If a wish were to be granted, if Santa Claus really did exist, if the world is like a fairy tale, if reality was like any happy ending story books, if I could write it out and it became true, I have none but one wish...
I want my father back.
Want to know one of my darkest, deepest secrets? When he about to go and when he left, I felt this little tinge of relief. Why? Because I knew that I would get just a bit more freedom from the wary eyes of a parent. And now, when I think about it, I feel that sense of guilt. What daughter would think of happiness when her father passes away? What sort of monster am I?
And here I am, writing a post about my father. The father I had loved- I believe I had always loved, will always love. The father whom had worked so hard just to bring up the family he loved. The father whom I once thought was too strict, too harsh, unemotional except for impatience and anger... But no, he was just being a parent. Just being who he is. And I am all that little bits and pieces of him. I am impatient, I am hot-tempered, I love food, I love music- I am just those little puzzles of his existance.
I miss him so much. I miss the times when he used to cook on Sundays, the times when he used to take us out for a family dinner, the times when he used to sing and sing bad (out of tone. haha), the times when he would be standing by the BBQ stand when we had parties, the times when he told us stories from overseas (China, USA, Germany etc. etc.), the times when he planned for our holidays, the times when he nagged at me, the times when he told me off for singing so loud at night that he couldn't sleep, the times when...
I miss so much. His voice, his smile, his everything. And to think that I used to hate all his naggings and strict rules only to come to miss it so much.
And I am sad. Sad because I keep replaying again and again his last moments at the hospital; the way his hands were so weak that he couldn't even sign his name, the times he had cried (even at home), the way he hugged me, he way he sounded, the music he wanted, then when it got worse... his laboured breathing, the way he couldn't focus on anyone... Did he even hear me? I am also sad because whenever I listen to those familiar, happy christmas songs, I start to think of him. It's so stupid! To be sad on Christmas season.
I only got to see him just 17 years of my life. I wish I could see more. I wish I could have known more. I want to listen to his stories again, to be taken out to eat, to learn what I could have learned from him. I wanted him to be there when I graduated. I wanted him to be there when I was confused with something. I wanted someone to look for because I was certain he would be sure of the answer. Actually, I still want those.
There's so many things that I ought to say about him. About how great he is, about how I wouldn't trade him for any other father in the world. But that could take all day. That could take days. That could take a few posts.
I never found reason enough to have a wishlist. Now I do.
I want my father back. That's all.
And that's an impossible wishlist.