Pops, Popsicles, Papa…. Love

      Writing about the man who is closest to my heart never fails to bring me to a place of pure gratefulness. My heart leaps, shouts and cries out of pure gratefulness to the man I call my papa.

Although we’ve had a very simple life, my papa never fails to make us feel as if our little house is a kingdom and we are princesses. Not in a spoiled rotten way, but with how he always made us feel secured in his love and care. I’ve never ever been more secured of knowing we come first.

I grew up with his makeshift fairy tales. About the boy who eats langka (jackfruit) to make his fart smell good, and win the heart of the princess. He twists stories and adds a dash of his own creative juices to make them more personal. And even up to now he still claims he is 28 years old, not minding the white hairs poking up his head, and continues to make fun of himself in front of the mirror whenever he knows we are watching.

He would gather pillows when I was small, put them together and make them cushions because we don’t have a mattress. We would sleep with a hard bed on our backs, but mine would be a little softer cause I’m cocooned by the pillows. And if you see my bed now, I drown myself with pillows. And they will always remind me of a man who puts our comfort first before his.

He’d heat up water, place it in an empty “lapad“, wrapped it in cloth and place it in my tummy whenever I’m having a bout with dysmenorrhea.

He encourages our passion whatever they may be. From the mundane to the heavy ones, he listens as we rattle about it. In college he even went to UP Cookouts and Concerts several times, and actually enjoys it.

It was said that he was given a chance to work overseas when I was still inside my mother’s tummy. It was said that he didn’t go because he couldn’t bear to be apart from us. Perhaps I get this from him, the yearning to be in close contact with people that I love.

He is a restless man who couldn’t sit still. He would always find something to fix in the house. He would cook, wash our uniforms, iron them. Anything and everything. He is like superman with tentacles, doing so many things at the same time. And his rest aside from sleep, would be sipping his coffee, reading the paper and watching the news, from TV Patrol to CNN. And he makes the best inun-unan and chicharon bulaklak in the world.

He’d make me test sheets from my books to help me review what I’ve studied during exam season. I’ve always treasured those yellow pads cause I would see his neat hand writing. I remembered going out on weekends and having those few pages of yellow pads in my bag, I’ll always make sure I’ve filled them up before I go home. And he would check them like a pro teacher.

There were times when VECO (a local power company) would cut our power off, and we would have candle lit dinners (not out of choice, but because more of lack of choice haha), and somehow his funny antics would make the situation a little less darker.

He taught me poetries and even declamation pieces of great men. It started with the childlike “All things are bright and beautiful” to the iconic line of “Four score and seven years ago” from the Gettysburg Address by President Lincoln. I’ve memorized it by heart when I was a kid.

He’d been a friend when I had my first heartbreak. Staying up with me in my room, oftentimes falling asleep himself, cause I don’t want to be alone. When he’d send me text messages of how he trust my strength to overcome the pain. And he believed that prayers can do wonders. And how he’ll bash the face of whoever would break his daughters heart.

There were times when life’s constant push would put this man’s back against the wall. But these moments would only last for awhile and he would be back in the game again. With a big smile and a bulging tummy, he would take life the best way he knows how.

I would always tease him whenever we chat cause it would take him centuries to find the keys in the keyboard. So we would do voice chat and I would always tell him “istorya pa pa.” (Talk more papa), so I could just listen to him talk.

My father is a simple man with a big heart. Bigger than the world. And it would be a great joy on my part if I can make his heart smile and feel proud of knowing I am his child.

Happy Happy Birthday to the man who has been silently stalking my facebook and twitter (he hasn’t discovered Instagram yet… i think)… who believes I can dream the Universe into a reset, who will always see me as his little girl, and who will forever be stuck at being 28 in his mind.