He used to drink a lot, almost everyday. He got drunk.
Totally drunk, he would sleep, thank God, please hold him tight until morning comes. Half drunk, he would curse. No one was really listening, we are so good at turning deaf. Thirty percent drunk, he would come home, take all mum's money for gambling. And there came a fight. Normal, no problems. Who asks why it's so dark at night?
Did I hate him?-Yes, most of the time.
Because of him, I was always jealous with my cousins when their dad cooked for them, helped their mum tidy the house and never drunk.
Because of him, very often, some one would knock our door at midnight, telling us to take him home. He was lying on the road, unconscious, stink of alcohol.
Because of him, I became a common morning topic for my classmates: "You know what, last night I saw her parents..." or "Are you okay? Did your dad...?".
I was okay. Perfectly okay-a bleeding soul is invisible. I just wished. I wished I could swap a dad. I couldn't. So I wished I had had none.
I grew up, became stronger and stronger. That is what happens when you have no one to rely on. Since you can stand up on your own feet, you needs no one, even a d.a.d.
I got my first boyfriend at 17. He seemed not like that boy. Who cares. None of his business. Then, one day, he called me out from my room, 20% drunk. I didn't response, I told you, I am good at being deaf. He insisted-so annoying. I stomped out: "What's up? Could you please stop making people tired?" He didn't say anything. I rolled my eyes "Geez!" and I turned away, there I heard him stuttered "never...never...marry someone like me". Oh wow, sounded like I had a dad, "surprise!"- almost forgot that.
That night, I cried, I had cried a lot, but that time was different, that time I didn't know why.
When did he act like a father? Couldn't remember.
Maybe, when I was 7, he eagerly showed me a small box, beautifully wrapped, said "open it, this a gift for your good studying result". It's was a ring, so beautiful. I was overjoyed. (Mom sold the ring soon after that, we needed money).
Or, I was 5, he came home with an old tiny bicycle : "daughter, come here and try it, I got this at a second hand shop". He laughed, then said "pedal with your right leg first, that's it, that's it", and I became the first kid, among all my friends, able to bike in my village, proudly showed other kids how to bike.
Or, when I was 3, everyday, first thing after work, he hugged me and took me onto his lap then taught me how to draw. His way was funny but easy though; a cow's face was a triangle shape with two circle eyes, a crab was a square shape with eight sticks poked out. At my fifth grade, I got a prize at school for my drawing.
Surprise again! I still remember all those stuff. The cry might have made me realize that I hadn't noticed that thank to those happy moments, I held onto to survive my uneasy teenage years. Hadn't noticed that those little things had been encouraging me to study and learn better. Even when I hated him that bad, just one sentence of him enough to make me think twice about my relationship. Hadn't notice that he had never been unimportant to me. And hadn't noticed that, actually, I loved him so much.
Dad, you are always important to me.
