Dearest Da,

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9 years. As of the 14th, it's been nine years since you've gone off to that yet-to-be-definitively-named-or-even-proven-to-exist-place over yonder. Is it the beyond, da? Is there somewhere beyond where I am living and breathing? Are love and memories truly bridges that link the gulf that separates us? Or is there nothing?

Momma is doing well, da. She's back in school, slowly but surely taking steps toward the EdM she gave up on getting the moment she realized that life grew inside of her. My life. Did you ever feel guilty, da. as I sometimes do? Momma gave up her dreams and a career of her own to become your devoted wife and my loving momma. Oh, she has told me time and time again that her dream of being a mom--my mom--is far stronger and much more important than her dream of being a teacher. She did teach me well; I wouldn't have been the successful young woman I am today without her by my side. But still...I feel sad whenever I think about all those lost years and missed opportunities. 

I think I understand you now, da. It's weird how it is in retrospect that I see who you are with clarity. When you didn't shower me with hugs and kisses as a child (like mom did, and still does) or show me much affection, it wasn't because you didn't love me; it was because you never really knew how. But you tried, da. I see that not. You may not have always said "I love you," but you expressed it in your own way. It was in the way you preferred to tell me non-Disney bedtime versions of fairy tales over the phone; you wanted me to know different sides to every story, and to search for my own truth. Your love was in the way you insisted that I take martial arts classes instead of the voice lessons momma wanted. It wasn't because you wanted me to be the son you always wanted but momma never gave birth to; it was because you wanted me to be able to protect myself in times when you could not.

Once in a while I go over your old letters and your old Filofax. The pages are dog-eared, tear-stained, and some are yellowed with age. Ink's faded on some passages, and it's difficult to figure out if you went to visit Dr.  Shen for an EKG or if you kicked the shin of some dude named EG. But no matter. I've memorized your words and held them close.

You've been gone for about a third of my life and you've missed well over half of my life because, well, the Constitution and safety of our country had to come first. But in some ways, those lost years don't matter anymore. I love you, da, and because love is alive, you've grown and changed with me through the years even if you'll always be on the edge of 64 and 2002.

I'll be seeing you again, da. And when I come rushing into your arms, I will once again be that pudgy, pig-tailed little girl with the lacy dress and binoculars, demanding, "Spin me again, daddy! Spin me again!" Someday, I'll dance with you again. 

New Set-Up: Personal Filofax Finsbury in Red

After a couple of weeks of using my personal Filofax Osterley in Wine (as the colour is called here in the States), I've come to the decision that as beautiful as she is and as much as I love her, Ms. Luxurious Crocodile-Embossed Leather just does not fit my current on-the-go lifestyle. Even if I put her inside a dust bag before putting her inside my bag, I am still so paranoid about getting any scratches on her. And then there was that time when I used an anti-bacterial gel. I thought my hands were dry, but when I opened the organizer, a wee part of the leather became discoloured :o(

I'm now using a personal Finsbury in red and if you can believe it, is actually a simpler, slimmed down version of my usual ;o) Just one ruler, one business/credit card holder, no dpp. It also functions as a wallet...Heaven help me. Eventually I will do a major overhaul, but for now, this system works.

I will write more detailed posts later, but for now, here are some  (low-res camera phone) photos:

 

"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?" (Rumi)

Dearest Da,


I don't remember the sound of your voice anymore, but I've never forgotten your words: "Chin up, darlin'."

Aloha au ia 'oe.








Time, is going by, so much faster than I
And I'm starting to regret not spending all of here with you
Now I'm wondering why I've kept this bottled inside
So I'm starting to regret not selling all of it to you
So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know

You're never gonna be alone from this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall
You're never gonna be alone, I'll hold you 'til the hurt is gone

And now, as long as I can, I'm holding on with both hands
'Cause forever I believe
That there's nothing I could need but you
So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know

You're never gonna be alone from this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall
When all hope is gone, I know that you can carry on
We're gonna see the world out, I'll hold you 'til the hurt is gone

Oh, you've gotta live every single day
Like it's the only one, what if tomorrow never comes?
Don't let it slip away, could be our only one
You know it's only just begun, every single day
Maybe our only one, what if tomorrow never comes?
Tomorrow never comes

Time is going by so much faster than I
And I'm starting to regret not telling all of this to you

You're never gonna be alone from this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall
When all hope is gone, I know that you can carry on
We're gonna see the world out, I'll hold you 'til the hurt is gone

I'm gonna be there always
I won't be missing a word all day
I'm gonna be there always
I won't be missing a word all day

Post Secret Sunday: Knowing

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While my momma began and ended each day with an "I love you, baby!" punctuated with hugs and kisses, proof of my da's love came in the form of books, magazines, and puzzles. He worked for the government and was away for most of the year. He always began his letters with "My Darling Wife and Daughter" and signed off with "All My Love, Ronald" but other than that, "I love you" didn't flow easily from his lips. Growing up, I felt like being a husband and father were second only to his love for the United States.

Oh, I knew he loved us. I could feel it deep down. But when you're a kid who's constantly teased about "not really having a dad," every missed birthday and forgotten holiday begin to pile up as evidence that the love set aside for you isn't enough.

After my da's funeral, a friend of his from work walked up to me and told me how much I looked like my da, but with my mom's darker eyes. He said that my da was always talking about me, about how proud he was that even as a young girl, I showed strong convictions. "Nobody's robot," he said. "My daughter will bow down to no man!"

Da's friend began to walk away, but stopped to say, "I'm honoured to have seen you grow up in pictures and photos." He must've seen the confused look on my face because he explained, "Ron's desk was filled with pictures of you growing up. He even framed some of your letters, little poems, and drawings, and put them on the wall."

I never knew he did that. Never knew he kept my scribbles and finger painting experiments.

But now I know.

I know just how much he loved me in his own way.  

Hau'oli La Makuakane, Daddy.

'

Aloha au iā 'oe.

Dear Daddy,

               We met again in my dreams not so long ago, where enticingly the constrictive bonds of reality and time are broken. Sometimes I wish I could live the rest of my life in the borderlands of wakefulness and dreams, if only to have you near.  To constantly feel your presence, not in fleeting bursts. 

     I keep searching for you, da. These past few years it feels like I've been retracing your footsteps, stubbornly chasing rapidly fading footfalls. Praying, begging to please let me see you where you last stood when you were whole. Before that cursed aneurysm led to a stroke, which in turn began a slow decay 18 months in the making. You, my Hawaiian Superman, lay immobile as your body betrayed you and turned into Kryptonite. 

     Almost 8 years ago, I told you it was okay to let go. And so you flew. You were free. 

     But I have not let go, da. Where do I begin? Grief's paths have so many twists and turns, and I am still lost. Standing in the middle of nowhere. The roads before and beyond are daunting, and I cannot trust my own hesitant steps. My feet are much too small to walk surely into the forest that I know holds promises of new beginnings. 

     I'm scared to let go.

Have you ever held someone as they lay dying?

I have.  

It has been seven years, and still this memory shimmers at the edges—a standout—and it has since coloured and broken me into a million different mosaic pieces that tell a story only I can fully understand. It is my momma's and my shared memory, and people we know have lived snippets of it with us, and yet the colours and the jagged edges are mine alone to sift through. To make sense with.

November 13th, 2002. Aloha Nursing and Rehab Center. Kane'ohe, Hawai'i. Another time, another place, another life.

I crawled into my da’s narrow hospital bed—tubes be damned—and tucked myself into a fetal position, my ears pressed to his chest, listening to the ragged breaths that I knew would soon fade into nothingness.

“Everything will be okay, daddy. You can let go now. You don’t have to hold on for us anymore.” I said these words even as I wanted to scream and beg for him to fight harder to stay with us. It was 10:20 PM, long after visiting hours had passed. My momma said, and I will never forget, "Hold on, Ron. Wait for us in the morning." But it wasn't about our wants anymore--my momma's and mine--but rather, about what a tired man needed. I looked at my watch as I stood in the doorway of da's room. 10:37 P.M., it declared.  

I dreamt of him that night. My daddy and I danced, bathed in an ethereal white glow. Spin me around, daddy! Spin me around more! I was his darlin' little princess again. Safe in his outstretched hands, I spun around and around, happy to see my da. But then the music stopped and the world, as it had before, became a blur of jumbled backgrounds. I turned to see my da, wanting an explanation, but then, like world, he slowly faded away.
 

“No, daddy! Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!” I stopped dancing, held out my hand to hold onto him, to finish my dream, the place where I could always see him, but then he was gone.

I awoke to silence and knew. Just knew. He was gone. I woke up my momma and told her softly, "Momma, the phone is going to ring, and it will be the doctor or the nurses, telling us that daddy is gone." Half-asleep, momma looked at me and said, "How do you know this? No, no...It cannot be. Your daddy cannot leave us. He..." Before she could even finish the sentence, the phone rang.

My daddy died at exactly 1:17 AM. 

People always tell me that I have the memory of an elephant. Professors have commented that I have a photographic memory. "I wish I had that," one of my mentors said. "It would make life easier!" Well, if I could, I would  give this gift of vivid memories to him. Memories are a double-edged sword. Some memories I am so grateful to have, while there are some I wish I didn't remember so vividly. There are little details in everyday life--seemingly innocuous--that can bring it all back. Triggers, they call it. A song, a word, a scent, a sound. They wield so much power over me sometimes, and I bend. Kneel.  They can send me into a tailspin...down, down, down into a spiral of anger, resentment, and a pain of loss so unbearably sharp I cannot find the words to express. Nobody understands.
June, November, and December are particularly difficult months. Right around Fathers’ Day, I tend to withdraw from the world as I half-drown in a strong current of sadness and anger that my father is gone. He died on November 14th, 3 days after Veterans’ Day and a full two weeks before Thanksgiving. A month and two days before what would’ve been his 65th birthday. Right before Christmas, his favourite holiday. New Year dawned without him in 2003, just as it had from then on and will from hereon after. 

In my dark moments I rage and I scream. Silently. In my head, in my room. Intellectually I know that a vegetative body ravaged by diabetes, stroke, and multi-organ failure cannot possibly endure forever. 18 months was a courageous fight. A miracle. Spiritually, I understand the impermanence of life and the enlightenment of letting go of that which are not ours to keep. And yet the child in me--an eternal half-orphan--sees neither reason or life's cyclical nature: I feel abandoned. Betrayed. How could've my Hawaiian Superman succumbed to the Kryptonite of illness? Wasn't my da the invincible wounded soldier who survived two tours of duty in Viet Nam? What happened to the immortal man who defied two cardiac arrests, a quadruple bypass surgery, and a pacemaker? 

I graduated at the top of my class from a university he had also been accepted to. On a drizzling June afternoon, I stood in front of a podium and spoke to my graduating class about persevering and finding one's worth. My momma cried, especially since I didn't tell her about what I--we--had achieved against all odds. How, despite losing the luxuries and comforts from our old life, nothing could take away what is within us. Da should have been there too, because more than anyone, it was he who gave wings to my intellectual curiosity and pushed me to ascend to the pinnacle of my limitless potential. Everyone tells me that of course he would've been proud of the woman that I am today, but how could I possibly begin to explain these unnamed feelings inside me, this guilt because the sound of his voice saying"I'm proud of you, darlin' " is slowly fading away? 

I Wonder

Momma and I traveled each day


Past the waters of Pearl Harbour


Past the greens of Kane'ohe


And into the cliffs of Nu’uanu

Solely to see you      


And yet I wonder,


Did you know we would’ve walked


To the ends of Earth and back


Just for one more day?










The doctors and the nurses, they walked in and out


Dressed in scrubs, their stethoscopes jangled


Mechanically, stoically

They said that the end was drawing near


And this was a battle you have lost


And yet I wonder,


Were they God?


No, they were not,


So what gave them the power to hand out life or death?










I sang for you, that haunting aria


Which ironically spoke of love and loss


My voice soared and hung into the empty room


Slowly  your glazed eyes focused on me 

Whilst the corner of your mouth lifted up in a smile 


And yet I wonder,


Did you hear?


They say that hearing’s the last to fade away,


But I wonder if you understood I tried to sing life into you










Your breaths came out in ragged gasps, uneven and loud


And I ran, ran as far as my wobbly legs could take me


Tears blurred my vision as realisation dawned


That you weren’t ours to keep

And yet I wonder,


Did you look into my heart and see


That I had to walk away


Because I didn’t want to watch you slip away?

Hospital Scene 2002

Standing by the window

I could see the city lights in the distance

Cars of various shapes and sizes line the streets

There are people down below,

Laughing and carrying on without a care in the world

I step away from the window

And I turn around

My da's lying on the hospital bed

Still as can be

A machine breathes for him

A tube through his stomach gives him food

The room is stark cold, and I shiver

But my mum doesn't even notice

Her eyes are glued to the heart monitor

Some people in lab coats come

To take his blood sugar, they say

I ask them about his glucose levels

And they say, "He's okay"

"No!" I want to scream

I want to chase them in the hallway and yell

Make them see

How can my da be okay

When they say he can't ever breathe on his own?

When they say he won't ever speak?

When they say he won't ever walk?

"No, he's not okay!" was what I wanted to scream

But I just stood there

Quietly watching their retreating backs

I walk back to the window

And look below

I used to be one of those carefree people

Milling about in the streets

And now I'm up here

So close, but so far

Go figure

Unfinished Song

I recently decided to take down some of my earlier writings online and came across one of my old fanfiction accounts (yes, under one of my pseudonyms I wrote my fair share of Power Rangers fanfic…down with Kat! Tommy-Kimberly forever!). I’d forgotten about “To Where Angels Dare Fly,” which was a song I wrote after my da passed away. It was intended to be a duet between a Mezzo Soprano and a Baritone, and though at that time i could hear the melody in my head, I never got around to finishing it. It’s cheesy, but then again, my writing tends to lean on the cheesy with extra cheese side! In any case, here it is, complete with the original author’s note:


Author’s Note: This is one of those lyrics that sort of wrote itself. It came to me in my dreams, almost a year ago. In 2000, my dad had a premonition. After we came home back to the US after my debutante ball, he told me that in his gut he knew that that was the last time he’d ever travel out of the country. A few months later, he had a stroke, and after a lengthy battle, passed away. The song was written through my mom’s and da’s points of view, with a little bit of mine sprinkled in here and there. I have a hard time telling people that I love them, and I reckon that in my adolescence I never told my da that I loved him. I believe it’s the things and words left unsaid and undone that you regret the most in retrospect.


Author’s Note, Part 2: “Mezzo Soprano” indicates the verses sung by the woman, while “Baritone” indicates masculine verses. Being a huge fan of opera, this was written as an aria. Opera; another thing I inherited from Da. Now I cling to it even tighter, knowing that it is one of the things we share in common, knowing that it is one of the ways I feel closer to him somehow.





Mezzo Soprano:

There is a feeling

That burns deep inside me

Haunting me with goodbyes unsaid

I shiver in the cold

As we walk hand in hand

Down that sidewalk street

Slowly you slip away

From within my grasp


Baritone:

I have lived my life

Through Heaven’s borrowed time

Desperately am I holding on

Solely for you to know

You are my other half

And I have loved you

Oh, since before even

Forever and time


Baritone:

But now I must leave.


Mezzo Soprano:

Love, why must you go?


Chorus:
To where angels dare fly

Where they dare breathe

Soar free in eternal sky

Slip away from the shackles and chains

Of this earth


Once upon a lifetime

In a long forgotten dream

Angels used to cry

Tears streaked their rosy cheeks

As they drifted off to sleep

Now they are free

Free to live, free to love

Where angels dare fly



Mezzo Soprano:

Oh, please

Won’t you stay the night?

Let this morning pass


Baritone:

I pray, thee God

For one last embrace

Just to hear her voice


Mezzo Soprano:

Oh, how can this be

That you’re no longer here?

I have felt you caress my face

Then morning came



Baritone:

My love, don’t let go

Please finish this dream

In there I’ll hold you

Until the morning comes


Mezzo Soprano:

Please take me with you now


Baritone:

But alone I must go


Chorus
Mezzo Soprano:

Is forever just a word?

A promise left unkept?


Baritone:

Forever is a promise

A love that never ends

Baritone:

Look into the skies, I am smiling at you


Mezzo Soprano:

I can feel you watching from up above



Chorus:

Where angels dare fly

Our love won’t ever end

For angels dare fly

Forever is a promise

Where angels dare fly

Where they dare breathe

Where they love

Until the end of time

Forever won’t be just a dream

But a promise kept

Where angels dare fly

On War

Plato once said, “Only the dead have seen the end of war,” and though that sentiment is crude, it’s also accurate. It’s always been “us” versus “them,” and “right” versus “wrong.” Since the dawn of time, society has engaged in two monologues with guns, bombs, and swords as a microphone. It seems like the only thing that we could all agree on is that red is the colour of our blood. (And even then, there are people who die and kill for the notion of “blood purity.” But I digress; that topic’s for another day.)

Long before I was born, my da fought in Viet Nam. Two tours. two different men. The man I knew (know) as my da is not the same boy everyone else knew. My da, Ronald, hated fireworks with a passion and disliked the colour red. Ronnie, the little boy, adored watching fireworks displays over the water. Ronald almost broke my momma’s neck when she once quietly crept up to him when he was sleeping. Ronnie was a notoriously hard-to-wake-up kid who slept through a hurricane. Ronald was a guarded man whose trust had to be earned, and even then, had to be continuously earned. Little Ronnie befriended everyone and anyone, and believed that humans are inherently good.

Of course, almost everything I’ve heard about little Ronnie came from those who were there. My da, the man, only spoke about Viet Nam as a part of America’s history. Despite him being a polyglot, da couldn’t form the words to claim Viet Nam as his own history, because then he’d have given a name to a nightmare that he spent a lifetime trying to wake up from. Ronald the man wanted to forget.

I see a glimpse of my da in every young soldier I meet, and each time I see the emptiness reflected in their eyes, a little part of me becomes half-orphaned all over again.

Handumanan sa Amahan Nako'ng Nahanaw

In Loving Remembrance of My Da

16 December 1937 - 14 November 2002

Siete na ba or sietenta na

Is it seven or has it been seventy

Ang mga tuig nga ninglabay

These years that have caressed

Ni'ining pagdagan sa panahon'g

The soul of time

Sama sa kabukidnon'g sapa

Like the river of yore,

Nga wala'y kaupusan? 

Relentlessly unheeding?

Ang kalibutan kanunay'ng nagatuyok;

Life goes on, the world--its pulse, its beat;

Nunca kini muhinay o muhunong para bisan kinsa.

Never stops, never pauses--not for anyone.

Pero wala gihapo'y kausaban:

But still nothing has changed:

Gimingaw gihapon ko kanimo,

I still miss you,

Amahan nako'ng nahanaw. 

My cherished Da--now lost. 

Kini lang gayud ang mga hagawhaw sa kagahapo'ng

But these are simply whispers to a yesterday

Karon'g dugay nang naanod

Long since forgotten

Ni'ining masulub'ong panganud.

By a mourning sky.