The prospect that our human memory is not infallible worries me. After twelve years of his absence in our lives, which is now more than the number of years we had spent together, I am afraid that all the memories I have of him will unknowingly seep out of my mind. I am afraid that as my mind makes way for new memories formed without him, the old memories I have with him will become a blur and one day disappear entirely. It makes me feel helpless to think that I may not be in control of my own mind, that I am not able to keep all my memories safe.
This feeling of helplessness. Was that how my father had felt when life was trickling out of him?
I always hear from my mother how much my father loved to play with me when I was first born. “You were like his favourite toy,” she would say.
And it was the same for me as well—my father was my first playmate and my favourite person to be with. Yet, I don’t remember the games we once played together; instead, what made up most of the happy times in my memories was when we were working on my studies side-by-side.
The fondest memories I have of my father was how he would always sit beside me while I did my homework and wait for me to complete it. How he would patiently guide me through if I had any problems or doubts. How he would set the timer for my abacus practices. How he would help me mark extra practices in assessment books. I was a very motivated and enthusiastic learner as a child, and I believe my father was a major contributing factor. He was always there with me in my journey of learning.
While I have painted a pretty picture of myself being an obedient girl when I was young, I have to confess I was also as stubborn as a mule. I was pampered; I wanted everything to go my way, and was not used to admitting to my own mistakes. I always took advantage of my father’s good temper. From an outsider’s point of view, my father was the person I was rudest to, because I was always arguing with him, often unreasonably, and just so I could “win” the argument.
More at Daddy’s Girl
This feeling of helplessness. Was that how my father had felt when life was trickling out of him?
I always hear from my mother how much my father loved to play with me when I was first born. “You were like his favourite toy,” she would say.
And it was the same for me as well—my father was my first playmate and my favourite person to be with. Yet, I don’t remember the games we once played together; instead, what made up most of the happy times in my memories was when we were working on my studies side-by-side.
The fondest memories I have of my father was how he would always sit beside me while I did my homework and wait for me to complete it. How he would patiently guide me through if I had any problems or doubts. How he would set the timer for my abacus practices. How he would help me mark extra practices in assessment books. I was a very motivated and enthusiastic learner as a child, and I believe my father was a major contributing factor. He was always there with me in my journey of learning.
While I have painted a pretty picture of myself being an obedient girl when I was young, I have to confess I was also as stubborn as a mule. I was pampered; I wanted everything to go my way, and was not used to admitting to my own mistakes. I always took advantage of my father’s good temper. From an outsider’s point of view, my father was the person I was rudest to, because I was always arguing with him, often unreasonably, and just so I could “win” the argument.
More at Daddy’s Girl
