Fairy tales are beautiful because fathers tell them. Even if they don’t always have a happy ending, a father can make it snow cotton candy and generate galaxies from stars for his daughter! In the eyes of a daughter, her father is this majestic! The secret of this enchanting bond between fathers and daughters has not been unraveled yet. There are some stories, but I believe this secret varies between every father and daughter.
When I was much younger, I used to try to match my fingers with my father’s fingers. My eyes would widen in amazement at the difference. My admiration for him grew with every inch I grew. Even though he couldn’t express it in words, his eyes spoke of his love for his daughter. When he couldn’t be with me, his shadow would spread its wings. He never forgot to give me my allowance from my pocket and his blessings from the bedside when he sent me to school. Blessings? Ah, yes! What a potion, what an irreplaceable remedy! I’ll never forget, it was after the university entrance exam, and the choices hadn’t been announced yet. Marmara University was my top choice. Until the results were out, he would tell me every day, “Don’t worry! It will be Marmara, you will go there.” That’s a father’s prayer! The results came, and I went to register at Marmara University, holding my father’s hand once again.
Years later, when he was sending me off to distant lands, he would bid farewell by saying, “Of course, you must go, you must share what you have learned with others!” His hand waved as I looked out the bus window. Nobody wanted the separation, but both the father and daughter had a purpose! Just as long as that separation was not on the slopes of the Hereafter! In fact, every time he would say, “The world is temporary, my daughter, our days are numbered. What really matters is being together in the afterlife!” The pain of separation didn’t sadden the Honorable Fatimah, may God be pleased with her, did it? When her father, our beloved Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, was on his deathbed, the Honorable Fatimah was crying and upset about the impending separation. Until the Messenger of God whispered in her ear, “You will join me soon.” She started smiling. In eternity, she would be with her loved ones and her beloved father.
Now, we had fallen into a fairy tale, it seemed. We were in an unknown place at an unknown time. Even with the lights on, we were suddenly trapped in darkness. The timeless shackles on your wrists were imprisoning my feet. You were in the land of your birth during the migration, and I was in a continent whose language I didn’t understand. Which one was more difficult, I wondered? Without realizing it, the events we experienced were like a morsel stuck in my throat. I thought that years had passed and that we had moved beyond or past events we didn’t want to remember. One day, while listening to a song on the tram on my way home, it suddenly brought out muffled screams inside me. At that moment, time had become irrelevant. Was it the cold air on my face, or were the hands of the clock trembling?
Although “prison” is only two syllables, the “seen” stamp on the letters you sent weighed an extra syllable on my aching heart. I could tell the seasons from the trees in front of my window, autumn and the spring. The falling leaves were both sweeping away the years without you and heralding the days when you would come to me. Despite looking at the sky from different places, our prayers were the same! Our words were reaching the Creator of the same heaven through the eyes of a clear, pure, and immaculate father.
Now we found ourselves in the midst of a fairy tale, it seemed. We were in a time leading to the unknown, in an unfamiliar place. Even with the lights on, we were suddenly trapped in darkness. The timeless shackle on your wrists was enslaving my feet. You were in the land of your birth, in exile, while I was on a continent where I didn’t speak the language. Which one was more challenging? Unbeknownst to us, the events that unfolded had become tangled in my throat like a morsel. I thought that years had passed and that we had either crossed over or left behind the events that we didn’t want to remember. One day, while riding the tram on my way home, a song I listened to suddenly brought out the muffled cries within me. At that moment, time had become irrelevant. Was it the cold air hitting my face or were the hands of the clock trembling?
While “prison” is a word with two syllables, the “Checked” stamped on the letters you sent felt like an additional burden on my already heavy heart. I could understand the seasons from the trees in front of my window, both autumn and spring. The falling leaves were not only sweeping away the years without you but also heralding the days when you would come to me. Even if we looked at the sky from different places, our prayers were azure! Our words flowed pure, clear, and pristine from the eyes of a devoted father, reaching the Creator of the same heavens.
Once upon a time, fairy tales would begin with “Once upon a time.” Evil would be defeated, good would triumph, mountains would be climbed, and fathers and daughters would reunite at the end of the tale. Hasn’t it been that way as well? Because fathers’ hearts cannot accept any other ending. The letters I write to you are like the tales you told me. The only difference might be that I’m busy delaying time until what I tell you reaches you. I’m playing a bit of a spoilsport. As I approach the end of the letters, my eyes become misty like fogged windows. My heart rows against the foaming waves.
These days, I wander through the streets of longing. This subtle ache is recognizable anywhere. Its stature is greater than mine, and it greets you with its sharp scent. However, it is no obstacle to us; on the contrary, it delights us like a rainbow after the rain. Because we know that on this path, our reunions and smiles are eternal!
