The yellow dim light surrounding the door became wider and brighter. I could recognize the weaving shape of my father, poking his head into my room. After confirming I was back home and asleep, he must have smiled, satisfied and relieved, then walked staggering to his bed.
This happened every night when I was a child. Dad would come to my room to see if I was back safe and sound and asleep. Sometimes he had to drink a lot at his business dinners and forgot everything except coming to my room to see me. There was always a strong and tall shape guarding my door in my dreams.
My father has always been my hero, who gave all he could to build a castle for his princess. He sent me to the best school in our community and provided me a great growing environment. He even spent a lot of money to rent a house near my high school to make it easier for me to study there. Every day I could walk to school within five minutes, which was a huge source of envy to my classmates. And it contributed to my grades indirectly, which I also appreciated a lot.
Every weekend was the most exciting part of my childhood when I was young. Because my parents were both busy during work days, my father would try his best to spare a day or more to be with me on weekends. His employees could never imagine their serious boss wearing an apron in the kitchen cooking carefully and enjoyably. If time allowed, he loved to cook for his beloved daughter. He enjoyed my delighted face when I tasted it. Although it was just simple food, I miss it a lot now.
His love was genuine and direct. And I loved him back fully.
I tried my best on studies so he would be happy and proud of me. I did every thing he liked.
However, his love sometimes made me feel guilty and afraid. Sometimes it seemed I was the whole world to him, and that kind of love was so heavy to a little girl. I still remember when I was badly ill in my third grade of high school, he worried about me so much. I had a high fever for one week and lost my appetite. His face was like the heavy dark sky before rain. He wouldn't eat unless I ate something.
I know he cared about me too much. Actually I appreciated it a lot, but I was also heart-broken to hurt him.
I had to do things I didn't like at all. His love is so controlling that it leaves no space for me.
He decided my major, chose what I should wear, taught me how to behave well in front of others. And although most of time he was right because he was really wise and experienced, it still made me feel bad because I lost the chance to form my own ideas and make my own decisions. I just became what he wanted me to become. And although I seemed fine outside, there was always freedom yelling inside me.
I was trapped in the dilemma.
One part of me wants to be independent, wants to live my own life. The other part loves my father no less than he loves me and doesn't want to hurt him. As I grow up and gradually have my own thoughts, the dilemma becomes harder and harder. It's hurting to do things I don't like, but it's also hurting to let my father down. It's always hard to find a balance between responsibility and freedom.
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