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<p style=”margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;”><span style=”background: #ffff00;”>Love all this about your father, am looking forward to reading each of these installments every week Vijaya! Love how you provide an emotional overview and would love to read more in scene about your word for word interactions with him and how you feel with each of his words (I was thinking like that piece on the man’s three children that you brought to class, the statement and then the real details is fascinating) and how even maybe at a time when he couldn’t speak but still had a hold and power and incredible impression over you all. (Plus am longing to hear all about that disobedient daughter..)</span></p>Vijaya,
I love the image of the eyes as camera, the father’s acceptance and appreciation at the end and the tenderness. You convey very well the conflicts about him and not being able to cry but still wondering where in the world did he go- the longing for him. I love that he has changed closer to death that he finally sees all of you, it’s such a good way to leave- despite all his stoicism- you had a window into his love.
Such a wonderful homage to him that I feel he would appreciate, the way you draw your truth with you language. I will confess, that I relate to the last two lines. Where in the world do our loved ones go? It’s still the great mystery.Vijaya,
This is powerful and important writing. I had, at first, the hope that you’d gone back to the second person outpouring, but then I thought, maybe this is still from the initial well. Try it. Allow it. Go back to it, even if at first it feels artificial or forced.
I love the transformation in Appa that you describe. Amazing—and that moment when you look away. And yet, you are still looking, still seeing. Very powerful.
Warmly,
Elizabeth
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