After 12 hours of meetings, I am too toxic to do anymore work. I know I'll regret not finishing something that should have been done last week, but I just have to write this ...
Birthday ng Tatay bukas. He'll be 64.
He may not have been the greatest father. But he was a father in the way he knew how and it was more than enough.
He used to call me "pingkot" to describe how my face used to become like a crumpled can whenever I didn't get my wishes (bunso eh!).
He used to let me lay down beside him in the sofa while we watched TV and pinched my earlobes softly until I fall asleep.
He was the one who taught me how to play Pusoy Dos, Lucky 9 and Mah Jong. He was my usual opponent in Scrabble and Boggles.
He threatened to hack me to death or shoot me if I continued my activism. He stayed up late at night to wait for me after every news of a rally and bragged to his friends that I met Joema Sison.
He gave unselfishly. Firm in his beliefs. Proud. Cooked the best kaldereta in the world.
He died in September 12, 2005.
Almost three years after, I still can not recall the last time we talked and what we talked about. Back then, I didn't know that it would be our last.
It pains me to remember that I was not there when he died. It saddens me to realize that I was the only one who was not there in his last birthday. It breaks me to think that I didn't get to have my planned long talk with him when I see him again.
There are many things unsaid and undone between us. I know I did not turn out to be the man he hoped for. But it still comforts me to know from my Mom that he was proud of the person I have become.
Happy Birthday Tatay!
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