Sentimental Februarys

When I was small & Christmas trees were tall...

I figured out why this period of the year seems so... sentimental. Not that it's the month of Valentines' Day & CNY. VD is over-rated. CNY is... whatever. The February of 3 years ago had a larger impact on me than any other emotional trauma or nostalgic moment. My heart broke in a million pieces on February 26th, 2004. From the bottom of my heart & deep within my soul, where few have even ventured, I truly felt pain when Daddy passed away. It was hard to realise then, but I didn't know it would still be this hard now. Death seems so surreal.

Everything else pales in comparison to this. My mind raced to recall & retain every childhood moment with my father, every scene, every action, every word said, every intention, every expression... every memory. If as a human being, we only "do" & "think"/"feel", then I could not feel nothing else.

The toughest part was to let go of the regrets - the things I would've wanted him to have, or experience. He wanted to give me a wedding, he hoped that whomever I chose would be good for me. Of course, Daddy always wanted the best for me. But my love-life at that point was in shambles. I was in a foreseen divorce, broken & given up on relationships, having the wildest flings, totally NOT for the idea of settling-down or marriage... thinking I should be single & wild forever. Then it happened - Daddy was diagnosed with cancer. It wasn't just cancer, as if that wouldn't be enough... it was cancer in the late stage. I was angry & afraid at the same time. All the other "issues" stopped clogging my mind. All the bad break-ups, betrayal, denial, rebellion, trying-to-be-different issues... they all simply paled out. It was probably God's way of telling me to stop & listen. The calendar period impending death was short, but it was the longest, most thoughtful months of my life. I wanted to do the right things, be the right person... I wanted to do good so Daddy could be proud of me. I wanted to cram in more good memories so he could be at peace & perhaps, satisfied of a daughter like me. But these weren't necessary. If Daddy was ever a worrier, he never showed it. He was the coolest guy. His style was subtle, yet I knew he always cared.

Daddy wasn't just close to my heart. He was the closest anyone would ever get. He & I "go way back". We weren't the "hugs-&-kisses" nor the "I-love-you" sort of father & child. It was deeper than that. I loved his laid-back style, I loved the fact that I was "just like my father" (quote) - stubborn. Perhaps it was hard for Mum to realise how much we both were like each other. Being the only child, Mum was naturally protective, but to the point of being possessive. If not for my dad's "laid-back"-ness, I may have gone kuku. Think I am abit kuku. But it could've been worse. He was the last one to be called upon to show his temper (pretending to...) for disciplinary situations when I was a bad kid, which (incidentally) was not very often. But when the time came, when he was really needed, he was always there. Always. I can't say that about anyone else. Once in my lifetime, I had a special person who truly stood by me.

He was there when I wore my 1st frilly swimsuit (very popular in the 70s). As I looked doubtfully at the sea, unwilling to take my 1st plunge, Pa stayed with me at the beach. I don't remember the situation but somebody (thank you) took a picture of my favourite childhood moment with my father. Some years later when I outgrew my fear of the water, Pa taught me how to swim by "piggy-backing" me around the pool till my legs learnt how to kick. This method of learning to swim was quite a no-brainer & of course, I learnt. More importantly, I remember looking forward to Sundays & my swimming lessons.

Over the years, I grew to talk to my father more & more... We could sit & talk about anything & everything. Nothing was taboo between us. I loved visiting him at his workplace, sitting on a small chair, saying hello to the aunties/uncles, then it was just the both of us. "Phillip eh cha bo kia" (Phillip's daughter) ~ I miss hearing them call me that. Pa also liked to visit me at my workplace(s). Especially during those years I was not staying with my parents. In his own way, he kept me close even during my rebellious moments of wanting to be out on my own.

There were many similarities between us... he preferred the bus (vs. MRT) cos' he "could always get a seat" even if the journey was longer. I prefer the bus cos' I like watching the scenes go by without others watching me. We both hated "extended-family-dinners" ~ cos' kaypo relatives always ask so much. Sometimes we'd take turns to accompany my mother. At one time, I told him I would not go to any more such dinners if he wasn't going. Such pacts usually happened between siblings. Perhaps he made up for the sibling(s) I never had. He knew me, like I knew him.

I know he lived his life. He didn't have much but he lived. He was member of clans, temples, maybe even churches... it's like he was everywhere, always doing something. Sometimes I couldn't keep track. He was a good soul & it was evident among his friends/colleagues/fellow members/associates that he was well-liked. His take on religion ~ "Believe in something, anything you choose. It's good for the soul. There is always a higher power." His take on 4D & gambling ~ "Buy it. Once in a while. It gives hope." Not the traditional kind of parental advice to expect. Somehow I knew what he meant.

It wasn't easy watching him deteriorate from cancer... he had already lost so much weight from years of diabetes. Cancer really took the life out of him. I moved back home that December & during that time, I played this Camomile Blend (Emi Fujita) CD alot. Because of the increasing difficulty to move about, Daddy had to stay home - hardly what he used to do. Listening to music at home was a brief but new hobby. Among the CDs I got for him, this was a favourite & so the song "First of May" reminds me of Daddy. He was, initially, still quite optimistic & planned a holiday for the 3 of us during CNY 2004. But that never happened. His condition got worse & it didn't take long to realise we had to cancel our trip. That was the last CNY I spent with my father ~ sober, sad, apprehensive of what was to come. It was the hardest few months. I saw him take his last breath. I wondered why God would take him away. We always wonder. Nobody understands death of a loved one.

Every February, I miss him even more. I think I will always miss him.