The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,
On Saturday, May 25, 2024, you’ll be exactly 15 years and six months old. You’ll be old enough to get a learner’s permit to drive in Virginia. Will you do it? I wish I was there to teach you to drive.

Get your license when you’re 16. I’ll buy you a car. Okay, an old used one. But maybe.

I wish I was there.

Dad

Sophia,

You’re absent from school today. I wish I knew why. I hope you’re okay. I’d love to call to check-in with you. I wish we could talk.

Also, I was watching a movie last night. A father who had been gone for most of his daughter’s life was teaching her to ride a bike in Paris. This scene really cut to the bone. It hurts that I can’t be with you.

Your mother and I have been on those very same steps in the movie clip. FYI, if you care.

I love you,
Dad

Sophia,

HERE is a song I was listening to earlier. It has a strange title: Sigh’s Smell of Farewell. I’m not sure it really means anything.

I’m just thinking of you today. I would love to hear from you.

Dad.

My dear Sophia,
I’m in Africa again. I would strongly prefer to be in the USA, near you, and be a part of your life. But I can’t. So, now, I just do whatever I can, even if it means being in a place like this.

It’s a shithole. But the food is pretty good. Then again, I already liked Arabic food before I got here. No one speaks English, which makes me a little lonely sometimes. I think of you all the time.

According to the schedule, I should be leaving here in October. But it’s only a quick flight to Athens or Rome from here. If you will be in Europe in the summer, I’d find a way to head out for a weekend to meet you. I’d do anything.

I wonder if you’ll ever see this message. I wonder if you think about me at all.

I love you,
dad