Sunday, June 18, 2006

Father's Day.

I've just finished watching Riding in Cars with Boys, and it was one of the types of movies I love to watch.

The last scene of the movie made me cry.

It wasn't a particularly saddening scene; In fact, it was so simple and peaceful, it was what had me tearing up out of a sudden.

Drew Barrymore, as Beverly, asked her father to pick her up after she encouraged her son to drive up to Indiana to look for his girlfriend.

Her pop was humming to a song on the radio, and Bev joined in.

"Dream, dream dream dream, dream, dream dream dream
When I want you in my arms,
when I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Dream, dream dream dream"

They started singing out loud, and Bev moved into her dad's arms. With that, their past grudges simply... evaporated.

I cried because Bev has a dad who still loved her even tho he was never really there for her, and was disappointed in her shotgun marriage, which failed, by the way.

I cried because I wish I could say the same for myself - That I have a dad who still loves me and who will be there for me when I need him. I wish that I could hug him and all the distance between us throughout the years will simply dissipate.

I've only been seeing my dad once a year ever since I was 3 years old, and I could count on one hand the amount of times he came to Singapore alone to see me, without his new family. Well, not exactly new, since his daughter, my step-sister, is already 11 years old.

The last time he came alone to visit me and brought me out was 12 years ago. I was 9.

Yea, so he's living in Malaysia, but that's in Johor Bahru, not Sarawak, or Penang, or KL. It takes maybe 1 hour to reach my place. Whenever he pops by my bro's stall to visit, his main motive for coming to Singapore is to bring his daughter and wife shopping or something. He never made an effort to meet me.

I hate my dad for what he did to my mother, and I blame him for my dysfunctional family.

I hate him for the reason that my only vivid memory of him before their divorce, was him smacking me in my face for not sharing with him my Gardenia bread. I was 3.

I hate him for betraying my mother; betraying their vows, and betraying the notion of love.

I hate him for having a happy, quaint little family with his wife and daughter without us - Leaving my mum to take care of my sis, my bro and I while he spent my mum's money and enjoyed his life.


But I still love him, because he's my father.


My dad has never chided me in my face or during our occasional phone conversations. Not once. But ever so often, he will mention to my brother his concerns and disappointment in me, like when I dropped out of Ngee Ann Poly.

Frankly, I would really like to stamp my foot in indignation, and say, "The audacity! How dare he? He's never been there for me!" But perversely, I was always happy to hear that from my brother.

Why?

Sometimes I ask that of myself too, but I guess, to me, it meant that he still cares beyond skin-deep concern. That even though he knows that he doesn't have much rights to judge me, what with not being in my life at all, he cares enough to ask via my brother.

Everytime my dad calls to talk to me, I would shake my head pleadingly, and give out a nonchalant air, but inside, I was always quivering with anticipation.

It brings a smile to my face whenever I hear his voice and know that he's well, but I was afraid I would burst out in tears during one of our conversations and break the security wall I have built around my heart.

It gave me great comfort that my father knows his boundaries and somehow respects me, but the irony of how he'd treated my mum still bewilders me till now.

I love my dad, but in my 20 years of life, I don't think I've ever told him that once. And I don't think I would ever do it, because nothing could cover up the hole that he made in my heart when he left.

So I guess I'll just say it here.

Happy Father's day, pa. I love you.

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