Today, I miss Papa more than usual.
I miss him so much that no amount of tears and no string of words can make sense of the ache in my heart. It's the kind of missing that sits in your chest and stays, quiet and heavy, all day.
I miss having someone in my corner.
Papa had a way of telling me I was doing fine. And on the days I wasn't, he told me that was okay too. He reminded me that I could make mistakes, because making mistakes is human. I didn't have to win all the time. Most of all, I didn't have to fight all the time.
I didn't know how much I needed to hear that until there was no one left to say it the way he did.
Right now I'm listening to his song, Kumusta Ka. I picked the FPJ version on purpose. I had no idea FPJ could sing until Papa played it for me. In the same way, I had no idea Papa could sing until the day he sang this song himself. I can still remember being surprised, and I can still remember his voice. Every time the song plays, it feels like he's asking me the question himself: Kumusta ka, 'nak?
And honestly, Pa, I'm trying.
I miss you every day, but today I miss you more.
I wish you were here to tell me everything will be okay. I wish you could do it the way you did when I was little and got hurt, when you kissed the pain away and somehow, it really did stop hurting. I'm older now, and the hurts are bigger and harder to explain. I still wish you could kiss them away.
What I have now are your words, your song, and the way you loved me. I carry them with me. When things get hard, I try to hear you saying it's okay to rest and okay not to win, and that I'm doing fine.
I hope I'm making you proud, Papa.
I love you. I miss you. Kumusta ka na?
To anyone reading this who is missing someone today: you're not alone. Some days the grief is louder than usual, and that's okay. It's love that has nowhere to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment