grey matters

It has taken me three days to be able to find the courage to sit down and write the thoughts marinating in my head. And even as I sit and write what has happened three days ago I don't know where to begin, how to continue, and when to end this entry. I am, like the first ten seconds of discovering it, speechless and uncertain how to proceed.

Interestingly, this is not the first time I’ve brought it up. Eleven months ago I wrote an entry about my half-brother (see i can’t shake you off my memories). That entry ended with me facing a wall. When I asked what the name of my half-brother is and shared to him my intention of looking for him and determining if there is any thing I can or we can do as a family to help him, the Colonel non-commitantly replied that I should pray for it and that he didn't know my half-brother’s name.

Fast forward to the early hours of February 11, 2009 while me and B were chatting online I decided to do some Google search and what I found shook me to the core. In a popular social networking forum a young man is looking for my father claiming to be his son. Not only does he knows my father’s middle name, the young man’s middle name is after my grandfather. He writes of his longing to meet my father, of being abandoned for 21 years now, of his desire to spend even just a little time with him.

Everything about what I wrote last March suddenly came crashing back, even the dreams I’ve been having prior to writing something about him, the day my father revealed he existed and my constant longing to see him and find him and know him. I wanted to send him a message but my deep sense of loyalty to my family kept me from clicking his name. Even though I was thrilled to finally know his name and see a picture of him, I was afraid that his existence would regurgitate my mom’s old ill feelings towards my father and would his coming to our life would hurt our family again.

I know though that my dilemma was nothing compared to my father’s he read my text messages to him. I know my doubt is nothing compared to his uncertainty how to proceed and tell my mother about him again. He wanted me to tell my mother about this and befriend the guy. I remember frowning as I read his message once and read it again just to make sure I am not misunderstanding his instructions. Why will I be the one to tell my mother, why should I initiate getting to know the boy when he clearly stated he wanted to meet my father. Not me. Not my mother. I talked to my mother about it and she told me that the first move should come from my father because that young man is his son. Right. Seriously.

But it was my wonder and curiosity that made me keep on thinking about him. It was my haunting dreams of him that urged me to ask about him. And it was eventually the answers to my prayers that revealed him to me. Since I wanted to find him, is it not in my place to communicate to him? I don’t know. I wish life was black and white, yes or no, true or false. Because at this very moment, I think sitting here deliberating and waiting for my father’s first move is wasting precious time that could have been used already to build memories that can make up for the lost time they should have had.

Now back to facing the wall.