Published by: Angel Monique Candelaria
Date published: March 10, 2023
Time published: 8:50 AM
Category: Prose
Theme: A father's love
Synopsis: He was a man who could give his daughter happiness at the expense of losing his. Whatever everyone would say, he would always be the first man to love her, as he was the first man she loved wholeheartedly.
At the bust station, where the only shadow provided to protect you from the morning sunlight softly damping on each skin would be from the shed's roof or the green trees around it, you could see different types of people. For example, a child clutching his mother's hand, a man with his tux that he kept on fixing—maybe it was his job interview? Ah, and there was this woman who kept touching her nose with her handkerchief while sniffing. I looked at her and...oh no, poor thing. She was sniffing because she was crying. "Having a tough time?' I asked. She looked at me. A moment of silence before she finally nodded her head. It was as if she was reluctant to answer. Of course, you wouldn't want a stranger to suddenly know what was happening in your life, right? Well, unless it was an emergency. "Don't worry. Everything will be okay," I said, smiling to encourage her. She was young, maybe in her mid 30's? Nonetheless, when she smiled, her beauty was like no other, however, she smiled bitterly. How sad. She slowly shook her head, looking at her fingers playing with the handkerchief. "Will it?" she asked. " Why of course!" I replied with no hesitation. "You'll get through this, child. Sometimes life is can be challenging, but everyone gets back up," I added. She laughed, but tears rolled down her beautiful, youthful eyes. Oh, dear. She must have a hard time. A big sigh escaped her mouth. Her red runny nose once again sniffed as she wiped her reddish eyes. "Well you see...my father is...well...sick," she said, sniffing once more and sighing as if to collect her breath. But this woman was brave. She was so brave that she could still smile. A smile that turned into little laughter. "I see," I said, nodding my head to her as I joined her small laughs. But her laughs turned into sobs. She kept on wiping her tears only for new ones to fall. The bus finally arrived and the woman beside, me whose belly was supported by her hand, stood up. She reached her hand to me and although I was confused, my wrinkly old hand with veins almost popping out accepted hers. "It's our bus. Let's go, Papa."
Change is constant and time would never stop, and yet the moment I heard her cry, it felt as though it was not only my time that stopped, but my whole world did. Her little hands grasped mine tightly and I couldn't help but smile even though I wanted to hide it. Astonishingly, I didn't care about the laughter of our friends as I suddenly tasted the salty tears that fell. All I could care about was this little human I was hugging. All my consciousness was focused on her along with thousands of ways to protect her, and how I would give her nothing but the best things in life. "My daughter. My dearest, loveliest daughter."
Oh, how time continued to fly. One time I was just carrying her in my arms, singing a lullaby although I didn't have any talent in this category. Well, now...now I was looking at her entering the huge door to her classroom. clutching the school bag she repeatedly asked me to buy for her, and I did, of course. How could I resist her, hmm? My dear looked back at me, waving her small hands while she smiled absent-mindedly. The moment the doors closed and her figure disappeared from my eyes, anxiety ran me over. I had to sit down on the nearest bench and calm myself. She was really growing up...fast at that! I remembered that time when all she could do was cry in her crib until one day she finally found her voice and called me, "Papa." I swore it was the sweetest voice I had ever heard, to the point I didn't know how many times I apologize to my wife as I blurted that my daughter's voice was the sweetest than anyone. Good thing we both laughed it out. Well, her first words were to address her mother anyway, not me. But I was over the moon. I couldn't deny that, no, never. Another memory flooded my anxious mind. The time when she finally learned how to crawl. God, I thought she was going to fall. I ran to her as fast as I could, forgetting that I had a bowl in my hand. It broke, and my wife laughed. On that same day, I bought safety foams and places them all over the place. I even changed our sharp-edge furnitures to rounded ones. I wanted her to be safe...always.
Time was fleeting. I suddenly had this fear of losing her as she grew up. It made my knees weaker. But here I was, waiting outside the room where she soon left. Her friends helped her long white gown and extravagant veil. "Papa," she called out, smiling as she held back her tears. She reached her hand towards me and I immediately took it. My daughter grew up to be a talented, smart, and stunning woman she was now from that teenage girl who tore me down over and over, a common cause of adolescence. Either way, whether she may be my chubby little girl, my emo youngin, or this dashing woman, she would always be the dearest I had. As I walked her down the aisle, I remembered her mother. Could she see us from above? Oh, how proud she must've been. Tell me, my wife, had I raised her right? Had I given her enough love? Had I supported her enough in everything she wanted to do? Was I a father she wanted? With these thoughts, I surely couldn't control the tears I had, once again, shed for her. As my daughter laughed, holding my hand tightly, I could hear the familiar laughter of her mother. Oh, she grew up to be as beautiful as her. The only women who made me fall in love with their own qualities that may be weird for others, but lovely in my eyes. The moment I gave her hand to the man she chose, I finally realized. I could feel it. My girl...my little girl was slowly slipping through my fingers.
Sometimes I wish I could just go back in time. Far enough when I was the strongest...when I could still wipe the tears she cried for me too many times. But I felt weak. I felt so weak to the point I could only lay down on this bed, getting used to the sickening beat of machines surrounding my room. Here, where I rest my eyes, my body, and my being, stayed my little one. I could still remember the time when she held my hand for the first time. Now, as I glanced at it, well...it was still smaller than mine, but bigger than it was before. "Papa," she called out to me and I couldn't help but smile. There, the love I had was looking at me. I regret nothing. I knew, just by looking at her, I gave her all the love she needed to be who she was now. I would forever be proud that she was my daughter. I saw how hard she tried to reciprocate the things I did for her. However, she should just give it to her young ones. She didn't need to do the same to me. It was a responsibility I took voluntarily. The moment she breathe Earth's air, I vowed to give her every single beautiful thing in life. I would not leave her crying, no. I would leave her smiling. I was her father, and I would always be her father. That alone was the best thing that happened in my life.
Cartoon by Jemina Gonzalez
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