I can’t find a title for my post today. I woke up as I had enough of sleep. 10 hours of deep sleep. I did my usual morning things to get my day right. Internet-Journal and Reading.I am off to read Wild at Heart. Halfway reading, there was a chapter about fathers. Once more, tears came rolling down. I wrote something in my journal yesterday regarding about my father ‘ I long to ask how is my dad’s eye, can he sleep, don’t be worried about me. I want to ask how is my dad’s work. Now if I hear his voice over the phone. I don’t know how to start when I have things to ask. What made me think about my father was a chapter called ‘ Wound’. I paused and think how much I wounded my father’s heart. Yes he did wounded my heart but its not badly wounded like his heart. While reading the chapter, some people shared good and bad memories about their fathers. I put the book on hold trying hard to think of memories. I can only re-collect memories from our last holiday trip to China and Hong Kong. I can remember the memories when I was in my younger age. What happen to the memories when I was 8 or 9 years old. Where has it been too ? Who burned it ? Who scattered and littered it away ? Who crumpled it away ? I asked myself.
Principle’s extracted from Wild at Heart
The plan from the beginning of time was that his father would lay the foundations for a young boy’s heart and pass on to him that essential knowledge and confidence in his strength. Fathers would be the first man in his life and forever the most important man. My father taught me how to fish. We would spend long days together out in a boat on a lake, trying to catch fish. I will never ever forget his delight in me when I’d hook one. But the fish were never the most important thing. It was the delight, the contact, the masculine presence gladly bestowing itself on me. Fathers and son in the most tribal cultures live in an amused tolerance of each other. The son has a lot to learn and so the father and son spend hours trying and failing together to make arrowheads and etc. When a father and son spend long hours together, which some fathers and sons still do, we could sat that a substance almost like a food passes from the older body to the younger. If strangers and strange sights can shake the world of children, it takes the people they know and love best to pull it out from under them like a chair.
I paused on my reading and think. My father will be the most important man in my life. I see the significance of it but somehow I fail to act.
In a foreign country, I try to remember the memories of myself and my father. I managed only 2 years ago memories. Here I am trying to re-collect memories of my mother and me. I can’t too. I can’t remember the memories we had as the 3 of us. What happen ? Where is my childhood memories with my father, my mother and my family. I remember most my childhood memories with my cousins, memories as my friends and memories with my late and still present maternal paternal grandparents. I now see how bitter resentment can kill my childhood memories. I here say Thank You to whoever that invented camera. I can only see my memories with this images snapped by the camera.
My father used to have the radiance on his face, the bright smile to change my face reaction. He used to to look younger than his actual age was. He used to have a shiny jet black hair to which now has white hair. He had least wrinkle and facial expressions line, He used to have a good sense of humor. Now I wonder where has all his glow went ? The answer lies in me. 10 days has passed after my father’s birthday. I wish to see his glow, radiance, humor shine once more. Here I am tearing once more. Happy Birthday Papa !
Love,
Eastlyn Wee
