Tuesday, August 21, 2012


"There is nothing we can say to Papa that he doesn't already know," Aika Robredo said, daughter of DILG Sec. Jesse Robredo, who was found dead at the bottom of Masbate's Ticao Channel after nearly 3 days of search operations.

He was on his way to Naga (his home city) from Cebu when his plane crashed. He is survived by three daughters and wife, Atty. Leni Robredo.

Aika further said that the reason why they're at peace is because their family missed nothing in their time together. "Things like "I love you" we say it everyday," she said.

Aika and her family will be fine. Her father made sure of that.

I can't say the same for myself.

(Blogged on Father's day of 2009)

Fathers. I can't remember the day I realized I didn't have one. Sure, calendars are marked for special firsts, like the first time you knew you were in love, or the first time you were pissed at your mother; the way you had to lock yourself in the bedroom and cover your face with a pillow so they wouldn't hear you cry, and you remember what your sister told you to console you, or what your friend texted you to make you feel better. But you don't exactly create room in your head for memories such as when you knew you can't have a normal Father's day.

Things like that just vanish into thin air, and what you remember are the days that followed after that. The day when your grandmother told you you looked exactly like him. How they always laughed at the way you sat, you talked, or you walked, saying that there isn't something in you that wasn't like him. You then remember being conscious about how you act, making sure that you haven't outgrown the similarities yet, sometimes orchestrating your moves so they're still the same as his. 

You remember the day you cried because they were teasing you about your lips, and the day you embraced it because even that, you got from your father. There may be no date to it, but you remember in 3rd grade when you announced to the whole family that you wanted to be an Engineer. You so desperately wanted to be exactly like him, and even when you don't have the slightest bit idea what an Engineer is, you were so sure you wanted to be one. He was one, and you are him.  

You remember the day you first saw his funeral pictures, the knot in your stomach when you saw his body laying still in a box that wasn't even pretty, and how the knot tightened when you got to the picture of your mother crying. Sure you don't understand the pain of losing, and you can't possibly know how she felt when she lost her husband, but something tells you it was devastating.  

You remember the day you cried over a stupid Math Exam, and how it was twice the pain to fail in a subject he was apparently excellent at. If it was any other thing, you wouldn't have minded sucking at it, but it was Math; it was his thing. 

And slowly you are reminded of your loss; you remember the first time you truly felt the pain of not having him. You remember the day you first cried about it, even though the tears were probably 10 years overdue. You remember the day you realized that you are forever incomplete.  

And because you got familiarized with the pain and how it felt; you look for it when you feel like crying. Because that was the day you knew that everything is going to be twice as hard just because he's not there. That was the day you decided that life isn't fair, and for you, it's probably never going to be.
You remember the day you celebrated Father's day and it didn't feel like a holiday anymore. You remember wanting to get out of the restaurant to go home and mourn the loss, again.  

And you remember the day your heart stopped for a second along with your breath because you were stuck with nothing to call him; Papa, Daddy, Dad, Tatay? You don't know and you will never know. And everytime you find yourself stuck with it, your stomach takes a sickening turn, and it has probably been going circles since then. 

But above all you remember that he has shared with you his family, chosen the best mother, and has given you the perfect sister. And he has given you your lips, your eyes, your smile, your long legs, your temper, and the fact that you always like chili in your foods. You remember that he has given you life, and you remember the day you knew that there couldn't have been a better person to be your father than him. And you remember thanking God for that, the sincerest one to ever come straight from your heart. 

Happy Father's day, Papa. This is the day I decide I will call you that. We love you so, so much, Papa.

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