Many years ago, I saw my own biological father begging.

My parents underwent a nasty divorce when I was still inside mom's womb. It was nasty because my father abused my mother physically. He would come home drunk and beat her up. Sometimes, he never came home and spent his night at brothels. He fucked different women, and even slept with my mother’s friends. Ma never complained. He tried to force mom to abort me. He never wanted me. ‘Girl children are fuckin’ useless’, he lamented once.

My dad was rich, back then he owned a huge house, some properties and a successful business line. Also, he inherited large sum of wealth from my grandpa. He was bloody rich. He could afford anything. Girls threw themselves at my father for he has money. At least that’s what he said. He was a spendthrift, throwing money at prostitutes, gambling and expensive wine. He treated mom like his doormat. At one point, momma felt violated and left. Just like that.

She left the marriage and raised me alone. Dad never begged her to stay either… ‘good riddance’ was what he managed to say when she left. My grandparents were willing enough to take us back into their lives and help us now and then. We struggled, alot. Over the process, mom took up many jobs and shifted around till we finally settled in a quiet neighbourhood. Mom became a lecturer, and I was about to graduate from my high school.

It was quite far from the place we once called home. My high school was near our neighbourhood so I cycled to school daily. The path from my school back home was ten minutes of happiness for me.

I would pass this abandoned park with dented streetlight and stop there daily after school to look at the lake. The lake there has lotus and small fish, birds stopping by to rest and chill. A beautiful sight. One fine day,I saw a middle-aged man—probably in his early 40’s curled up near the edge of the pond fast asleep. He wore dirty clothes, a long beard partially covering his face, a filthy appearance…. My heart skipped at beat.

Yes. It was my father, who seems to be a homeless man now. Homeless and begging for mercy.

I looked closer. It can’t be. I scurried home early that day and pawed my mother’s marriage album. It made my heart skip yet another beat. I had thousand of questions running through my mind. What happened? What is he doing here? Why now?

The next day, I went to the park again. I trotted carefully calculating my footsteps. The distance seemed longer than usual. The middle-aged man sat at the entrance near the park, wide awake this time. He had a small silver cup filled with some coins beside him. I approached him.

He held the cup in front of me, shaking it. It rattled with coins and pain. I feel my eyes sting. Damn. He doesn’t recognize me. Then again, why would he? I wasn’t born yet when he rejected my existence.

I took my purse out and emptied all my money inside it. His eyes were wide with excitement. I’m sorry you have to go through this, dad, I thought. I said nothing. I asked nothing.

‘Buy some nice food.’ I had to bite my tongue from adding dad after my sentence. I went there daily, for the next two months. Without telling mom, of course. For two months, his useless girl child brought him food and some money. Then one day, he was not there. He had left the place. I found the silver cup abandoned near the lake.

I took the cup home along with those shredded memories of my father. I still have the cup with me. I guess not all things in life can be justified or explained. His karma caught up with him way sooner than I expected. I feel bad for the man who fathered me. I love my mother but that doesn’t mean that I hate my father. I just don’t know him.

I forgive my father. Please spare him now, karma.