Message in a Bottle

To whomever is reading this.

If I ever have children, I hope they will get to read my essays. I only ever had brief glimpses of the boy my father had been before he became a Stone Cold Killer™.

It would have been helpful to trace the footprints that lead him to be the man he is—to know that he struggled with the things that I struggle with now.

My father comes from a town in the mountains, a place where the streets flood with water and become small canals whenever it rains. As a child, he’d put letters into empty beer bottles and float them down the overflowed alleyways. He dreamt that his notes would reach faraway lands and be read by pirates and kings beyond the horizon.

His messages only got as far as the outskirts of his neighbourhood and were eventually discovered by some kids of his age. He ended up being made fun of for his experiment.

Consider these essays my messages in a bottle.