My Dad's Daughter

* I am reposting this as part of my way of remembering my Dad on his 5th year death anniversary.




I did want to let you know Lou that when I read your blog entries I am reminded so much of your dad. You write in a similar style and with lots of emotion. And he would especially like your blogging.
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Apparently, my dear cousin made me cry just by what she said. She sent me an email and I found myself crying at 8 this morning. In the office. Good thing I was alone. Seriously. She said so many many other things that completely broke me - in a good way, that is. And yes, it does feel good to be broken. I think I really needed that.



And I pondered on that line, that I remind her of my Dad through my writing. It brought me to realize that indeed, I am my Dad's daughter. And I feel like writing about him, the relationship we shared, my growing up years with him. Bear with me. Do not read on if you wish.

He was a very passionate man. He loved what he did best - writing. Later on in his life, as he came full circle (shortly before he died) he went back to painting and rejoined his old college buddies and revived their art group Tahong Bundok . (Do check the link, I was pleasantly surprised when I googled it and saw this page. My Dad is the man on the far left with his hand on his hip). Anyway, yes he loved writing. Thinking deeper, aside from his love and passion for writing itself - he knew he was a good writer, but I'm feeling that deep down inside, he loved it also because he looked up to his dad (my Grandpa )very much and strived to be much like him. He worked very closely with my Grandpa when the Midland Courier was still theirs. Later on, my Dad set up the Cordillera Post which eventually closed in 1991. Growing up, I was used to the smell of the press - the ink, the paper. With the introduction of technology, my Dad chose to stay away from it and stuck to writing his articles using his reliable typewriter and would proof read and lay out the paper the old traditional way.

Dad always reminded me of what I could be - because I guess that's what he also did to remind himself of what he could do - and how good I could be with what I could do. He cared greatly for the people he loved and even for the people he did not know. I remember once he came home with no money left and he told me and my Mom that he gave it to this young boy who dropped by their art gallery but who was very poor but had great potential in painting. He loved his family. He was a good man.

I still hurt and wonder why he had to leave a bit too early. He was only 55. But again, as I think deeper, I am thankful for what he has left me. A big part of who I am is who he was - I think. We're both uptight people. Yes, especially in a crowd of strangers. Often times, I find it hard to relax and find some things funny at once. We both like things planned. Although lately I have been trying to be this spontaneous "let's go on a vacation in an hour" type, it is difficult. We find it difficult to adjust to abrupt / sudden changes. Obviously, we both love writing but I am not such a voracious reader as he was. We struggle with wanting to be the best, with pleasing other's yet still not losing ourselves in the quest to be so. And we both are very emotional people. We hurt and when we do we wallow in it. That's it, I got it from him. When there is something inside of us, there is a need to bring it out. But in this aspect, I guess I am able to do it a bit more easily.

With the things going in my life today or decisions made, I often find myself thinking and asking such like "Dad would have thought... Dad would have said... Dad would not have wanted..." I know it shouldn't always be that way, but probably for now that I am still in the very early stages of my life where I am completely trying to be an independent person, thoughts like that do help me.

This afternoon, I heard 2 excited boys and the sound of the typewriter keys. They found my Dad's typewriter in the storage room. It was a pleasant sight. A warm one in fact. And I was again reminded that my Dad will live through my boys as well.

I am still at a point where I am trying and wanting to define who I am, but nothing will change the fact that I am my Dad's daughter.