Sadness.

Once I hear his threatening coughs, I get a horrible feeling in my stomach. It's one of those days.

The Beatles' number 1 album is blasting aggravatingly in the tiny living room; his legs, sprawled out on the couch; his mouth wide open; his face, revealing a hint of red in his eyes. He clears his throat annoyingly every two or three minutes, accompanying it with a loud belch or a mutter of a curse word. It smells like human flesh soaked in alcohol. He looks pathetic, helpless, and stupid - but you feel more pity for him than disdain. You wonder how a grown man in his early 50s can act worse than a rebellious teenager. He is the epitome of failure, a stagnant person who seemed to have given up on life and on himself. 

There have been countless times in my life when I imagined a world without him. As a young child, I remember envisioning his absence; surprised that I felt a deep sense of comfort every time I erased him from my memory. I wondered how different my life would’ve turned out if he hadn’t been around, if, for some reason, I had been born without ever knowing him. I felt guilty, feeling the way I felt – I didn’t know whether his actions could validate my stance. I was conflicted. Many people have said that trials, tribulations, and bad experiences are integral in shaping a person’s character. I just didn’t understand why my trial, my tribulation and my bad experience had to come in the form of my father. I was heartbroken.

I close my eyes, and wait for the tears to fall.