to work, silently, in their studies.

It wasn't that their art wasn't any good, in fact, it was brilliant; but it wasn't enough to keep them going day by day. People had to get second jobs, like lecturing and giving art classes, for example. It was a poor paying job and it only made you rich and famous when you were dead. It was like a dead end job and it got them absolutely no where... it left them smack-bang in the middle of hell.

Wouldn't it be funny, then, that I'd recently dropped accounting to take art?
After all my prejudices and biased opinions, I'd given up a dream to become a charted accountant and pursued art.
Art was by no means my new path in life. I'd always wanted to be a musician, to either perform or to compose music (which in itself could be as poverty inducing as art is), but somehow, in the space of about a month, I'd changed my mind drastically enough to shock fellow classmates and family members. The funny thing though, is that I absolutely adore art now. I've seemed to unlock talent I never could've imagined I'd have and it’s by all means changed the perspective I've had of other artists. The fact that I'd met artists, who were normal, like any other individual, seemed to change my mind the most.

So am I prey to my previous assumptions and prejudices? Am I now the stupid person? It really makes the saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover” an appropriate lesson at the end of the day.

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Truth be told

In need of the father I'd once had

Art now, is it?