Remembering Papa: 7 years on

I know I did mention that my next post, was to be how I battle the wrath of Screamyx and Tek Ni Shen, but it was a losing battle. I'm now in FTZ again because my current situation is that I can't even use the dial-up. Those idiot Tek Ni Shens came, and killed my phone line, literally. I can't even use dial-up, can't call out, can't receive calls. Whoopee eh?

But nah, I am writing this because I felt like writing. I realised I didn't mention much about my dad. And even if I did, it was just a passing by mention or it was something negative about it. I didn't really want to go through all the chronological stuff about what had happened.

But today I went to offer my prayers together with the rest of my family. It has been 7 years since that day when he left us all of a sudden. I didn't really do much other than offering the incense. What more, I went around to see how much that lot were filled with different people who passed on later. It is after all, a tower which holds different urns by different people who had passed on. Young and old, some of them babies, they each had a face that the people will remember.

I passed by one of these slab stone to find a woman who's husband had been battling for her urn to return to him. He wrote a letter naming his pain from being separated from his wife, after she had returned to her hometown, and died there. She died without telling him, and as her rightful husband he wanted to go through the rights of law to reclaim his wife's urn and placed somewhere closer to him.

It was disheartenning to watch dramas like these. He must have had a tough time persuading his in-laws, tough time keeping his composure. Sometimes I wonder why a death could make relationship became far worst than before.

Somehow my case was that way too.

I called my mom "Mommy" since young, but my dad was subjected to be called "Papa". Reason behind it being that I've learnt how to call his name by the time I am 7 months old. Unfortunately, that was the only thing I could say until I was the age of 5. I don't know why my mother went to the conclusion that I was being a slow-learner, but she told me my first understandable sentence was uttered at 5, which was very slow.

I don't remember that part of the memory.

I only remember sleeping on my father's shoulder and he carries me around. It was a very nice feeling, considering the amounts of drool on his shoulder. And the countless I woke up crying with a fever, and he carefully placed me at his arm, never letting go till the next morning.

However, he was also a cruel father (at least in the eyes of other friends). He never used a cane like my mother would use whenever the children did something bad. Instead, he used his big, muscly hands, and smacked us till his palms were red. His palms weren't the only ones red as he make us cry for mercy. It was really painful, and it was nothing like a cane. Somehow every beating he made it was straight from the heart, that he intended to make us feel the pain.

Then again, he was the best source whenever we want to go and play. That is because he likes playing as well, and he brought us to Genting Highlands, The national Zoo during its glory, but never overseas. It was my mom's idea to not give us a passport until we were 18 (until I was deceived of course. She waited until I become 18, not all three children).

The best times of my life were celebrated with my dad, but it was also the worst times that I've had with him. After the 1997 financial crisis, he started to become reclusive, drinking beer almost everyday, and he started to think of logic for himself, not for his family. He started putting blames. That wasn't the dad I knew.

However, that revived his political awareness, as he helped in PKN, as he volunteered his house to become a venue for a speech. It wasn't as open as how Hannah Yeoh had campaigned, but were always subjected to houses because the draconian devil, was oppressing on the opposition. He helped out in setting up what would be USJ.com.my now, with many of the moderators who's names I've known since I was young, who still actively participated in helping Hannah Yeoh getting her big break. I was somehow related to that.

But at 2001, he left us.

No message, no regrets. All he had with us was a trip to Colmar Tropicale a week earlier, that last happy moments he has with his family.

As we sealed his urn with a stone slab that bears his face, I realised we've sealed so many other relations.

We've sealed our good family relationship with the paternal family, and they will always remember my dad whenever they see me and my siblings. My grandmother never smile again after that. She never asked about our lives after that. It was really strained.

I on the other hand, without realisation, sealed my innocence and adolescent behaviour with him.

I used to be a very selfish, and ignorant girl. When I want something, it must be mine, if not I'll throw a tantrum so badly that I'll break doors. Countless times I've ripped a good dress because it was too hot (and at the age of 6 bear in mind). And I've tried knocking the door with my chubby hands because my grandmother thought it was to be a punishment to lock me outside. My cries were never sympathetic, always it'll be because of me, me, me.

That time, it sealed everything. Without realising it myself, I "grew up"

Without knowing, my behaviour changed. I don't cry as much anymore. Even as accusations piled up against my will never have I retaliated by crying, because I don't really have any proper good friends to confide into. As everyone remembers laughing gaily over the silliest joke available I find myself always being so independent, not talking to anyone.

It was here when I started to close my own feelings and started listening to others. By hearing them sharing with me their innermost problems do I realised I could maybe be a good friend to them. I shared with them a lot of things but nothing bad enough that must be a secret.

A lot of people called me matured. Too many, in fact, that I kept putting up that role of being the sensible, logical "auntie" around giving advices, making sure they get the comfort, and ensure my ears are always there to listen to them.

Until that blog post, which I announced that I don't want to celebrate my birthday.

Many were shocked with that announcement. Shyam told me to grow up, some others wrote a post about friends, and that I should appreciate them. Many others came to talk to me after a long time.

If it was anything comforting, it could mean my mean streak was coming back. I was becoming that selfish ignorant girl who was lost at the age of 13.

I've gotten so used to people calling me a strong, dependable matured girl, that the moment Shyam told me I should grow up, I was suddenly filled with anger, yet I didn't think much and leave it at that. I was turning back to who I was before, that part of me which was sealed after so long, emerged.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if Papa didn't die? Would I be here, knowing these bunch of friends, or would I have always be the misunderstood freak?

Odd enough, it was this love-hate relationship I've had with Papa that I found love. I remember they were all going to Kek Lok Si, because Janice wanted to pray to her father, to forgive her for not coming to visit often.

I was really bad. I didn't went in to pray. I was too afraid of seeing other friend's fathers that I stayed outside until they were done. That sort of started my relationship with Ephyon.

I doubt this is really a post to explain why I felt that way when I blogged about not celebrating my birthday. I don't think I need to tell you how I was back then, because alot of my coolest and closest friends are known when I am in university. I could understand if they couldn't understand why do I behave that way.

Then again, it's not a full post about Papa.

It is just a journey of how I grew up, and how Papa's death was influencing the way I behave, and how I am.

I don't know if my mean streak will stay, or would it vaporise and I'll become that loving "auntie" you people love so much, but this is something I want to tell my dad, even if he's not there.

Dad, you used to look down on me because my cousins were all achieving results that would make any parent proud. You shoved to me mom and your results to tell me that I was born to parents who have good results. But what is the point of good results, when I wouldn't be happy?

I'm now studying Journalism, the ONE and ONLY relative from YOUR clan doing so. Others were pursuing Medicine, Science, Engineering, Law. Boring!

I stand out to be one of those who dare to be extraordinary. So what if I could be looked down because in their opinion, Journalism is a "common" subject? At least I DARE to, and I do not have to feel like I'm kept within the line of "goodness".

So what if my cousins finished studying. One of your favourite cousins, finished law, but so what? He chose to work in a band. Does that mean that law was his interest, or he finished achieving what his parents want him to achieve?

I wish you could see me now. To see how I turned 20, with a resolution that the next time if I feel like throwing a tantrum about how friends are abandonning me, the first thing I'll do is ignore that fact, and face the smiling crowd.

I may never know who do or do not wish me with sincerity. But at least I want to tell you Papa, that I've grown up, that I knew how to psychoanalyze myself without needing much help from others.

At one point I wondered why couldn't I have someone who would tell my friends and family why I behaved like that, instead I have to explain them myself. Makes me feel really narcissist, that I love myself so much I throw tantrums, and then explain to them MYSELF why I behave like that.

Nobody could look at me like that Papa, and you used to be that messenger. I honestly thought I found a substitute messenger in the form of Ephyon, but it appears that in the end, I have to explain to them myself why I behave that way.

It may not seem anything now, that you would be 53 if you were alive. But still, Papa, no matter what I knew about you, you will always have the respect and love from your favourite daughter.

Happy belated birthday Papa. Hopefully I would know that it's you when I can see you again.