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© 2008 gdjock@yahoo.com
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tribute to Abah

My dad and I have this unique relationship. We barely speak, but we absolutely understand each other. Maybe it's because he was stern in my younger years, or maybe it's because I was away from home for the longest time.

He has this tough exterior, thick bushy mustache Freddy Mercury style and he's tall and big. He never beat his kids but his voice alone could send shivers to me and my siblings. We tried very hard not to mess with him, but sometimes we just did.

I know he's a very sensitive guy. I saw him choked several times. The day when we got in a road accident, the day he called me to tell me that grandpa died, the day when my cousin passed away. We try not to disappoint him or make him sad.

I think all my life, I worked to get his approval. I know in some way, I didn't live up to his expectation, but trust me I tried very very hard.

He's a very intelligent, independent and resourceful man. He can built anything from scratch. A house, a shop, my school projects, my siblings school projects. Somehow, he's like an elf. He worked when we're asleep. Come morning, our beautiful homework that we cried over the previous night, magically appeared as perfect as we imagined it to be. I did get some snide remarks from my jealous schoolmate, but I was glad my dad is way better than theirs. Boo hoo.

From the tell tales, my dad was a wild child. And I think so too, judging from the old pictures of his hey day. I remember this iconic picture of him, where he's singing and playing a guitar in a studio, with his hair long and wavy. So cool. I think that's why my mom fell for him. He also has this thing for black ray-bans - its like his signature wear.

He loves his football and badminton. My mom told me, once when I was small, he brought me along to the Larkin Stadium to watch a football match, where he managed to lost me, and only to find me in the middle of the pitch. That was of course the last time I tag along to any football match. But he still let me followed him to his badminton games and gigs.

He used to have this cool 70's jipang motorcycle, way before those stupid mat rempits infesting our streets. I remembered falling asleep most of the time when I ride with him. However due to the super speed of the motorcycle, my grandpa managed to persuade him to ditch that monster to a more standard motorcycle. I miss that bike.

About 9 years ago, I got into this deep shit. When no one believes me, he's the one that stand tall behind me. Although he didn't show or say anything, I know he went all the way to clean my name and clear the air. That event left me scarred, coz although it hurts me, it hurts my father more. I know I shouldn't say this, but to this day, I never forgive anyone involved in that thing, including an old relative which was also the imam kampung. Even though everything seems cool now, every time I see him, I just walked away coz I can't bear my boiling hatred. I thank God for my father who was the only reason I didn't kill myself.

During hari raya, I skipped the whole salam thing coz I know I will cry if I kiss his strong hand. I usually shake his hand moments before I depart so he doesn't have to see me choking. Without words, we know that we love each other very much, it just we're too cool to express it. Like father like son.

Anyway... I am forever in debt to my father's priceless love. I am happy if I turn up half as good as him.

Abah, I love you. Happy father's day.

Rock on!

"He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."
-Clarence Budington Kelland

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posted at 10:12 PM  

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Every Man For Himself

“Count your smiles instead of your tears; Count your courage instead of your fears.”

~ Unknown

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

~ Maya Angelou

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~ Thucydides

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