WHAT I WROTE AS SOON AS I GOT HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL LAST LAST FRIDAY MORNING
They say that when life throws you lemons, make lemonade. And that's actually something I've sort of mastered the art of doing for many years now. I've always believed that I would be able to roll with the punches. Except today. Screw the lemonade because I don't have the slightest clue what to make out of this.
Like most tragic events, this happened so fast. And yes, everything still looks hazy. And it is still a blur.
The past two weeks have been really hard on me. And the forever optimistic, lets-look-at-the-brighter-side, I'm-sure-something-good-will-come-out-of-this me strongly believed that God is finally nodding his head in amazement and that he is finally content with how I've dealt with the difficulties he gave me. I was sooooo confident that the worst was finally over. I have been tried and tested. I said, "God, siguro naman I pass this exam with flying rainbow colors.".
Apparently, not.
Apparently, the past 2 weeks of obstacles and dilemmas were given to me so I can brace myself for the gigantic, super dreadful one that was bound to happen today.
And evidently so, I was so, so, so not ala-girl scout prepared for this.
I can now officially say, that there are NO significant men in my life. A lover ended our relationship middle of this year and now, the most important man in my life has left me as well. The man who could make me cry by saying only one word. The man who bought me my first bike, and the 2 other bikes that followed. A man who spoiled me rotten but managed to instill discipline. The person from whom I acquired my happy-go-lucky trait from. The man who brought me to Manila's best restaurants and taught me to appreciate food. Through him, I learned how to give massages. He taught me to never leave my friends alone, to never allow anyone to look or talk down on me or any member of my family, to fight for what I believe in, to be brave and to always be myself. He was going to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. He was going to be the coolest Lolo of my future kids.
And to think I just spoke to him a couple of days ago. He said my new cellphone is arriving end of this month. We even made plans to see each other tomorrow (Saturday). Well, we're still going to see each other. But this time, he'll be inside a coffin, unable to light a cigarette and tell me chismis about my sisters or ask me, for the nth time, about my new job and my dormant love life.
Papa is gone. And it's painful. It's excruciating. And I miss him. So much is an understatement.
The only thing I have left of my father are a whole lot of memories that keep playing back in my head, his 2 wallets and his last pack of cigarettes which I am smoking while I write this. I read somewhere that a truly rich man is one whose children run into his arms when his hands are empty. Man, oh man, was my Dad rich!
I'm just glad I never forgot to tell him how much I love him. And that he always tells me he loves me.
I don't know how to end this...maybe because it shouldn't really end. A father's love for her daughter and a daughter's affection for her father goes on and on.
Gawd, I miss Papa.
Bunny @ Monday, December 06, 2004
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about moi
Loves the beach, wishes she had more time and money to travel, recently got hooked to
climbing mountains, reads anything she can get her hands on, frustrated writer, adores her
3-year-old Lhasa Apso, Tashi,
constantly needs caffeine, wonders when she'll quit smoking, and will most
likely die due to liver complications from drinking too much (if the cigarettes
doesn't get to her lungs first). Can't live without accessories especially
big, dangling earrings, shoe freak (aren't we all?), sucker for discovering
hole-in-the-wall restaurants, will ingest anything spicy, enjoys giving and receiving
massages, addicted to Friends, Sex and the City and CSI, goes gaga over kids, dreams of
being alone with Jim Morrison and smoking a joint with Bob
Marley. Would love to party with Gwen Stefani, shop with Patricia Field, write poetry with
Maya Angelou and have Sting, Nelson Mandela, Mark Twain and Bono over for
dinner.
