Unfather

Mioseon is on our bed sleeping, comfortably, I hope, and clueless of my current location. 

She has a couple more days or weeks left and the clock is ticking away, shaking the very foundation of my entire being with this one simple decision. She's leaving me for what she calls home for the past twenty years or so. She's leaving me because of the restrictions of her visa. Staying in a country as a tourist has its price, falling deep in love as a tourist even more so.

Being granted six months to stay here in the United Kingdom has been both a blessing and a curse for us, but I'm grateful no matter what. These past six months have been the most fruitful of my life as a person. We end another chapter of our lives with so much at stake. I cannot follow her home just yet. My own personal battles have yet concluded and it is only a shame that we met under difficult circumstances.

The girl of my dreams bears the child of my dreams for approximately two months now. She has come to a decision that she does not want this and chooses to forego an abortion against my wishes. Her reasoning are vague at best and I suspect it has something to do with South Korea, her home -- perhaps the opinion of her peers and the harsh criticisms she will have to endure from her parents. I would choose to be there when that happens, but her hellbent mind to finalise her decisions are too heartbreaking for me to stomach. I assured her that no matter what her decisions would be, I will be there to support her pre and post, but never inter. She tells me she understands, but I have the gut feeling that she still doesn't.

Our conflicts have passed them all; spite, regret, anger, frustrations, bargaining, denial, indifference, whatever other funny emotions that pass when a man is trapped within a Catch-22. I have been in prison for a day without conviction after a night of maddening conversation. It is in her habit to run away from a serious kerfuffle such as this and misconstrue every single word I have spat. For every hundred words I throw at her, she gives me back one, and that one word completely shatters every shard of sanity and wit left in me. I went to prison for throwing a gutless blow to her face and pushing her down in bed, smashing her again helplessly after she told me that she never wanted the child because the child was mine.

I've never done anything to deserve this, only that I've loved her so. Although my current standing in society leaves no room to be desired, I have given much and more than what I can offer. It has never been enough. Nothing had been ever since.

My only trump card to this is the power of truth. It is this same truth that she fears, that she feels I am threatening her with. It is only with this that I hold her still within my arms, because of her fears that I might unleash something not to her liking. But this is no longer the love that I envisioned. I did not love to make a prisoner out of her. She has all the freedom in the world, all I ask is that chance, respect, and understanding. She is in a completely different world of my own, completely hedonistic and devoid of any effect from my sacrifices.

This next couple of weeks will be entertaining, no doubt. But not to my heart. Certainly not for my soul.

I am now an unfather, and this feeling had been the most devastating feeling I've ever felt in my life, full of helplessness and hopelessness and regret.