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Written by Marc Ching
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Thursday, 12 March 2009 |
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My mother and father came to visit me this past week. It is an amazing feeling, seeing the people you love so much after moments of extended separation. How at times being where I am makes me forget, but when in the flesh - seems as if I have only been gone a year. My father and I always engage in these protracted conversations about life, and about theory. Our relationship is one that consists of partial communication, in which we’ll spend full months buried beneath words. Every time he comes I try more and more to listen, more and more to open my mind instead of my mouth. In those five hours we share he and I will sit, throw a whole year of words into the air that we scribe down with pens.
What I find so strange about each time he comes and leaves, is how so much more I seem to see myself in him. Growing up, I think people like me who grow up being the eldest (son), look to their father and find an example of what they want to be. The day I came to prison, I had given up trying to be like him. Our lives had become so distant, so far separated from anything that stood recognizable before this. I had believed for the longest time that the man I would become, that the person who would walk himself out beyond these walls - he would be indefinable. |
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