On March 26, 1885, I received a telegram saying that my father died.
I wanted to achieve sothing big and visit him proudly, but everything was in vain.
Father
Since when did I stop saying I love you?
Was it the ti when I started going out with Sein? Or was it since the day I decided to beco an artist?
I'm not sure, but I haven't seen my father's face since I t Sien, no, since I let her go.
I intentionally avoided him fearing what would pop out of his mouth.
He only kept his resentnt boiling in his heart, and it kept eating his soul.
Now that I couldnt see or talk to him, the words that I couldnt speak to him are hovering around my mouth.
Father. Father. Father
Beyond the smoke of the cigarette, I saw the Bible that my father gave .
My father, who was a clergy at Dutch Reford Church, always wanted to continue his path.
At one ti, I even tried to walk the sa path as my father, but I couldn't.
The more I studied theology, the more I found that the church is in contrast to God's grace, holy words, and salvation.
So, rather than being in church, I decided to beco a preacher to spread the gospel to the poor.
I stayed in the mining town of Borinage, Belgium, hoping that the lives of miners would improve even a little.
I told the mine owners that they should love their employees, but nothing changed.
No one followed God's teachings to love their neighbors.
The powerful were obsessed with small doctrines and kept saying everyone was equal before Lord only with their mouths.
Blinded by greed, they swallowed the blood of the poor regardless of the Lord's words.
I had no choice but to follow Jesus, who was willing to go to the lowest place.
I guess my father didn't like my choice.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I just wanted to live with the poor and needy and support them.
I blad my father for not understanding it, and I resented him.
Why?
Why does this hurt?
Why do I regret not speaking to him when I vowed not to see him again?
"Uughhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
Words and emotions that couldn't co out of my lips flow down.
Once everything flowed down, I let go of the sadness that kept coming up.
One day, two days, three days.
After crying for a long ti, I was able to gather my mind and organize my thoughts.
It was only now that I realized that love takes precedence over morals and beliefs.
My father, who scolded for eting a prostitute, and , who shouted at him for not seeing her as a woman, just had different opinions.
We were just different from each other, and is it okay to break the relationship between the father and the son because of that difference?
No, it's not.
Rather than regretting it, it would have been better if we acknowledged our differences and tried to love each other for what they are.
Putting the Bible that my father gave on the canvas, I painted a candle that was blown out with a heart of regret that he is no more.
mile Zola's The Joy of Life, which was placed in front of the bible, may not represent the life my father wanted, but thats my path.
It is a pledge and a regret that I will no longer hate and resent my father.
Although we didn't understand each other till the end, it doesn't an I didn't love my father.
I love you, Father.
Reviews
All reviews (0)