Lessons from our backyard

For the past six weeks my Dad has been with us here in Arizona. In the last couple of years, six weeks is not the longest we have been together, but six weeks weighs more than a year's worth of Skype video chats, sparse cellphone conversations, and at most, bi-weekly emails. I have never thought about the strangeness of this situation a lot. Since it's not like I think it is strange. Not seeing or talking or hearing from my Dad daily is as normal as my hair tangling up like a wretched hairball. Both are certainly unappealing, though hairballs are generally more disgusting. By unappealing, I mean that daughters usually want to know how their father is faring and vice versa. In my case, I DO want to know how my father is faring but again, in my case, that's just not always been possible. There was that one simple hang up with us not being in the same house, or even in the same continent. Good news, we're in the same planet.

I have (as you mostly are all probably aware) always been a daddy's girl. My mom and I are close but my dad and I just mesh better. As cliched as being a daddy's girl is, I think it's enjoyable. Most of the time, anyway. My dad is a military man, a math man, a straight forward and loyal man, a Bible man, a generous man, a well respected man. Not in that exact order but he is certainly the kind of guy you want with you when your car breaks down or when you are lost in this crazy Twilight Zone kind of place. Being with him again has reminded me and shown me that as smart mouthed and sarcastic I am most of the time, I still need my dad in my life. Especially since I usually keep everything to myself to the point of bursting my figurative innards.

Ever since I can remember I have always tagged along with my dad. Driving with him to Manila or taking the bus back to the Farm, I have always been by his side. Most of our conversations were conducted on the move or during nap time when I was trying to make him sleep so I could play. One time when I was four and my brother would not let me join him and his friends play, I went to my parents' room and sat beside my dad. I was clearly sulking so my dad asked me what happened. And I just told him, "I wish I was born a guy, then I could do whatever I wanted." My dad just laughed at that and replied, "Not every thing's going to be okay if you were a guy. That's why God didn't make you that way." I just humphed and stayed quiet. When I was five, I told him I wanted to be an assassin when I grew up. My eldest sister looked at me then at my dad when he calmly said, "That's not really an easy profession, why don't you choose something else?" My sister wholeheartedly agreed with him.

There were many instances of me saying some random thing to him and he would respond in a straight forward manner, despite the amusement or astonishment to my sentiments. I have always felt that he was not talking to me as a child but as a person. Once, we were parked somewhere and just sat there watching jeepneys when I noticed the signs painted on the sides of the jeeps. I asked him, "So where is 'Vice Versa' located in Cebu?" He was silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Vice Versa?" I nodded as he started saying, "It means it also goes the other way around. It's not a place in Cebu." And with that, I sat silently, and we burst out laughing. There goes my English classes.

The past six weeks, he's been taking care of our backyard. My dad's first love is planting, and plants love him too. So my mom has given him the task of planting new plants and flowers in place of the ones that have succumbed to the desert heat. The plants which have been withering before are now basking on growth since my dad started caring for them. Another project he was tasked to do was to replant the uprooted tree on my aunt's backyard. He took me there one afternoon with his shovel, his ropes, a couple of stakes, and my car's jack. All the while I was angsting over what my mom told me just hours ago. He did all the talking while tying up the tree, talking about his childhood and how my grandfather gave him a job in the farm. I sat on the loose rocks and listened to him talk of responsibility and the hardship of sacrifice. In the end, we prayed and he asked me if I was hurt by what my mom said. I tried explaining but all he wanted was a Yes or No answer. I said yes, and he replied, "Ok. It's okay to tell her you were hurt."

I've learned a lot from my dad, and I'm still learning. I've learned that it's okay to say what you feel, and that you should. I learned that driving a car should only be done when you are sure of what you're doing. I've learned that math will not eat you alive, and that anything can be learned if you are willing to. I've learned how to really plant a flower and not see it die in two days. I've learned how to cement bricks, the difference between cementing and plastering, and that if you get cement on your hair you can wash it off as long as it hasn't hardened yet. I've learned that gardening and watering plants are relaxing and enjoyable work. I've learned that taking a break can be relaxing and enjoyable too, especially after you really worked hard.

My dad is a great influence in my life, and by great I mean in intensity and ability. I went back to Philippines one time to figure out if I should take Nursing or not. My mom wanted me to, of course, but she wanted me to decide. My dad gave me a verse in Psalm and I decided on Nursing. "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Despite the fact that Art was my first love, I decided on taking a risk with Nursing because of my dad's confidence and support in me. And in times when I doubt myself for my choice, I remember that verse and feel better again.

I had a conversation on the phone once with my dad where he was asking me if I missed him. I thought about it for a second before I answered, "No." He was clearly taken aback by that and replied in a hurt voice, "Oh, why don't you miss me? Why did you answer no?" I just said, "Well I don't miss you right now. And you told me not to lie." My mom had to explain to him later that I was just an abnormal kid and did not think normally. The truth is I miss him everyday. But I just don't think of him so I don't miss him so I don't think I miss him. It's not logical but that's just the way I cope with not seeing my family. For me it's not absence making a heart fonder, but out of sight, out of mind. But when I do say I miss someone, I really do miss them. Cross my heart.

So when my dad goes to San Francisco tomorrow, I may not get to say goodby to him at the airport. Or I may forget to email him in a week. But I think it's safe to say that I will miss him even as I bury myself on schoolwork and reading. Lessons from our backyard go from mundane to enlightening, from poignant to silly, and from father to daughter but the answer to "Do you miss me?" will always be "Yes," from now to forever.

Tough Love

My head hurts. After mulling over the happenings the past few days, I can certainly say that my head hurts. This, of course, does not imply insult to my intelligence. I'm not that dumb. My thoughts just refused to let go of me, perhaps like a cow and her cud, just refusing to go down effortlessly. I digress. Cows and cud aside, my thoughts are just too bold in wearing out their stay in the confines of my brain. And I wish I could just forget about thinking and thoughts all together like every other time but no, this one time it has to regurgitate itself over and over. Just me and my pathetic luck. Or lack of pathetic luck, even.

Why in the name of all that's noble and ignoble am I being tortured by my own brain? Well, first off, my brain just plain sadistically enjoys my discomfort. Self-sabotage, much? Okay, so maybe not that reason. The only reason I can think of is that reason, that which is Tough Love. And I mean that in the most platonic sense. The only sense that is of parent and child, specifically, mother and daughter in perfect discord. Don't you just love oxymorons? At any rate, there is that Tough Love in every mother-daughter tandem that even sitcoms make money off it. In my case though that tough love can be a bit jarring to the point of wounding.

What exactly can I say? First, it was just annoyance that I was watching anime instead of typing my laboratory report (which wasn't due until next week [Yeah, Kat, excuses, excuses]). Then there was the displeasure at the fact that I haven't been resuming my job hunt in two weeks now. And then there was the little incident of overhearing her retell to Papa the earlier scene of annoyance and displeasure she had with me. When I told her that she should say the things she wanted to my face, she did that and more, to my regret. Maybe it hurts a little to hear her talking about me in her vexed voice to Papa and hearing it in the way that sounds as if she enjoyed scolding me. Or the matter-of-fact voice of hers saying, "There is no secret between your papa and me." After that it was just me tearing up and staring at her emotionlessly that made her say, "Don't you dare look at me like that, I know how your mind works. You think I'm just being hysterical. I'm not." And continuing on to say that she does not work herself to the bone to have it all be for nothing, a waste. And that she has provided for me and so I would lack nothing. Again with the remark on me looking at her that way (my emotionless stare mask) which made her say, "You looking at me that way is such a disrespect to me. Your mother." And with that, she left.

So I just stood there for a while. Then I remembered my book and notes in the living room and sat there. I cried. Maybe it was because of monthly hormones that made it hurt more. Or maybe because I was completely blindsided by the whole thing. It was Sunday, it was not supposed to be that way. I didn't come home from church to have everything blow up in my face. I could make excuses for my inaction from job hunting or taking a break from writing the lab report. But no, that's just not working for me. It would all just sound pathetic and false. All the while, I completed my job application online, shut the laptop off and locked myself in my room.

Papa came knocking moments later so I had to open the door. He wanted to talk but what would I say? I didn't want to be in a pissy, vulnerable mood while talking to him. And I'm not a Talk kind of person. So I just told him an excuse and shut the door again. Later I had to go with Papa to help water the plants in my aunt's house across the street. I just seriously really wanted to be alone, by myself, in solitary isolation. I really can't get a break can I?

So there I was exiting my room when she stops mopping the floor and looks at me. "O, ano?*" She not speaking in English anymore, indicating that she was considerably calmer. Oh, goody. I just stared at the floor since I figured that staring at her would just make me appear disrespectful. She starts out by saying that she was not mad at me but frustrated that she was not seeing any effort from me. That I was not doing my best in looking for a job. That she just wants the best for me. That she just wants to see me enjoying my life, seeing me have a passion for something. That she does not see me making any ripples in my life, or in any one's, basically. I guess it went from frustration at my inertness to me being passionless then to me being a waste of space. That remarkably does not do great and passionate things to my ego and self-esteem. If I have any left. Then she asks if I was angry with her or hurt. I could only continue to stare at the floor with my face tracked with tears as I answered silently. "I don't know."

I really did not know how to feel about her. I wanted to be angry at her for having the ability to hurt me when she knew I would not retaliate. I wanted to keep on crying because it just hurt so much. I wanted to punish her by ignoring her and whatever else she would say to me. I just did not know how to feel when I felt like I was betrayed and naked. She and Papa are the only ones who can hurt me so much with their words. To everyone else, I would just emotionlessly stare back and cry privately. But with them, I cry on the spot, where ever the spot maybe. So I continued to cry as she hugged me after being surprised by my answer. She just confidently said that I would understand what she means in time. Maybe.

Maybe it's just me blowing it out of proportion. Maybe I'm overreacting and I shouldn't be. Maybe I just wish that never happened so I can continue on with life, blissfully not trying to avoid her. Maybe I'm trying to desperately keep my apathetic mask back on to prevent myself from shedding more tears. Maybe I shouldn't even be sad right now. Maybe I should just continue to retreat to my shell and stay there indefinitely, until I get my bearings set. Maybe I should never have left that shell and tried how it is to feel again. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow I'll have acquired amnesia and live happily ever after. Not bloody likely. What can I say, we all have our days. I just wish mine were pre-marked in the calendar so there'll be no surprises. Ha. My head still hurts.

*O, ano? -Tagalog for 'So?' or 'What?'