A girl’s first true love is her father.
– Marisol Santiago, blogger
That’s the picture of my dad. Probably the best dad a girl could have but I did not realise that until I lost him at the age of 20 and my whole life turned upside down and inside out and I plunged madly into a whirlpool that I only just have started to swim out and stay afloat.
Dad was an introvert, unlike me. He read a lot, was a homebody who lived for his family and doted on mom, his children, his garden, his dog and car – not necessarily in that order too. I strongly suspect he loved his dog most.
I get my courage of conviction from him.
He taught me God is real, people are fake. So he was anti-religion, but had strong faith in God.
“Why do we need a middleman?” he asked. I have yet to be able to find an answer and I doubt there is one. I look back and realise that was the spark that made me question everything and become the silent rebel most people don’t realise I am.
He was ‘just a clerk’, but he read politics and business and science fiction and anything he could get his hands on. He wrote his strong opinions and thoughts in the books he read, which I treasure today. I believe I got my love of reading and my talent for writing from him.
Everyone used to laugh at him – for his meticulous file keeping on every single thing including the dog. For his going against the church on things that didn’t make sense. For not being bothered to be normal, to quietly revolt and go against the grain when common sense needed to prevail.
He was the bravest man I know for he kept going back to a job he detested every single day of his life to pay the bills and put food on the table. That is sheer courage, determination and persistence.
He was not a rich man and people laughed at his meagre simple clothes – for he refused to spend on himself. But he was the richest man I know because he provided everything the six of us in the family needed with his meagre salary.
Though they laughed at him, he remained true to his authentic self and never wavered from the courage of his convictions.
I was a horribly rebellious child but my dad loved me unconditionally.
You don’t appreciate someone until you lose them, and I did not appreciate my dad enough – probably one of my biggest regrets in life. I wanted to be cool and would groan when he would talk about my achievements to everyone – from the roti man to the kedai runcit owner and I would roll my eyes every time he would stroke my hair, look at me with so much love and say, “What a beautiful daughter I have” with such pride in his eyes
If I had him with me now, I would hug him close and never let him go. I would smother him with kisses and tell him I love him and thank him for loving me, until I fall asleep out of exhaustion. I did not know how much I would miss him until he died suddenly and all my unfinished words became a lump that choked my throat for years, even now when I cry as I write this.
His last words and thoughts as he lay dying was for me, his youngest – “who will take care of my daughter?”
I looked for him everywhere. In a husband. In a brother. In a son. In random people.
There was a constant quest to answer that last final question as he lay dying.
In the end, I took care of his daughter. No one else could do a good enough job.
For I am my father’s daughter and to paraphrase Isaac Newton, if I see further and clearer than most today, it’s because I stood on the shoulder of a giant.
I hope, being the voracious rider he is, he reads this from wherever he is. I hope he feels this.
I hope when I am reborn in my next life, I will have the honour to be his daughter again and this time, please God, let me show him how much I love and need him every single second of his life.
Let me be a better daughter than I was.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune. Feedback can reach the writer at beatrice@ibrasiagroup.com
