Life, Personal, writing

Unconditional Love

“Hello,” greeted an unseen voice from over the phone. For a moment, my heart stopped beating as the familiar sound brought back me back to memory lane.

But the magic needed to end as I snap back to reality – the reality that the one person I was currently speaking to was a contractor, asking me details of what I sent them through email a few hours back.

My trip to memory lane was cut short as I snapped back to reality, regaining my exterior composure – calm and calculating against the frantic beating of my heart.

“Ma’am,” he greeted back, “I have my personnel on site who may double check the said concern at the unit,” to which I answered in the negative. Saying that the unit owner was unavailable at the moment.

A few more seconds over the phone and the conversation ended – leaving me still rattled and disoriented from the experience. Because for a moment back there, I thought I was actually hearing the voice of my deceased father for one last time.

That maybe, this was part of my unanswered prayer the following days and weeks of father’s death. That for one last time, we could hear him, hold him, and see him at the very least to finally bid that one bittersweet goodbye.

That maybe he was actually really on the other side of the phone and was going to ask how we were finally doing.

And it was in that few moments after the phone call that I realize how much it means to miss a man as great as he. That here we were, left with memories, with stories, pictures, a few videos, his diary from way back Saudi Arabia days, and a voice recording for one of his seminars or lectures – the one and only thing that would most probably come close to hearing his voice again.

You see, even in the midst of growing up, of having far too many responsibilities and obligations, not once will you truly forget nor stop yearning for the ones you hold dear – no matter the distance, no matter the circumstance.

Your love for them – it never really fades. It just goes stronger. Each and every single day.

Standard
Life, Personal

Once Upon a Time

 

Once upon a time I was a young girl looking up the sky – waiting for the giant bird-like machine to fly by over our heads.

Once upon a time I was a young girl who realized that a waiting taxi with my father and his luggage in it means it’s time for him to go back to work and another year or so without seeing him physically.

Once upon a time I was a young girl pretending to be okay – pretending actually that I am not getting dizzy when my father rocks me to sleep simply because I wanted the moment to last a little longer.

Once upon a time I was a young girl who writes lots of letters for my father and keep all his replies in a box, a plastic bag, cabinet, and basically anywhere I can store it.

Once upon a time I was the young girl who walks up to my father’s other side (left or right) to hold his hand in mine while we stroll in the mall.

Once upon a time I was the young girl who looks forward to Sundays mainly because it means it’s movie day with the ‘whole’ family, too.

And once upon a time I was never the self-proclaimed-writer-at-heart person until it was decided that you are to come back Home – in the Heavens where you really belong.

Then suddenly, as if in a trance or a conspiracy of some sort, all of my thoughts were imprinted through words of black and white on ink and paper.

– As if you were telling me that Once Upon a Times never really ended and dissipated together with you; that our once upon a times as father and daughter never really ended that one night when you held my hand and meant not to let go; that our stories of once upon a times as a whole family have never ended and vanished into thin air the moment you breathed your last.

Because it is in the simple telltales of our once upon a times – of yesteryears, of yesterdays that you live through and through. That our stories live through and through – in memories and in hearts.

So on your 3rd all soul’s day, know that our stories of once upon a times continue to grow to be the happy memories they’re supposed to be. That finally, we’re getting a tidbit better than the last. That finally, somehow, I’m beginning to piece the bigger picture of why we have to lose you early in this life.

So for all our once a upon a time stories, thank you Pa.

Know that you’re still one of our motivators and one of the best source of inspiration.

 

Thank you. Always and Forever.

-A.

 

 

Standard
Life, Personal, writing

Memories of July

For most of us, July’s just part of the 12 months in a year. The 7th one to be exact.

Others would call for a celebration – baptism, birthday, wedding/ wedding anniversary. Basically anything.

But still it’s July, the same 7th month of each year.

For us, it’s a different kind of anniversary. Because it’s an anniversary that marks the final chapter of one person’s life. Continue reading

Standard