I don't remember him much. I was only two years old.
I do have a faint memory though, of him taking me to a bird park.
He showed me a hornbill, perched right on top the roof.
I remembered him carrying me outside, to get a better look.

I don't remember other times, even with the help of photos.
All I can do is point at him and say, "This, is my father."
I don't remember how he sounds like, or how he used to carry me.
All I can say is, I miss him dearly.

I remembered one day, my mum took me to a place.
It looks like a field, with grass ever so green.
On it were grey coloured box-like objects lining neatly.
Where is my father? I kept on looking around.

Finally, I asked my mum:
"Mummy, where is Papa?"

I remembered seeing tears flow down my mum's face.
She hugged me and said, "Papa has already gone away."
I don't understand, why my mum was crying.
I don't get it, where has my father went?

From that day, I hadn't seen him.
Everyday, I asked, and I asked, and I asked.
I don't get what the adults are saying, why did my father leave?
Finally I stopped. Tired of asking.

One day, when I grew older, my mum called for me.
Then bit by bit, I started to understand.
The mystery of where my father had went.
I only listened, and listened, and listened.

My father had cancer. My father had no choice.
He wanted to live on, he wanted to see me grow.
But one day he knew, and said, "I'm fighting a losing battle."
And that was the end, I hadn't seen him since then.

Why must this happen? Why must he leave?
What will it be like if it had never end?
Will I be better? Will he be proud?
I don't know, answering these questions is something no one ever can.



Another post to express myself. I'm sick and not doing anything, so I have a huge load of time to daydream. My mind just so carelessly wandered there.

~ Angelina