REALiTi

My dad picks the worst timing to ever talk about how many more years he most likely have before he lets out his final breath. ... Then again, is there ever a right time with me? I detested spending alone time with my father because you never know what comes out of his mouth next. 

Imagine, a 5 years old me crawling up to my dad in bed for a snuggle in the morning and he tells me he isn't young anymore and he was going to die. It was somewhat the truth, I knew that - and maybe that was why I hated it so much because I was utterly helpless. 

My dad mentioned it again while he was here. I might be much older now but the emotions stirred up from within is still the same. I looked away. I stayed quiet, I refused to look at anyone in the eye because I was afraid of being caught with a vulnerable soul laid out there in a crowded place. 

My parents are still here with me in the sense that they haven't died but they have gone back and I'm here. If I'm already feeling this empty with just their temporary departure, how am I going to remain strong when we say our final goodbyes?

I don't think I can ever really bring myself to mean to say I did all I can, I treasured their presence and everything because if I did, I wouldn't be going against the current and staying apart from them. 

When I came to that conclusion, for some reason I feel like I answered the question that plagued my entire stay here. 

It was my mother's 60th birthday last week. I didn't realise it until I wished her, that 15 years have gone by since the last time I remembered her age in my head. For the longest time, whenever I think about my mother's age (or even if someone asks me), the number 45 comes up. Not exactly sure why, but I am gonna pin it all on because that was about the last time I asked her age.... which means I was 9 then.

Time flies, and it's been 5 years or so since I've spent her birthday in person with her. For those times I was here, it was either a phone call or a text. This year, I got to wish her in person. It was nothing dramatic at all, we were just lying in bed doing our own things when I turned to my side to greet her. The way it happened was as though we were simply talking about where we were going the next morning - like an everyday event. Nonetheless, I got up early the next day to buy some presents and cakes. I wanted to take her out for dinner but her words - as always - were, "Wait till you start working."

So my dad came over too and I (officially) graduated the next day. It was a long time coming, and all my thoughts were... why was I doing this? Sure, it could be a one time life event, seeing as how I am most probably not gonna be studying anymore. To me, it felt like just a certificate or something. Putting on a gown, going on stage.. all that stuff. It almost felt like a drag, and I was afraid of going up on stage that when there was a very high chance that I might miss the whole ceremony, I was partially relieved.

I remember coming out of the place with this unfamiliar piece of clothing on my head and body, and walking over to my parents. (They looked so out of place, yet they were the only thing familiar to me). Both my parents' faces lit up, and I suddenly realised that this whole graduation ceremony was for them. To see them that happy, I felt utterly happy too and I felt like I finally did something right in my life. Whatever stage fear I had, it all melted away because that gave me a sense of confidence that just being here, everything was right and nothing could go wrong. And, all those times I felt like a burden was gone.

Nothing went wrong. The ceremony happened, and we headed back. My dad holding on my certificate like a prized possession, my mom being in high spirits. It was possibly one of the happiest days in my life - seeing my parents that happy, and knowing I was the reason for all of that. I don't think anything else can ever top that.

So there's that.

(I have graduated!!!!!)