Father - Tape 5

(Beep. Music fades in.)

Maybe this is a part of me that you could be proud of. I don’t know, but it would be a nice thought.

Whether that’s true or not, the alluded to statement is that I’ve never really understood delusions of grandeur. Not that I don’t have them, but I don’t understand them. They run so counter to everything I know or am that it’s… It’s hard to connect and maybe that’s an inevitable deficit. Rationally, it would all make sense, and it would be fine in a bubble, but when it comes to other people, not so much. On admittedly rare occasions, it can make interactions difficult. 

Like back then, 

(Music fades out and new music fades in) 

when my aunt dragged me to the healer to learn more about this weird ability that I clearly possessed. And by “learn more,” I mean have all her suspicions validated. That I might have been given an ability, but she was the chosen one, as a sort of handler to me. That’s all it had been about. And it wasn’t even about proving it to me. Because I was young and could be pushed in whatever direction anyone wanted. And it wasn’t even about the rest of the family because they tended to follow her lead wherever she went. 

It was about herself, I guess, because the grief she carried for her child and for you was so great that she needed something to help her hold it up. And she found that. In me. Or at my expense. 

Or so she thought. Or more like, (inhale) regardless of whatever she wanted to think, at some point reason would beg to be heard as it pointed out how absurd it all was. That was the entity my aunt wanted to persuade. If at all possible.

And some would say, that it would be easy to do because her need to believe was so desperate and her money was as good as anyone else’s. So the healer would play her game and say what she wanted to hear. What else would the healer possibly tell us? 

The truth it turns out. That’s what she would tell us, regardless of the money. But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

The first thing the healer was ask about me. The life I had lived, specifically. But not the choices I made. More like the things that had happened to me. (softer) And her eyes perked up when I told her that you died.

(louder) “Ilang taon ka na?” she asked.

How old are you, child, she meant.

That’s what I was by many standards. A child. But still, I was a child who had lived for almost a decade without her father. Without you. 

She asked me if I saw you when you died. After you died, she meant. In a dream…

And I had. It was the only memory of your that I felt somewhat confident in as dumb as that sounds. I had this memory that you came to visit me the night you died. In my dreams. To tell me that you loved me. With all your heart and soul you loved me. And of course, I believe it was real.

Now, there was a chance I was misremembering. I was quick to say that even then. People can be so quick to tell you that, especially with memories from that point in your life. Human memory is already a fickle and unpredictable thing, but for children it can be a lot worse. And considering I had just gone through something traumatic, well you can’t blame my brain for wanting to fill in some gaps. Maybe she did agree with the sentiment as a general principle. But if she did, she kept the opinion hidden. It did not matter. 

Because this was a special kind of memory, she believed. This was the memory of a moment that the veil between life and death broke all because you wanted to say goodbye to your daughter. Because you loved your daughter. Me. Because you knew I was hurting and wanted to comfort me. Because there was something you wanted to tell me. And the message was important, but once a wall becomes a door, it doesn’t matter how many tumblers the lock has, it can always be picked. And the thinnest cracks along this new door can still let certain airs seep through.

This was all a mistake, the healer said, a mistake you caused when you came to see me. That one dream, of you, that was the only message you had ever given me. The rest of it was all one, never-ending mistake.

I was seeing things I wasn’t meant to see. And hearing things I wasn’t meant to hear. Because there was no wall there, anymore. Just a door. A door that things could pass through so easily.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

At that point, my aunt left the room. But no one followed her. No one wanted to, I guess. No one wanted the responsibility of comforting her. She was so upset, and when she was upset, she tended to get angry. And can you blame her for being angry? The illusion she was so desperate for had been shattered. But the healer didn’t care. She cared not for my aunt. She cared not for anyone but me, though I was not the one to pay her.

And I’m grateful for it.

The old woman beckoned me to come closer, and though I was a bit scared of her and the smell that came off of her that was… Well, it was not a perfume, but maybe it could have been. It was just stale and vaguely floral, and I had never been one for strong smells. Add to that, I was normally so shy, but when she asked me to come closer, I did. I was drawn to her. To this hope.

So few things you see will be messages, she told me. And she tried to explain what had happened.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

When parents die, she always drops what she’s doing and runs to the family’s side. This old woman, weak as she was, seemed to find it in her to run to those afflicted by the same sort of loss I had experienced, to ensure dreams like the one I had did not happen.

Because goodbyes are nice, but you didn’t know what would come with them. And many parents do not think about the consequences their children will suffer for their choices. It’s always the children who pay the price, she told me, and it wasn’t just about the dreams. 

But when it came to the dreams, she explained,the wall was a wall for a reason. But I had a door now. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

“Ano na?” I asked because I thought that meant “what now.” 

My language abilities aside, the healer seemed to understand, but she could not give me an answer. There was no answer. This could not be undone, but it was still an accident. Only an accident. But an accident you technically caused without really knowing what you were doing. Because this was not your culture; you only admired it. You saw an opportunity to see me, to tell me something that you knew would steady me through the worst of my storms, and you took it.

But in taking it, you caused those storms, and you never meant to, but here we are. Or here they are. Accidents of fate not divine missions. And it’s bizarre how easy it is to conflate the two. Particularly because a divine mission might have meant people finally loving me and finally being proud of me. But I have both of those things now. As I am. Where I am. Because of who I am. Not what I am meant to do. But all the same, the dreams remain. They’ve always lingered. And they will always be here.

(Music fades out)

“Ano na?” I had asked, meaning to ask what I should be doing now. What can I do? 

The only answer she could give me was that it was my choice. And I hope, Dad, that you can be proud of the one I make.

(Beep)

New call to action this week. And if you’re listening you get to hear the surprise. That there’s one more tape in season 2. But if you’re going to miss the Oracle too much there’s that Patreon account with Oracle of Dusk style content. For $2 dollars a month you get bonus client sessions and for $4 dollars a month you get that series as well as the dream journal, or a retelling of the story from a behind the scenes perspective. 

Also there’s a new audio fiction series starting up soon. And once the show goes lives, I’ll put the trailer for it on this feed, but I forgot how long the approval process can take for a podcast. Whoops, ya think I would know better by now.