Written anonymously 

Familial relationships can be difficult. But one that I found most difficult was the one I shared with my father. I had friends who’d speak the world of their fathers, or would always be putting up pictures and heart-warming videos of how loving their fathers would be towards them – may Allāh only ever increase them in what they share. More than anything, it reminded me of everything my father wasn’t, and a relationship that I could never have with my father.

For a long while, I believed that it was culture that prevented my father from ever being loving – that it was not normal to show love in conventional ways like telling me he loved me, or by hugging me. So I tried to pick up non-conventional ways that he showed love – that he’d call me darling in our language, or always tell me that should I ever want anything, no matter how pricey it might be, that I should tell him so he could get it for me.

But those unconventional days weren’t frequent. As time went by, and as I grew older, I found it difficult to say that I loved him – he was the man that I happened to call my father and it was no more than a title, we were bound by blood.

Some days he’d behave in ways that were unjustifiable, or say things that would ring in my ears for days. I’d find myself frequently crying – because the man that was my first and foremost guardian, was everything but that. He never thought about the hurtful words that came out of his mouth when he’d talk about not wanting daughters, or how daughters were a burden.

How could any human be so unloving and unfeeling, let alone my own father?

My terrible experiences with my father meant that I was looking forward to the day that I might meet a man to marry that would love me better in a day than my father had in my entire lifetime. And when I met him – a man that was concerned with my safety and wellbeing, that honoured me and valued everything that I was, that showed the utmost care every day without fail and only ever had kind words to share – I was even more hurt that I had found it in another man, but not my own father.

It took me a while to realise that the situation with my father wouldn’t really change – but it didn’t stop me from serving him as a good daughter, and showing love to him where I could, despite the fact that it was never reciprocated.

“And your Lord has decreed that you not worship except Him, and to parents, good treatment. Whether one or both of them reach old age [while] with you, say not to them [so much as], “uff,” and do not repel them but speak to them a noble word.” (Surah Al Isra, verse 23)

And it is this ayah that I hold to heart, always, every day, especially on the bad days. And I hope that for all the yearning for a better relationship with my father, that my efforts towards him are accepted – making the nice teas, asking how he is, stroking his beard on the odd occasion, taking care of him when he’s unwell – and I hope that we can share something beautiful in Jannah, an abode that is perfection upon perfection, happiness upon happiness.