Papa's little girl.

Written May 2010:

Last April, I spent a week with my dad... with his whole "new" family in Batangas. It was cool with me, the "new family" thing. I was even excited, actually -- or so I thought.

This wasn't the first time I got together with them so I already knew what to expect. I know the basic facts; that Tita Sonia had 3 kids, that she had a sister who lived with them and had one of her kidneys taken out last summer, and blah blah blah. And I know they really tried their best to make me feel at home, but they're really still no more than strangers to me.

I thought I wouldn't get affected with all of this 2nd family issues. It's been, what? Ten years? It's been too long already. But, you see, I've lived a life away from my dad and them. And I never really knew how it felt to see them together... They were like this happy, shiny, giggly family. The one I didn't have...

And I just couldn't fit in.

Just a day before my flight back home was Cydie's birthday and she had a party (yey). It was MY dad who greeted her at exactly 12 midnight, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, just before we went to bed. And it was also MY dad who cooked for her birthday brunch. Two of the many things and two that definitely hit straight home, which I never experienced even once in my life. Thinking about it, I can't even remember a birthday that MY dad was actually there. But actually, the thing that hurt me the most was that he was HER father that time. Not mine.

Of course I had to wear my celebrating look all day, looking happy and excited and jumpy,  but deep inside I fought back all the tears just to keep a smile plastered on my face. I had myself pulled out together pretty well until after the party, when my dad and I had some time alone to talk. I think the alcohol got him. And for the first time, after everything that has happened, after ten years, he had the guts to ask me:

"Is this alright? Is she alright?"

.......

Like, hello, what was I supposed to say? Was "NO" even a possible answer? How was I supposed to tell him that at the back my head, I was still clinging to this tiny-tiny hope that he and mom would be okay. How would I get the strength to tell him to spend Christmas with us, just like the old times? How would I tell him that I still wanted to be his little girl.. his ONLY girl. How was I to tell him to come home, not to their home, but, to OUR home? How could I do that without breaking this family? How could I tell him all of that without breaking his heart and shattering mine all over again.

I couldn't... so I just nodded.  Smiled. He smiled. And I knew I answered right. Then, I walked away and told him I was too sleepy to talk.

I left the next day while Papa was still asleep. I kissed him goodbye and, even if it didn't seem to be right, I knew I was leaving him where he ought to be -- where he's happy. I couldn't have been more happier for him. Really, I couldn't. 

Maybe my next visit would be better. Maybe I'd start to let my wall down and start to feel like family.. maybe... just maybe. Because We can never really escape pain. It will always be there and it never goes away. It just becomes a little less overwhelming, just enough for one to get by, and finally, hopefully, learn to live with it and move on. Live.

I love you, Papa. Be happy with them.. so that I could finally, willingly, give you up to them.

You know I'll always be your little girl,
Kim