The Playground

That evening, I decided to take a walk by my own to the playground nearby my house. Beside the playground is a park where I always saw people jogging, exercising, and many other outdoor activities. I was holding my smartphone on my left hand, while my right hand holding my scarf trying to put it at its original place as the wind blowing and caressing me. It was so peaceful and the situation really made me calm. After a few steps, I arrived at the entrance of the playground. Looking around, then I saw an old brown bench at the corner of the playground. I walked towards the bench and sat on it. There were many people went to the playground that day, maybe because the past few days, it has been raining during evening and they could not go out

My mind could not think of another way other than running or hiding from him. I really do not want to meet him. It is not because the emotion of the intense dislike or hatred, it is just that a feeling that not wanting to meet him, it is hard to explain. This is because, I am already accepting the fact that my father left me and I am already adapting to the situation where I have to live without a father. I am already comfortable in this way. What would happen if I meet him someday? Will everything going to be fine or will the situation become worse? It is the changes that make me scare to meet him. I hate changes as much as I hate the fact that I have to live without a father. It is crystal clear that I do not have the exact answer for my mother’s question. I left them hanging, like I always did when she asked me about that. The day came when he suddenly called my mother saying that he wants to meet me. Oh, what am I going to do?! Do I have to hug him and kiss him on the cheek like any other child always did to their father? Do I have to talk to him? What should I talk about? It does not like he knows anything about me. These thought haunted me for several days before I met him. And as I expected, when I met him. I did not said anything. I just looked to the ground as if the ground was so attractive that I could not get off my eyes of it. It was really awkward between us. I can heard the dog barked from the distance, as if it told us to talk to each other. He tried to start the conversation but I could not said anything. It is like my mouth had been glued. I walked home after several hours sitting with him, listening to everything that he thoughts that I might need to listen. Thinking about that day, someone might be saying I am a selfish daughter, who are making conclusion without knowing anything. I understand that when people say I am mean because I treated my father like he made a really big