Last night I dreamt of daddy...

... he was in his old healthy (with the big tummy) form standing on a chair and talking on his mobile. I was pleasantly surprised at having seen him after passing through a makeshift parking lot full of rubbles from a torn down building near Crossing on Shaw Boulevard. I was in a rented SUV and the driver stopped when I called dad's attention. I thought he'd ride with me but instead he just left three magazines and closed the door just as quickly as he opened it.

An article I recently read about dream interpretation talks about how dreams are our brain's way of storing memories. If this were the case, then passing through the makeshift parking lot with the rubbles and then seeing dad in his healthy form represents memories of working in Manila, strapped of cash and seeing dad as my savior  -  just one call and he'd pick me up and automatically take me to some place where I could eat. I had never thought of asking how his day was or how he had managed to pick me up even if his own schedule were packed and if he, himself, were on a tight budget.

His healthy form, talking on his mobile while standing on a chair, no matter how funny it seemed, represents memories of how he's always been a stand out. He's 5'2 flat but he's a very aggressive communicator  -  my strict writing and speaking mentor, my inspiration and idol.

And when he opened the car door just to leave the magazines? It's probably part of a recent memory when he took me to the airport two weeks ago. And maybe, just maybe, it's his "pabaon", his way of leaving a legacy for me to use and cherish as I go my own way.

Dad, If Only You Could See This Now...

If only you could see this now, if only you could see me now, if only you could see where I am now...

I know you are not blind and you still are very much alive but there have been lots of times when I wished you were with me as you had always been before.

I sometimes find it not fair that for someone like you who has gone through so much, you still have to suffer so much more. Last week, you could barely keep your back straight and two minutes upright, talking to me on the webcam, was already a feat for you.

It was not like this a year ago. Nor was it, in any way, like this two or three years ago. If only, if only.

You told me that if only you had not made a decision to choose to stay in the Philippines out of "utang na loob" from a politician godfather, you and mom would have found yourselves raising a family in New York. And you would have been enjoying the retirement spoils of your wonderful stint in Merrill Lynch.

But here you are, barely able to put to use what remains of your severed right index finger  -  the same finger you had used so many times to document your life, mom's, your siblings' and their families and mine. You wrote  -  oh how strict but aggressive you were in your written thoughts! You had  -  and still have  -  always been my idol and inspiration even now as I write this. You took pictures  -  lots of them. You pressed the buttons of a tape recorder to capture moments.

I think I told you how much I wished you were with me on my first plane ride. But it was a business trip so what could I do? Financial problems brought about by your illness, mom's and bad business turnouts prevented us as a family to go on vacations via plane rides together. The closest you were to the planes  -  with me  -  was when you took me to the airport and when you picked me up and welcomed me back.

Somehow each time I went to the airport I wish the Philippines were like the US or other countries where relatives could wait with their loved ones until it's time for security check and/or boarding. But then I would try to justify, each and every single time, how Philippine airports were made; that they're made as such to strengthen an individual's facade, to toughen one's persona, when a separation was imminent and a goodbye was to be said.

And yet I still find myself crying once more, wishing that I could hear you say "it's cold here", "the food is good", "that was a bumpy ride  -  too many air pockets", "there are a lot of Filipinos here".

I miss you dad. So much. I now am a married woman, finally with her husband and trying to start a family. But a part of me remains a little girl, eager to discover and experience things with her father.

Sound Bites: Stung

I have never scrimped on dad on a whim. I have never wanted to do that. Haven't I been criticized by a relative or two for taking him to the hospital one too many times when these relatives thought that his situation could improve at home? And even when the doctors, themselves, actually said otherwise, they still never believed it so?

I know the wheelchair I bought, the cane I purchased, the home improvements I had done and so many other things could never come close to the  value of my obligations for him but please understand, I have my own sanity to take care of, my husband to attend to, a limited budget and time to work on and people to deal with. The last thing I need right now, especially when  I have six days left in Manila is an ambush. If last-minute expenses could be delayed or postponed, why not? If we could resort to cheaper but efficient alternatives, why shouldn't we?

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If marriages go sour, one can and must expect that at one point or another, skinny high school girls grow and gain muscle/fat. I wouldn't call a spade a spade especially when my situation and yours differ greatly from hers.

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It's 3:07 AM and all I want to do is cry. My almost year-long stay in Manila is coming to an end. When I returned on August 1st of last year, dad could still walk, I hadn't met my half sisters yet and I didn't have relatives to butt heads with. Now dad can barely walk, my relationship with my half sisters is awkward and painful and all the hurt didn't spare my affiliation with some of my relatives and friends.