On my father
Nickname-wise, my father and me would share one. He is Robert. I am Robert. Aside from that, we don’t have any other similarities. My father is good in mathematics. He was an electronics engineering major when he was in college, while today I venture into the social sciences studying politics and government. My father was a good basketball player during his younger years; I never had the chance to play basketball outside physical education classes. In short, we never shared interests.
I grew with my mother and sisters in Batangas. My father was left in Manila to work. Solitude may have tempted him to choose an undesirable path. It resulted to two half-brothers. But life was not as harsh as I first imagined it to be. Things went well, better than during what I consider the dark ages of my early life. There were misunderstanding between my parents, among them and my sisters. I chose to stay on the side and reflect on that challenge we had to face. My father left us for some time. My mother kept us fed and sustained us. Thank God, we finished our secondary education, no matter what.
My father decided to work abroad, to distance himself from the troubles haunting him and to have some peace and quiet. It worked for all parties involved. Qatar was far, but that was better, I think. My mother continued working. There is no point for my parents to stop working while all three of us are studying in college. Both of my sisters were in private universities; I was the only one who studied in a public university.
Even if my father is working abroad, the salary is not enough. He is just getting the same amount he is getting here. The distance was the only difference. Contrary to expectations of relatives and other friends, working abroad does not translate to greener pastures and bulky pockets. The earnings of my father were enough to pay for the house rental and the tuition instalments for my sisters’ education. My mother’s kept us eating and living by paying for our food and other bills. We were living a simple life, just at the sustenance level. For my part, I had to work as a student assistant in our department to supplement my 50-peso allowance during college. I brought packed-lunch to save money.
Seldom do I speak about my father. I cannot say we are very close. Neither can I say that we are not close. He is my father. But I guess things and events in our lives were made perfectly to give us a balance of successes and hardships, triumphs and challenges. I still believe that my father is the best father one could have, that I could have. I wouldn’t be myself without my father.
Next week, my father will come back from Qatar. He’ll be spending much of his time fixing his papers and will return back a week or so after. I don’t know if my father will be able to read this, but as much as I love my mother, I do so for my father. I told my mother once, if anyone would hurt my father or her, I will do my very best to defend both of them.
