From the time I was a very young child until I was 19.
I’m 20 now.
Since I was a baby and didn’t understand anything, up until I was 19, I loved my father deeply. I didn’t care about what he did in the past, even though there were serious problems between him and my mother, including physical violence. I witnessed many situations that should have made me, as a child, pull away from him — but I didn’t. I kept loving him.
I truly saw him as the best person, despite everything.
I always tried to show him love and importance. I would tell him “anything you want” and “I’m here for you.” If he sent me messages about fathers, I would reply with loving words, trying to make him feel valued and loved. But none of it really mattered.
I did everything for him. I woke up early while everyone else was asleep, made his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I cleaned, washed his clothes, ironed them.
Some people might say these are normal things — but they’re only “normal” when everyone does them. In our house, no one served my father except me.
I did all of this purely out of love. I never got money, never expected anything in return.
When he fought with my mother, I tried to calm things down, even though I knew deep down that he was wrong. I just didn’t want to believe it.
I kept loving him.
I was the only one who would sit with him, drink coffee with him. When he entered a room, everyone else would leave and go to their rooms — but I stayed.
The only times he showed me love were when I achieved something big at school. If I didn’t, he would get angry, yell, or completely ignore me.
Once, he was angry at my brother. I kissed his head, and he gave me a cold, judging look and went back to his phone.
I used to kiss his head and his hands.
Whenever guests came, I cleaned the entire guest area, washed the yard, burned incense, cleaned the bathrooms, and prepared coffee and tea — while my brothers were sleeping and didn’t help at all.
One memory that still hurts: when I was a child, I was crying in the car while he was angry. He yelled at me, dropped me off at home alone, and left. Everyone else was at work.
Another time, he was fighting with my mother. I stood in between them, and he threw a cup that broke on my face.
Once, my aunt insulted him in front of people. I defended him fiercely, cursed her, and told her not to talk about my father and that he was better than her. Deep down, I knew she was right — but I was lying to myself because I loved him.
I used to yell at my younger sisters if they didn’t obey him. They would ask me, “Why does he act like this?” and I would say, “He’s under pressure.”
But now, everything has changed.
My perspective and my behavior toward him completely changed. I noticed that I started hating his presence. I don’t want to sit with him anymore or drink coffee with him. I make two coffees — one for him and one for myself. When he enters a place, I leave it.
I’ve become distant, and he noticed. He started saying, “I’m your father,” meaning: Why are you treating me this way?
I swear I never did this on purpose.
It just happened.
I stopped obeying him.
I stopped doing things with love.
Everything I do now feels forced — just to keep the peace or stop him from calling my name.
I don’t even want to see him anymore.
Now I do things only out of duty, not love.
And it makes me sad.