between a father and a daughter

While in Korea, I've spent a considerable amount of time with my father. From train rides to endless amounts of walking in the twisted alleys that weave behind Seoul's main streets, we were in each other's sole company for a week.

For many people, a father is a complex figure in their lives. For some, perhaps the father is a figure of support, a pillar of strength. For others, the father might be blamed for all of their problems. The absent father, the stern father, the playful father - we see them all, in many variations, and in many caricatures.

My dad is a person, first and foremost. It's taken me some time to realize this, but it's a realization that comes to most people as time passes. As a person, he's not limited to a certain stereotype, and it's he that becomes the parent - not the parent that becomes the person.

And people change. My father has been multiple variations of the stereotypes attributed to the role of the patriarch, and they've all been according to the way he's changed and developed as person.

To be honest, I don't feel very close to my dad. I'm not fully comfortable in his presence, and I'm constantly afraid that he'll be disappointed in me or find me lacking. In a sense, I suppose this is also attributed to the enormous amount of respect I have for him, but also in my father's very nature - he demands a lot from people, and he's not the most affectionate person around.

The stern figure that my father often demonstrates is not unfamiliar in Korean culture. It's one that's even encouraged by our cultural standards. As a result, our relationship has its limitations.  I am never unaware of the fact that my father, to me, is my father. A confidante, a friend, a playful partner - those versions of my dad are completely unfamiliar to me.

And yet, despite this stern and traditional portrayal of my father, I find it reassuring to find him the way he is. I might not be the most comfortable in his presence, or have late night heart-to-hearts with him about boys and the complexities of life, but I know that he stands there, nearly invincible, for his children. Weakness is not a trait I attribute to my dad, nor is selfishness or any sign of self-centeredness. As far as I am concerned, my father's life is dominated by his role as the head - and subsequent foundation - of our family.

To be able to feel such reassurance in my father, even at this age, feels like a privilege that I'm not quite sure I deserve, or should even have. Shouldn't I get to know him more as a person, as a human being, something other than the Superman he has been all of my life?

The understanding I have of my father's flaws is not small. My father has his lion's share of arrogance, stubbornness, and prejudice. He rarely tolerates flaws in others. He's prone to waspishness when irritated, unable to understand things like "guilty pleasures," and impatient with inefficiency.

And yet...

The influence my dad has over me is perhaps the largest one in my life. I certainly hope a day will come when we come to see each other as equals, able to have a conversation about the more personal aspects that define us both.