father and a pair of old pajamas


my father turned 49 today.

of all the days that i cannot write anything about him, it has to fall on his birthday.

it is not for the lack of things to talk about. father was and (still is) a very influential man in my life. i’ve never written about anybody as much as i have written about him.

he is an amazing man. after 27 years of marriage to my mom, he still writes her love letters. he sent us- his daughters– valentines card long before we can read them.

in the last 15 years, i only saw father 25 times. the length of the visits grew shorter when i grew up, as i was already taking steps from the university to the metropolis. and yet, father knows the names of every friend i had, remember every relationship i was in, can enumerate every job assignment i got, can recall every trimestral GPA in graduate school, and can describe every distractions and hobby i got into.

he is an unconventional dad; everybody who met him or heard about him thought so. he is an amazing husband because he loved mother like crazy, 27 years and counting.

he is all these to me and more.

“so, you’re 49, huh?” i told him as he answered the call after the second ring. “you’re getting old.”

he laughed sheepishly. father worries about getting old; he never tell us so, but he does. “cannot help it.” he answered. “are you still at work?”

“yes. i arrived late.” i told him and watched the pollution of metro manila from the windows of my office. “when are you coming home?”

“mid-september. if i don’t get delayed…”

“you are not gonna be delayed. you will always raise hell if they try that on you.” i giggled, reminding him. “so, i shall see you then.”

“and how are you?” he asked.

father… if i have to immortalize him… my father is like that pair of old pajamas of yours you had ever since you can remember… the one you probably would leave out when you backpack, the one you do not wear to parties, the one you do not bring to dates, the one you do not remember when you are sipping coffee or getting wasted…

but the same pair of old pajamas you always go home to and wear to bed when you’re sad because it comforts you…when you’re happy because it enlighten you…when you’re troubled because it just feels so right…

the same pair of old pajamas you do not throw away because it was always been yours and its always been there and you love it like hell.

father is my pair of old pajamas. and not long now, he will be home.

for good.

photo: kuya jon


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