..Love in Silence..

I'd like to believe that I write well when the subject of my blogs is my family. I honestly don't know how to make a good intro for this entry considering that I only shared the confidentials of my life to someone whom I'd given my so much trust before. You may have noticed that oftentimes, it's only my mom I used to mention in my blogs. But as the teaser  goes "there's always a woman behind every man's success and downfalls"..There was Eve behind Adam, Megara behind Hercules, Hillary Clinton behind Bill. My twisted teaser is that "there's always a man behind every woman".

 Mine was my silent man...

I viewed the world very ideal when I was still 9 years old. I believed in its capacity to give benevolently to those who devote themselves in prayer as I religiously make the church my secondary home. My parents got married at an early age and I can say that we are not a perfect family. Their marriage was not perfect and they were not either perfect parents. My father is a silent man. He would go and went back to work with stares as his way of saying hello and goodbye. He is a man of few words. On weekdays, he would send me and  my sister to school and kissing him is something of a miracle for us to do. He would just give our "baon" and would left. on Sundays though, he would wake up early and would head to the market. He cooks so well and he would prepare sumptuous meals for us. I always look forward on Sundays. Again, he would do the entire chores silently. Conversation between father and daughter was seldom practiced at home. We were used in this routine; only the three of us since my mother was working out of the country. Still, I viewed the world as ideal.

On my 7th birthday, I remember him bringing me my first birthday cake which unfortunately happened to be the last birthday cake he ever bought me. It was just a simple square cake with a candle on it. He had not uttered the words "Happy Birthday" but the thought that he remembered my day ( I guess every father does) is worth a thousand words.

One rainy night, he arrived home with bleeding bruises on his arms. He said he was not able to control his motorbike that he slipped off the road. When he removed his raincoat, there I saw the reason of his bruises. He was holding the watermelon which was halfly cracked on a bleeding arm. He handed it over to me and calmly instructed to sliced it and put on the table. Obeying him in a melted heart while fixing my vision on his arms was something I cannot permit my memory to forget:  a man who is not so vocal ready to break his arms to bring home something for his kids.

On this very day, 16 years ago, on the same day of my bestfriend Christel's birthday, my view of the ideal world changed dramatically. On the hour of Great Mercy on a Good Friday, my father who's always been a man of silence was murdered. He was murdered in time I'm viewing the world as something less capable of inflicting pain. He was taken away in time I have accepted his ways of loving us in silence.

I had hated him whenever I think of my mother being away from us when it was supposed to be his responsibility to provide for the family as what I've learned ideally in school. I hated him whenever he would returned in his old ways which prompted my mother to seek for greener pasture for the family. But when there were only the three of us living in a routine weekdays and Sundays, I knew deep in my heart that he was trying his best to be both a mother and a father to us--in whatever silent ways he knew. He would carry my sister on his lap and not on a frequent situations, we would sleep with him--the three of us. The last conversation we had as I can still reminisce was when we were watching TV and out of nowhere he asked if it is possible that I can get an exam to be accelerated and graduate fast. Did he ever had a feeling of an impending goodbye? I was only on my 3rd grade then.

16 years ago, I was  with the man whose love was manifested in simple silent ways like taking us to school, preparing Sunday meals, or even being careful not to break a watermelon even if it meant bruising his arms.

Papa, it's been a long while since I saw you in my dreams. It's been a long while since I talked to you in times I desperately needed your presence. You were absent in all of our graduation ceremonies, missed much of our birthdays; the X-masses and Father's days that we were just contented of bringing you flowers and lighting you candles. It would have been different if you were around when someone are already sending us flowers. It would have been different now that we are expressive enough to say our feelings. Would you have beaten your silent ways if you have lived a little longer? Would there have been a long conversation between a father and a daughter? Would there be times we'll be hearing how proud you are of us? or would you ever get angry when someone broke your daughter's heart? I could guess...I could only guess.. Wherever you are right now, I know you are more at peace seeing your once 8 and 9 year old kids on a better situation. I know you are happy of what we have become, happy that we were able to surmount since the day you left without a goodbye. Ultimately, I know that those days that turned into 16 years today, you continue to love us in your silence..
We miss you, and in between those silence, we are loving you...


I guess I inherited my father's ways. I've learned to love in my silence that I was once doubted as someone not capable to give love just because of an absence of words.

But who said you cannot love someone without telling them that you do? My father.