Who am I?
A cute girl with sleek black braided hair named “Nichanart”, nicknamed “Nid” by her mother, perhaps because she was so tiny when she was born.
Nid inserted a coffee capsule into the instant coffee machine and turned it on. While waiting, she sipped cold orange juice from a glass, closing her eyes and savoring the sweet taste of fresh squeezed oranges. After finishing her juice, she went to check the toaster and put in two slices of bread. Then she heated a pan, added a pat of butter to melt, cracked an egg, and scrambled it. A simple Western-style breakfast.
Where's Dad?He usually woke up first in the morning, especially today, which was Father's Day.
Nid removed the pan from the stove and left the kitchen, walking down the spacious hallway of the modern-style house and into his bedroom. Dad was sound asleep, uncovered. His hair looked messy. She walked to the bed and shook his shoulder.
“Time to wake up, Dad.”
He didn't move. She shook his shoulder harder.
“Wake up, Dad.” She nudged his shoulder. He remained still, unresponsive. She started to worry but shook his right shoulder harder. She was relieved when he finally stirred, and he slowly opened his eyes.
“It's Father's Day today. Time to wake up!” she repeated.
She noticed something amiss in his pale gray eyes. They held a strange look she’d never seen before. He stared at her for a moment and then asked, “Who are you?”
Nid laughed. “Stop joking and get up, Dad.”
When his expression didn't change, fear seeped into her. Her heart beat faster.
“Do you really not know who I am, or are you just teasing me?” she asked.
.
.
“No. Who are you?”
“I'm Nid, your daughter.” When he didn’t reply, she continued, “Dad, what day is it today?”
“Don't know.”
“What year is it?”
“Don't know.”
“What’s your name?”
He didn't answer, only furrowed his brow and wore an expression of deep concentration. She didn’t like the confusion in his eyes or the flat, emotionless delivery of his words, so unlike the loving tone he usually had.
Panic now threatened her. “Get up and get dressed right now, Dad! We’re going to the hospital. Something is definitely wrong with you!”
When he didn't move, Nichanart shouted, “Get up!”
An hour later, Nid sat quietly in an examination room while a neurosurgeon shone a penlight into her father’s eyes, speaking to him in a low voice.
“Can you tell me your name?” the surgeon asked.
“I don’t know,” Dad replied.
“Where were you born?”
“I don’t remember.”
As the surgeon asked more questions, Nid’s fear intensified. Her heart pounded, her hands were clammy. Why couldn’t her dad remember anything? What happened last night that she didn’t know about…
“We’re going to run some tests, Mr. Eric,” the surgeon said.
“There might be a blood clot in your brain which is causing the memory loss.”
“Is that my name?” Dad asked. Before the surgeon could answer, Dad glanced at Nid.
“Is she my daughter?”
Nid nodded and wiped away the tears that were starting to well up. “Dad… you’ll be okay, Dad.”
As her father was wheeled out of the examination room, Nid found a seat to wait in front of the room. The doctor told her it would take a while, as her father needed an X-ray and possibly an MRI scan as well.
Sunday morning at the hospital was strangely busy. She saw people coming and going, some injured, some in varying degrees of pain. Family members grieved. There was a wife berating her husband for something stupid he had done. His arm and hand were wrapped in a bloody towel, presumably from an accident.
In the first hour that passed, she was numb with shock. The adrenaline subsided and was replaced by fear. What happened to her father’s brain? What would happen if he couldn’t regain his memory?
She thought about her life with her father in many ways. She considered herself lucky, especially compared to some of her friends. Even though she lost her mother five years ago, her father made her feel safe. Of course, he could be annoying and bothered her about her grades at school.
She thought he worked too hard and didn't spend enough time with her. She didn't like the chores he gave her when she wanted to go out with her friends. But he was her father. No, wait!Actually, he was her American stepfather. Her mother divorced her biological father before bringing her to America and marrying this stepfather. She liked her stepfather more than her real father, so she called him “Dad.”
He never yelled at her. He never punished her. He tried his best to support her activities at school, even if he couldn't be there.
Maybe he didn't spend as much time with her as she wanted, but he was her dad, the only family she had.
Worry distracted her. She sat waiting on the hard plastic chair, lost in “what if” questions.
“Your name is Nid, right?” a voice from behind her called.
She looked up at the sound of the voice. Dr. Joe walked towards her. He was a rather young doctor, about her father's age—mid-thirties—with gentle brown eyes, and he looked very intelligent behind those rectangular glasses.
She startled awake. “Is he better?”
The doctor sat in the chair next to her. She sat down. He turned to her slightly.
“The good news is your father doesn't appear to have a blood clot in his brain. He seems strong.”
“But is there something wrong with him?”
“The truth is, we don't know yet.” The doctor paused before continuing.
“Physically, all his test results are negative.” His expression softened before he continued.
“His brain is still a mystery to us. We don't know the exact cause. We know a little about it, but there are still puzzles we don't understand. From a health perspective, your father is fine, but he's experiencing retrograde amnesia. He's lost his memory temporarily.”
“I don’t understand,” Nid told him.
Dr.Joe smiled gently.
“Think of riding a bicycle. Your father can explain how to ride a bicycle - we call this semantic memory - but he can't remember when he learned how to ride a bicycle. He doesn't even remember the event.”
“But he doesn’t remember me!” she said.
“That’s right. Right now, you are the keeper of your father’s memories. The only things he knows about his past are the things that are in your mind.”
Nid tried to ask further, “Will my father’s memory ever return to normal?”
“No one can say. He might wake up tomorrow with all his memories, or it might take months, years… or maybe not at all.”
Nid's eyes looked sad, tears welling up, her voice trembling.
“Dad doesn't even know I'm his daughter.”
Dr.Joe placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.
“It must be difficult for both of you. Try not to overload him with information. He’s struggling to come to terms with his condition. Be there for him, and help him. Gradually tell him about his daily life and his past, but don't pressure him too much. It might help.”
Nid nodded in understanding.
“Has he ever been injured?” Dr. asked.
“Once, a couple of years ago, Dad fell down the stairs and was unconscious for a long time. But when he woke up, he seemed fine.”
“How long was he unconscious?”
Nid shrugged. “I don’t know. I found him when I came back from school.” She glanced at the doctor and asked,
“Is that why he lost his memory?”
The doctor smiled gently. “It’s unlikely. If it was a couple of years ago, it probably has nothing to do with his current condition.”
He patted her knee gently. “Come on, he’s waiting. You can take your father home.”
I sat on the edge of the examination table. Opposite me was a mirror. A stranger stared back at me. The emptiness inside frightened me. A hole that should have been filled with something but wasn't. It was chillingly empty.
The stranger staring back at me looked as if he had lost something. It was his pale gray eyes, the despair filled with fear.
"Dad," she said hesitantly.
Eric looked away from the stranger in the mirror and at her.
-The girl who woke me up. The girl who said she was my daughter. I looked back into the mirror and at that stranger. -
Is someone playing a trick on me? Is this a dream…?
"Dad," this time softer and filled with worry.
Eric turned back to the girl and asked, "Are you really my daughter? "
Tears welled up in her eyes. She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. The muscular young Westerner felt terrible for causing her pain with his question.
In his eyes, she had long, straight, jet-black hair, and although her eyes were large and round, she was clearly of Asian descent. She was small, delicate, and very slender.
Nichanart stood crying silently, unmoving. Her eyes stared at me. I saw the pain battling with fear in her eyes.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Nid,” she replied.
“What’s my name?”
“Eric.”
Silence filled the air.
“Okay, let's go home,” Eric suggested.
She nodded in response.
Nid gave the taxi driver the address, and the car pulled away from the hospital building. Eric stared blankly out the window. Everywhere the car drove, he looked around, thinking that the place he was in was new and unfamiliar. The city, or community, looked clean and orderly. There were large shopping malls that had been converted into residential areas, duplexes that had been converted into single-family homes on increasingly larger plots of land. All had neatly manicured lawns.
Nid pulled crumpled banknotes from her jeans pocket and paid the fare while he looked at the house. A modern-style house sat on a large plot of land bordering a grove of trees. Light orange brick, tiled roof, wide double front doors. A separate two-car garage was to the side. The front yard was neat, with a neatly mown green lawn, flower beds full of flowering plants, and salvia with beautiful bright purple flowers as a focal point.
As the Westerner stood studying the house, the taxi drove away. Nichanart stood beside him.
“Do I have a wife?” he asked.
“You did. Mom died five years ago.”
Eric lowered his head, a whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. Nothing. No feeling. No sense of having lost his wife. That was what frightened him even more.
I used to love someone, but now I feel nothing… (Is that so?)
“Okay,” he replied.
The young girl opened the front door and stepped inside, Eric following close behind. He slowly observed as details began to come into focus. The entrance opened into a spacious, tastefully decorated living room with hallways to the left and right. Opposite him, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of a well-maintained backyard. A shed stood to the left, mature trees at the back provided privacy, and a swimming pool sparkled to the right. A paved stone patio stretched from left to right, furnished with outdoor furniture and a gas barbecue.
The man who couldn't remember anything turned his attention back to the living room and noticed a peculiar wooden side table displaying framed photographs. Eric stared hesitantly. Nid stood quietly beside him, as if offering support while he tried to absorb the scene.
Finally, he decided to approach, circling the room and stopping at a round table. The photo showed him with a petite Asian woman standing next to him and a cute little girl in a pink dress, about seven or eight years old.
The woman -my wife - had a beautiful, genuine smile.
Nothing. No memories. But now he felt the pang of loss. Eric longed to remember what it was like when the people in his life were that happy.
"What's your name? " he asked softly.
"Nisa."
He sank onto the sofa. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your mother. Not even her name..."
The little girl sat down beside him. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Do you want me to show you around the house? "
He nodded.
The night was quiet, an unfamiliar loneliness enveloped him. Eric lay on the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar room, wearing unfamiliar pajamas, and feeling utterly out of place. He stared up at the dark ceiling. He had never felt so scared before.
Everything was confusing. Nothing made sense. His mind raced with questions. How old am I?What do I do for a living?Am I a good person?Do I like to drink? Do I have many friends?
He thought he knew how a car worked and how to turn on a television. He knew how to shower and brush his teeth. But he didn't know if he owned a car. He couldn't remember ever actually driving one. He couldn't picture his own toothbrush, his clothes in the closet, or the drawers in his bedroom.
Worst of all was seeing the pain and fear in his daughter's eyes. He didn't know what she expected of him. Was I a good father?The questions swirled in his mind. It was the strangest night of his life.
Nid curled up on her bed and wept silently. She felt abandoned even though her father was in the same house. In a way, she thought this was worse than losing her mother. At least with her mother, she was gone, but her father was here, yet he wasn't. Every time she looked at him, she could see that he was completely different, not the father she once knew. He was like a stranger…
She never realized how important he was in her life. Before, he was always there, her father, her anchor. But look at him now...
Tears streamed down her face, soaking the pillow. Father was gone now.. Tears welled up in her beautiful, large eyes. It wasn't the same anymore. His familiar mannerisms, nothing was the same. This father was a stranger. And what made it worse was his confusion, seeing him struggle to understand, but still not understanding.
To this day, she still didn't understand how her father could be her refuge. He was like a rock for her to cling to, always reliable, always consistent. Now she was adrift and didn't know what to do…
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