Last week I saw my father give away his only daughter. My sister, who mothered me through college and has always encouraged me to no end, married the father of my nephew and began a brand new life with a brand new name. It was almost surreal seeing her face lit by chapel candles and a million smiles. It was even more surreal seeing my dad and sister walk down an aisle that I have grown to fear.

I wept for my sister not out of sadness but of joy. For every female in my life who has brought me heartache, misery, pain, and suffering, my sister has been the reason I continue to believe that real women exist. I wept for the hell of growing up in a broken home and the promise from my sister to her husband that her family would be different.

And I would like to believe that I wept for nostalgia; for the few great childhood memories of my siblings that I still hold onto when life today seems too difficult to live.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever marry. The inside of a church is so foreign to me now. When the presiding pastor commanded us all to bow our heads in prayer, I left my head raised because praying to a God who I do not believe in feels strange. I could have gone through the motions but they would have felt wrong, so I kept my head pointed towards Jesus’ cross with little reverence but every ounce of respect that my body had for the moment.

I also wonder if I will ever have children. The older I grow the more I wish to adopt, but finding a woman who would volunteer to adopt before having her own children feels impossible to achieve. I fear that with all of my travel and focus on my own spirituality, dreams, and desires, I will not find a woman with whose personality I match.

And there will forever be the issue culture and religion. Will my mixed race background and Buddhist belief system be suitable for…anyone? Or will I continue to drift from relationship to relationship as if they were islands and I the captain of the Titanic?

Last week I told my father that after several long years in a bad relationship, I felt as if I was wasting time with girls; that they only make me weaker and care for themselves; that I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than deal with conditional acceptance. My father refused to allow me to continue, telling me that it is the pain that we feel that make us into Moores; that love was never meant to be easy. That I should never give up hoping and never be afraid of loss.

My father told me these words after he had just given away his only daughter and I realized how strong he was to tell me my truth after accepting his own. Loss is inevitable, but it should never deter a Moore from going for gain.

Sometimes I fear so much for my future. Will I find acceptance? Will my relationships ever make it past sex and love and move towards promise? How will I marry if I do not believe in the Church? Will I be a good father to multiracial, multicultural children? Will they grow up in a broken home like I did? Will they grow up in America? Will my wife’s family accept me for who I am and wish nothing different than that?

Will I have a daughter whom I can give away someday?

I can only hope so.