Seoul, South Korea | Timestamp: 20:52 KST

My father’s broken watch started ticking in my hand

Dear Delyara, My father died when I was nine. I am nineteen now. I barely remember his voice, which scares me, but I remember his watch because he let me put it against my ear. It ticked loudly. After he died, the watch stopped and Mum kept it in a drawer. Last week, I took it to a repair shop without telling her. The watchmaker said the mechanism could be restored. Today, he wound it and placed it in my palm. Tick. Tick. Tick. I started crying immediately. The poor man looked terrified. I had not expected sound to matter that much. It is not Dad’s heartbeat. I know that. It is gears and springs. But my childhood memory of him included that exact rhythm when he carried me and my ear rested against his wrist. I took it home and gave it to Mum. She held it, listened, then became angry with me because apparently Dad had once made her promise never to spend money repairing that “cheap old thing.” We both laughed while crying. Tonight, the watch is on my desk. The ticking is almost too loud in the quiet. For ten years, I thought I wanted the watch because it belonged to him. Maybe what I wanted was one sound from childhood that could still be repaired.