Write a story about me, Papa said.
I was busy writing at the back of my school books, pretending doing my homework while i actually writing about “Mila” a nine years old girl who’s in love whit her next door neighbour. Papa supposed to check whether i’ve done my homework or not, Mama the chief commander always caught me not doing it, that’s why i have to pretend.
He caught me in the act, but instead of repeating the same words like Mama, he said,
Write a story about me.
He’s a laidback person, he believes in Karma, He believes in God, he believes in me.
That was a fun saturday night, he just got home from business travel. He brought a lot of present for Mama, me and my sisters. In my early teenage years, i was so fond of fancy papers and cute cards. He bought me a pack of papers included envelop and gift tag. three white kitten in a bowlf blue yarns.
“Eventhough I may not tell you very often, i’ve always been grateful to you” those line written in the bottom of the papers. The pack consist of 15 Papers, 10 Envelopes and 5 gift cards. I took one gift cards, wrote something inside then went to Papa to give the card to him.
He was watching TV with my younger Sister, Mama was cuddling my youngest baby sister in the bedroom.
“Papa…this is for you.” I said
He looked at me with his intensed eyes – seems that he always look deep into your eyes to your heart-.
He received the cards, open it then read it, he then smiled to me.
I smiled back.
He then grab his wallet, handed me my weekly allowance.
“It’s saturday night, you supposed to give me on Sunday night, Pa.” I said
“No, it’s alrite, i have to give it to you now. Timing is everything, love.”
i was puzzled, but happy to get this allowance earlier. Without knowing that when he spoke about time, it’s his time with me that were about to finish.
Write a story about me, he said.
That saturday night, a scream awaken me. i stormed to my parents bedroom, surprisingly there were so many people there.
There’s my Grandparent, my father’s older sister, my neighbour who is a doctor.
My mama cried in the way i never see before, or may i will never see again. What could be more painful then letting go the one you love the most, even losing your own life couldn’t be worse.
That nite, we went to ER, Papa never woke up the next fifteen minutes, i saw him take his very last breath then with a drop of tears in the corner of his eyes, he left. in silence.
I was so numb, i can’t cry, can’t scream, i can only stood still while everyone hug me and weep.
Write a story about me, he said.
He was and still is, my hero. I can easily recalled how it feel to be hold in his big warm hug. I remember the nights when he cuddled and swing me very slowly till i fell asleep. He tied my hair to whatever style i want every morning before i go to school then only when i;m done he will wear his tie and get ready to work. He liked to shake his leg unconciously when he sit, work even when he sleep. i oftenly protest this behaviour only to be teased by him that i have this disturbing habit too.
Write a story about me, he said.
He’s joker, crowd pleaser, he loves to play with kids and laugh like little boy. When we compete in a game he never let me win, he will push me to my limit but never make me feel bad when i’m failed.
He is the best thing ever happened to me.
Write a story about me, he said.
Only one year after he passed away, i managed cry. That was one lazy afternoon, i just finished reading a book, then realise how silence this house was.
I go out of my room then calling everybody, noone answered but the maid said Mama have gone to market with my sist’s. I then asked her, “Have Papa called? he always called me from office around this time to remind me to do my homework.” The maid looking at me uneasy.
I then realise, he’s gone. he’s really gone. he’s not on a construction project out of town, he’s not working late, he’s nowhere. he’s gone.
I went to the kitchen grab a slice of bread, holding it with both of my hands then sat on the dining table. I bite slowly but cannot swallow. Felt like there were a big stone inside my throat, not allowing me to take anything inside cos i haven’t let anything go.
i cried hard till i cannot make any sounds, i cried till all the fear i have inside burst into tears.
Write a story about me, he said.
He loves to draw, he loves to cook, he never said things loud to my mama, he loves to kiss our damped hair, he loved to see us smiling. He loved mountain promised me that one day we’ll stay in a mountain and live more simply. He loved beach because i love beach, he love everything i love and make it happened for me.
It’s been 14 years since he left, but i still cannot find the way to write about him, so much things i wanna say and there’s no best way is good enough to talk about him.
I recalled the night i gave the card to him, the last time he looked intensely to my eyes as if he was trying to convince me that i can live without him.
I wrote in the card, “I’m glad you’re home, Papa.”
