Reality bites: He's my father but I am not the daughter

Flashback 1991, I was playing in the backyard of my Elementary School, my classmate teased me asking where my Dad is. And I am so ashamed to admit that he’s working abroad. He’s not here with me every single day of my childhood unlike the Dads of these silly kids. I didn’t answer back but I threw him a pack of mud instead. The last memory I got of him was at the airport, he was wearing a denim jacket and a pair of old jeans – On his first flight to Saudi Arabia. “Heaven Knows” by Rick Price keeps playing in my head from the airport back home. I cry while playing, I cry while in school and more often than not, I cry myself to sleep. I’ve been used to a 3-year, 2-year and 1-year employment contract of my father. We all got used to it. I mastered the art of writing a letter in a writing pad, yellow or stationery paper, name it. I make sure the margins are equal, first paragraph starts with a big letter, indentions are correct, date and time must also be included. We used to also send voice tapes, so even if I don’t know how to sing I tried my best to at least finish a song to dedicate him. And of course I need to tell academic stories - achievements, contests or whatever it is that pleases him. I’ve never been great about anything except when I’m guided by my father. He’s a rabbi and a mentor to me. But as I see it before he’s a faultfinder and a critic. During my adolescent years, less letters were sent, no voice tapes too. It’s email era. Things got easier. Efforts were less exerted. Phone lines were also accessible, so I need not to think of anything to say but Hi and Hello. Answer questions, lie and bye. Then I began to grow physically and mentally. Little by little he watch me develop from a little kid into a teenager. He became more rigid, more criticizing and more demanding. No wearing of short skirts, no perfume, NO EVERYTHING. Of course I didn’t understand. Come adulthood, and still he was there. He’s often physically absent but he never left. He tried his best to at least BE THERE. And there I was - a reluctant, hard-headed, selfish woman. Refusing every single idea or thought my Dad wants me to achieve. Yes I know from the heart that he just want the best for me – a good career, best partner and matured personality. But I’m only human. I love to oppose. I became self-reliant. I wanted to learn everything the hard way. And so the hard way I've chosen became a lethal boulevard that slowly killed me and almost took me away from the family I so cherish now. I fell many times, I cried many times, I begged many times and he did nothing but accept me. I was never the daughter he wanted to have. I am not the daughter he prayed for when my Mama conceived me. I was never the sent-from-heaven-kind-of-daughter. But hey it’s Father’s day! This is your day. I love you. You are my first and last love. It may seem so awkward to say it out loud but I try my best to acknowledge that before even dropping your call. Your “I love you too” is the best version I ever heard. You are not perfect. You are oftentimes hot-headed and the authority of your voice resembles that of Big Brother’s. But hey! You are the only man I respect, look up to and entrust my future with. And that makes you the best. This might be long but I made a list of Thank Yous so you will always remember - Thank you for being a good provider – we never ran out of trend from clothes, restaurants we dine to gadgets. But it breaks my heart seeing you with the same shirt you always wear for 3 years. That’s the reason why giving you a brand new one is a good gift idea whenever you leave. You deserve a dress up sometimes. Thank you for the International and local trips we had that made me an official Island girl and now running my own travel agency because of the inspiration you gave me. That life must be well spent by travelling. Thank You for all the father-son (ok father-daughter) bonding we share – when we played billiards during a vacation in 2000, our night runs, scooter and tandem-bike rides. The museum trips that Mama will never appreciate. The love for Japanese, Chinese and Indian foods that runs in my blood. The love for sports only sons can inherit from their dads. And for this one particular moment I won’t forget – In a birthday trip in Brisbane and we were having breakfast. I crumpled the bread and dip in my coffee then I looked at you and you’re doing the same habit unconsciously. It may seem like a small thing but you don’t know how it melted my heart. I am your daughter, you are my Dad. What a confirmation! Thank you for trying your best to shape me into a FINE WOMAN. I may be a bit boyish but that won’t change the truth. I learned independence, strategy, and endurance from you. I got my strong personality, loyalty for the country and love for people from you. You always tell me that honesty and morality are the most important aspects I need to get from you. We’re not into politics but we always have better plans for people. Changing the world is our main objective in life and I find it freaking awesome. Thank you for all the misunderstandings. Because of that, you have proven the world that you are the only person who won’t give up on me. Thank you for setting an example of faith and not religion. My faith in God is just a grain compared to the size of yours. Your faith is what keeps you into fidelity. I salute you because never in my entire life I heard of the word 3rd party between you and Mama. I may not be the daughter you wished for when you were 18, but Pa I will be the conductor of all your visions, I will pass on it to the next generation. You may not be a legend in politics or showbiz, but you will be the Hero of this family. Your legacy will always linger in this lifetime or even after. I love you. From the daughter who is not deserving but tries her best to make you glad, Bidoy

The cute and colorful side of Tacloban

It was the night of Nov 19, 2013 when I was on the way home while watching the news inside the bus TV. It was a very devastating sight - people of Tacloban were desperately reaching out for help. They needed food, clothes, foot wears, everything. They were left with nothing but their own lives. It was a very tragic Typhoon. It was a storm surge that hit them. Most of them were transferred from Tacloban to Villamor Airbase for temporary shelter and for feeding programs. I wanted to help but I know it's impossible for me to fly to the devastated place. I am of no help, I am just a plain office employee with a little and almost nothing in my bank account. An idea came into my mind when I saw the kids - My heart skipped and I wanted to hug each and every one of them just to comfort them. I am going to Villamor Airbase first thing in the Morning. I am making them happy, I will dress as a clown and will give them entertainment. I haven't done such a comical act in my entire life but that's the first thing that entered my mind. I can do that. Just to ease the pain I see in their eyes. Went straight to the bookstore and bought coloring books, colors, popcycle sticks, molding clay - all those school supplies you can find in a pre-school. Come morning of November 20, 2013. I have called the all Clown costume for rent services I find in the internet but none of them are available. I proceeded and brought the school supplies and went on to Villamor Airbase. I registered and volunteered as a Stress Debriefer to the kids. Honestly I don't know how to start but I just followed the "Sunday School Teacher" in me. The first scene I witnessed was very heart melting. When a big cargo plane they call "C 130" landed right in front of Villamor Stadium, the survivors from Tacloban went down from the plane one by one, I really cried. It was like a scene in a zombie-themed movie we watch where the survivors showed up after a big wave of zombies attacked the town. The volunteers in the Airbase were all clapping, giving them applause to uplift their spirits. To at least show them they're conquerors. I have seen at least 5 c130s as they land and drop passengers. From Morning to until 5pm, I roam around and look for kids then show them the stuff I brought, taught them how to color, mold clay, write their names and other fun things a normal child do at school except for one - I didn't ask them anything about the typhoon. Their "projects" translate their unspoken words. I was holding back my tears the whole time I was with the children. How can I ever ask sad questions when all I see in their eyes is hope? When we hear the word Tacloban, we picture calamity, hunger and death. But let me show you this - These are the children from Tacloban. The cute and colorful side of Tacloban.