Therapy?

From the naivety of youth to the awareness of now, I’ve always thought my dad knew everything. Honestly. He had an insatiable curiosity and could explain everything, probably even the meaning of life. I think in the 18 years I’ve been with father I’ve asked him more questions than I’ve actually talked to him proper. But it’s all right, he loved explaining.

August 1997. 2 months before the PMR but a night before my end-of-term finals in school. The next morning would be my science and home economics papers. At this age I’ve grown used to reading whatever’s on the textbooks, ignoring what I didn’t understand and repeating what I know well. I’ve never really gotten any comeuppance by using that method. That night would prove different.

The afternoon that day I’ve brushed through the science textbook with little difficulty… just a half-hour behind schedule. "It’s OK, a half-hour less sleep won’t kill you." And in late evening my long-neglected Home Economics book deserved a little peek. Only it wasn’t a little peek. The melting pot of electronics, woodwork, plumbing, accounts, self-image and home care proved very daunting to say the least. Starting the "if only I had started earlier" whining would only get me a tongue-lashing and a washover of guilt, so with pride intact, I crammed.

Midnight. I thought I had finished. A battle won, and it was time to retire. As I got ready for bed right then at the corner of my mind I remembered something I "put off for later"… engines. A totally new subject, untouched and raw. Trying to recall anything in the dead of night was hard enough, but to learn something totally new… I pushed the panic button and crammed away for the second time. Only this time it did not work. My brain totally gave way and gave in. No more, it screamed. And in desperation, I did the only thing I could.

"Ba? Can help me?"

Understand that he has had a long days’ work with little reward but rest. Understand that he was asleep. Understand that he had to wake up at 6am the following morning to send me to school. Understand that he had a clinic to operate at 8am immediately after. And his first response?

"Alright alright, what is it?"

No guilt trips, no tongue-lashing, no hesitation. I remembered this night well. Even when in a state of semi-consciousness he knew exactly what had to be done, and he did it without a moment of making me feel bad. For the next few hours, since words from a textbook meant nothing to me anymore, he took one look at my textbook, and proceeded to describe to me everything he knew about engines, all in painstaking detail. And I listened so intently knowing that he did not have to do this but did it anyway… with the gratitude of someone whose life has just been saved.

By the time we were finished it was 3am. The first ever night I stayed up so late for the purpose of exams, and dad was there to guide me through it. We each had 3 hours’ worth of sleep, and at 6am the next morning, everything was back to routine again. I have forgotten how I did in the Home Economics paper, but I don’t think that’s important right now.

I miss my father, and I can never say that enough. In that one night he demonstrated great kindness, patience, empathy, persistence, and of course his wealth of knowledge. A testimony of how my father has been his entire life. To me, to my mom and sis, to everyone he cares about. I can never say that enough.

A father’s love.

June 2004. The 3rd Sunday. It was a windy night, and while with a close friend I suddenly thought of my father and how it’s been nearly 4 years since I last talked to him. A tear rolled down my cheek. My friend kept silent, but gave a long, understanding nod. It was difficult to be in her position as well.

I came to realise that one day I will have to step into my father’s shoes. Those are pretty big shoes to fill, and I don’t know if I ever can. And with all the doubts I have right now I’m not even ready to stand on my own two feet, let alone continue a legacy. I often wonder, if I went, would anyone remember me? Never mind, those are selfish thoughts.

That night I dreamt of him, and all was right in the world. Dad told me nothing, he didn’t need to, but he gave me all the calm I needed. And I understood… all will come in time. Time.

It’s midnight now, and it’s still raining out. Thirteen Senses has stopped playing, and I am left alone in the silence. I miss you Ba… and I hope to see you again when I sleep.

Sometimes you sit down and think, and the words come at once, they flow naturally. That’s the beauty and spontaniety of writing. But naturally when the subject matter is heavy more thoughts and doubts appear from within and out of nowhere. And before you know it, you are scared of even the thought of writing, putting down thoughts to words.

This happened for the past month. I knew what I wanted to write and how to go about it. Just that… I don’t think I could do justice to it any way I put it. For the life of me, no amount of writing could do justice to the person I owe my entire life to, and base my own life upon. My father.

This would be a Father’s Day entry 5 months late. The accompaniment to my earlier entry. People often remember Mother’s Day well… the 2nd Sunday of May. People should do well to remember the 3rd Sunday of June too.

Right now, 11:00pm, it’s raining out, Thirteen Senses playing in the background, I am ready to share the moment that defines my father best.