And that’s what makes me miss and think about my dad. Parts of us that are intrinsic to us, despite where we end up, we will always be a product, in some way, of how we were raised. All that to say that there are parts of us that we can’t erase. That is just a lie that math teachers tell us so they can keep having jobs. I do math on a calculator because no one needs to learn how to do math anymore. He told me he did math in Spanish though. From what I remember he said it was 50/50. I remember once asking my dad if he dreamed in spanish. ![]() I thought then about how strange it would be to stay in Korea forever and raise Korean children so different from the home I was raised in, and always feel like my head was in two places. Being that both of my parents were immigrants, I never considered what it was like to live in and raise a family in a foreign land until I left to teach English in Korea for a year when I was twenty-two. My dad grew up in Cuba, a strange fact that I took for granted. That’s why he died, because he wouldn’t listen, and also because he was afraid to say he was scared which wasn’t his fault. We went there four days after he had a heart attack because my dad is, was, and always will be a stubborn ass who doesn’t listen to anyone. Now all I have of him is the random string of memories of him that my jumbled ADHD brain holds and surfaces, the feeling I get when I think of him (mostly remembering what it felt like to hug him and be hugged), and this tiny polaroid of us that is sitting on my desk. But also in that losing my dad feels so monumental that I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to describe it. ![]() ![]() Describing my dad’s death and how it makes me feel seems impossible, mostly in that how I feel is ever changing. My dad is dead, and because of it I feel like I have lost the anchor of my life.
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