My Father

Here is a human being.


A powerful force who has taught me grandly about life - it's power, it's grandeur, it's simplicity, it's depths and joys.

His visions, eccentricities, boldness and depth profoundly became the foundation of my inner strength.

His love, in the surface, is very Aquarian, it is often intellectual, practical and more often than not, indifferent and aloof. It takes a trained eye to see his soft affections and sensitivities. One must be able to hear their inner voice to be able perceive the quiet roars of his soul's voice. It takes a still mind and an enlightened soul to realize, that here lies before me, is a beautiful gentle loving powerful being. For the outsiders, it is easy to be intimated by his sense of command and skilled leadership. His honesty is impeccable and his authenticity is never compromised for anything.

My father has mellowed down the years. However, his bright soul has never dimmed for a moment. There is less of the pounding of his passions, less roars, less dramatic statements in his words and actions. There is less wrath, less rebeliousness, less shaking of the society. However, his love for beauty and his quest for knowledge and light remained.

He still swims in the world, drowns at times in the wave of sporadic attention that he gets, but he quickly gains equilibrium once the howling of praise slowly subsides. Whether the thousands of books he has immersed himself with, burns down into ashes of not, they will always remain his most intimate company in the quiet lonely phony nights. The thoughts and words of great and creative minds keeps his lamp burning bright; knowing that he is not alone in his genius.

His unwavering, unshakable faith in himself seeped slowly into his children's being. At times, my conventions struggled to accept his capacity to blossom without measure, worst so, declare it without qualms to the world and expect the same of his offsprings. I feel that my brother had an easier time receiving the legacy of his perceived greatness within. My mother and I tiptoed around the idea until he occasionally prods us forward - ever forward.

I feel the consistency of my father's love in his commitment to raise me indefinitely. He flickers not in stepping into educating me in matters he deems crucial in life. I can count on hearing my father's concerned piece of mind when it comes to parenting, education, visions/goals, philosophy, career, marriage, money, self-expression (especially in writing), spirituality and especially health.

His legacy would be his Presence in our lives. Those little profound acts of love that will forever be etched in our memories.

I had beautiful memories growing up with my father. Few of the most vivid colored pictures in my mind are the following:
One fine day in our apartment, my father and I together painted in oil on canvass, a series of golden yellow green bamboo. It felt magical at that time. The bamboos felt like they were illuminating in life and light. I can still remember the soft sun in the window and feel of our small room. It felt like no one can hurt us there, it felt like our family's sacred space. It felt like we will live there forever.

Pre-school: I also remember him waking me up quietly at the birth of sunrise to have a jog around the campus's green in CPU lined with acacia trees. There the church's chimes melodiously followed us in that quiet morning, without any exchange of words..

Pre-school: I remember him also, with my mother, helping me cut a life size flag of Cyprus in yellow and green on a white cheese cloth. I can still remember the texture and smell of the newly bought cloth from the shop. Til this day, the Cyprus flag's is fondly remembered.

My father has always provided us the environment for arts, we always had watercolors, crayons, sketch pens, books on painting and sketching. He would bring me to his friends' houses who are artists and let them talk to me about their paintings or their lives. His friends became my friends to this day. These are only one of the few that my father set before us. He would enroll my brother and I in so many things. Classes like swimming, martial arts, ballet for me, painting, drama, directing, writing etc.. I remember him hiring private instructors to teach us in Arnis or the Ninja ways at home. I would, when I was young, follow my father doing the tai-chi in the mornings and that to this day, I do with my daughter as well.

High School: When my father entered politics, he would make sure I am present in his environment of work, felt more like an arena where the fire of minds are aflame for me . He would introduce me as his daughter to his fellow politicians high or low, formally and with sincere sense of dignity and respect as if I truly mattered and it felt like what I had to say would be as or more important than theirs.

" What are we in power for? " my father would ask. In high school, he gave me more than a month long air time. A radio program where I got to be the host and the researcher and take any topic that I wanted to - "Makatingalahan apang may Kamatuoran". My radio show was about world facts- like the highest mountain being under the sea etc.. I got to choose, how long to talk and what to talk about! And the province listened. He also got me to ghost write for him in a local newspaper and write about any topic that I wanted. Naturally, I wrote about angels and fairies. I haven't heard of the sales of that local newspaper going down though :)He would also put me in charge of his campaign team's community organizing workshops or represent him in certain local government meetings.


One interesting story is when my father wanted me to have my first helicopter ride. When the governor saw my father tagging me along, he requested my dad that I be left behind. It was going to be a ride to survey from the top view flooded villages. My dad, a little agitated, quickly replied, " I get down, if she gets down". End of the story. I had my first and til now, my last helicopter ride. It was a forest green army helicopter with missile looking warfare weapons on both sides. It wasn't the ride that was etched in my memory, but the value and loyalty granted me at such a young age.

My father has always been and still is a great revolutionary in education. As a law professor and a teacher in his younger years, he has always been known for his inspiring unconventional teaching styles. He was a great fan of the contructivists and the progressivists in education. He, however, has always lived a life of a "flower child". I believe my brother and I benefitted greatly in the environment he has set before us. We had our own real microscope and encyclopedias in pre-school. We were then already slicing leaves and dropping blood in those slides. My father's quest to encourage our love for curiosity and nature did not end in the laboratory of our playhouse, we would travel as a family once or twice a year to a new place we have never been before. These would treks in a cave, island hopping, camping in the wild outdoors or snorkeling in white sand beaches. I still remembered camping in our front yard in the mountain lot my paresnt's purchased for themselves. We would also have pets of various kinds in our little zoo in the balcony of our grandmother's house who equally adored and took care of animals like they were her children. She would patiently train her parrot to speak of warning of bandits to come.

Books has been a perennial part of our environment. You see books lined in the toilet, in the bedroom, in the dining room, in the guest room, in the meditation room and where there is a roof, outside the house leaning on the walls. I would wake up in the middle of the night to head to the bathroom and I would see my father's room all illumined as he reads a book on his bed. I would also wake up early in the morning, and he would be reading with his morning coffee withd the classical music in the background that he claims reminds him of the presence of his own father. He would also be reading in the afternoon and doze of in the sofa with a book in his hand. My mother is almost the same. We sometimes, would talk about books during meals or siesta time or quote words from books we read during family meetings.

All these and more were part of our father's fate in the power of education. My parents would not give any qualms about my grades nor would they care about homework or even graduation. But they did care, about things they cared about- public speaking and drama in my academic life. I remember my parents writing my oratorical speeches and rehearsing for my declamation competitions. I remember my father yelling out in the room waving his arms imitating the great orators " friends! Romans! countrymen, I have not come to bury Caesar but to praise him!". I remember how my father enjoyed his public speaking days as a politician as he convinved himself he was not only on that stage for a sense of glory and attention but to educate the society at large. My mother is always there to be prodded by my father to assist him in his quest to unleash his greatness in his children!

Oh but he quotes Kahlil Gibran on Children and occasionally recited Desiderata. It all sounded romantic, but to give it all justice, my father stood by his principles in honoring his children's judgments and decisions as well as self-expressions. My father would read my poems and give that silent sacred nod. When my mother questions what it means, he replies " it is a deep knowing and feeling translated into words" as my mother walked around to find people to interpret what I wrote - " the screams of unborn children..".

It is the quiet silence of my father with the quiet knowing that he believes in his children, that I feel, brings me to peace as his daughter - and a human being. And that is more than enough.

I can only wish that my daughter will feel as blessed as I am of having parents like mine, on a day like this...