I hated my father.

It was during my rebellion period, a frustrating period, that we quarreled over everything everyday, or would simply have a cold war. In my deep memory palace, there was one evening, a cold and unfeeling winter evening, besieged my home. My father and I sat separately on two sides of the bed, focused on the world beyond our smart phone screens. We talked a little, and it soon turned out to be a quarrel as usual. I disagreed with everything he said, and he won’t listen to mine. Words in the air agitated my rage until a point that I could only hear myself screaming. I gathered up my last pieces of reason, used up all my strength and courage, rushed out of the room with a huge “boom” and into the nightly streets.

The streets were brightly lit but lone. I looked around and stepped into McDonald’s right across the first street. The savory scent of the leftover fries and burgers woke me and dragged me out of my impulsive mind. The goosebumps under my pajama called me to realize the reality. My pockets were empty, so was my heart. I settled myself on a chair near the floor-to-ceiling windows, stared through the glasses as those lights on the other side of the street went down. “Mom should be home now from work. I’d call her to pick me up if I had my phone,” I murmured to myself. It was quiet. With no compassion, night grew darker and time moved slower than ever.

While I tried to make up my mind, I suddenly heard people outside fighting with each other, shouting out cursed words, drunken. The sound was ugly and harsh, and it transformed into the big hands of danger, slowly approaching me under this unfriendly curtain of night. I shivered. I wanted to go home, but with my whole self-pride, the only thing I did was sitting up straight with my nerves uptight.

Yet, at that moment, unexpectedly, mom appeared. She strode toward me angrily. Even before she said anything, I faked the words: “I don’t wanna go home!” She then cried furiously: “Do you not know how dangerous is this? Your father has been looking for you madly!” “Did he?” I muttered, avoiding her eyes. “It’s been an hour! He has been standing outside doing nothing but staring at you… refused to come in only because he was afraid of making you angry again.” I turned my face toward the window. “It’s cold out there,” her words softened.

That was something I never would know about him, by any chance. “How many other times has he done this? …protecting me in silence?” I couldn’t figure out. All of a sudden, my tears were burning and pouring as my strongest shield of dignity crushed and destroyed by my awakened softness. Regret and remorse were growing inside my body.

Mom walked me out of McDonald’s. Through the film of water in my eyes, I saw a standing figure, thin, yet large. Surprisingly, I didn’t see one piece of blame in his expression, instead, it was full of worrying. I rushed into his arms. Air became a screen blocking my words. In helplessness, I howled louder and louder. Under the brimless darkness, daddy’s eyes were as gentle as moonlight.

It was all me who once tore his love apart. The apologies had never turned out into words, but ever since then, I presented my most gentle self to my lovely dad, and all my capricious behaviors disappeared in time.