Hate me Today Love me Tomorrow

An hour has passed since breakfast. Me and Peace are in my room.


Although it’s sunny outside I leave my curtains closed. I like the way the sunshine passes through my blue curtains and gives the room a slight blue glow.

Peace sits at the small desk where my laptop is; she’s listening to music at high-volume through headphones.

I’m reading a book I picked from the small shelf on my wall. “Things Fall Apart”.
I’ve had this book for a long time now; this is the second time of me reading it. The first time I read it, it was just out of interest. I didn’t focus too much about the issues raised in the book. As time went on I began to focus on them more. I related myself to the son of the main character; he also had an over-bearing father.

OK, maybe my father isn’t as bad as the father in the book, but they both have a rift between them.

I begin thinking of what things will be like years from now between me and my father. I doubt they would be anything good.

I try hard not to think about the argument at breakfast. I feel a bit bad. Now everyone in the household is in a bad mood.

I close my book and ponder whether I should go and talk to my dad. Half of me says I shouldn’t bother; half of me says I should.

I hear heavy footsteps come up the stairs. It’s my father. I recognise the sound of his steps. Peace turns to the door curiously. Though she can’t hear anything with the headphones; it’s as if she can feel him coming.

My father enters my room (without knocking) and looks at me then Peace. Peace gets up and leaves. My father sits on the chair at my desk and looks directly at me. He is dressed smartly in a pure white shirt and a deep-red tie. He probably has a morning meeting.

He looks on at me. If I was a teenager I would be scared no doubt. But I’m grown now; the feeling now is more like a feeling of cautiousness.

“Mikel?” he calls me.

“Dad?” I reply.

“Ok. Your mother suggested I come and talk to you.

I pause to think for a moment. This seems too easy. My father rarely listens to what I have to say; and rarely does he ever approach me to speak. I remain silent.

“Why are you silent? I’m giving you the chance to speak.” His voice is calm yet authoritative. Even as now I can have my say, it seems like he’s the one who orchestrated it. The control he’s given me is under his control…if that makes sense.

I break my silence.

“Why can’t you just let me be?...since I can remember you have always controlled every choice I’ve made. Why do…” my father cuts me off.

“Because I’m scared.” He says weakly. He looks away from me. This is now scary. My father never shows signs of weakness.
“I’m scared that if you don’t become a success tomorrow, it will mean I have failed as a father; and everything I’ve worked to provide for you would have been for nothing. I may seem controlling, I may seem pushy; even to a point where it angers you; but you must see why I’m doing it. It’s all for your own good. You may hate me today but you’ll love me tomorrow” He stops speaking.

He comes and sits next to me. “Son” He continues “…my actions towards you are not done on purpose. They are done because if I let you slip just once, I’ll regret it 100times” he then hugs me.

Once again all that I wanted to say just evaporated from my mind. The only difference now is I’m not upset about it.

“It seems you have a lot you want to say. When your anger towards me has subsided, please come and talk to me…your mouth is silent but your face says many things”

My father has a habit of talking in metaphors; but only when he is serious.

I look at his face as he gets up. I don’t see any seriousness. His face seems almost apologetic; it scares me a bit. For the first time in years my father is showing signs of emotion.

“Now I have to go and quickly see Peace before I go out…Please son, don’t hate me for loving you”

 He leaves closing the door behind him. Finally my mouth works.

“I don’t hate you, dad.” I say quietly. I doubt he heard me.