Daddy's Girl

I used to be a daddy's girl. When I was a kid, I always wanted to be with my father. Always. And he, in return, would always try to be with me, if he had no things or work to be done. When I wanted to stroll at SM North, he would be the one to accompany me. He knew that I hate it when my mother would join us and try to comment on everything that I wanted to buy. That's very expensive, try this instead, this is much cheaper than that, and the quality is almost the same, blahblahblah. But my father would barge in and buy me what I thought and he thought was the best for me. He has an excellent taste on buying things of top quality. Never mind if it's expensive, as long as it is the best in line, go buy it. He would bring me to restaurants with the best food, just to give me a taste on how it felt eating in places like that. He would bring me to carnivals and amusement parks so I could have a good time. He would buy me branded shoes and clothes. Although, we're just a middle class family, he would always strive to provide us with the best, always the best. He was one heck of a guy, with many sidelines and transactions (there were so many that even our family couldn't remember all of them), always on the go. I was very proud that he's my dad, and I was proud that I was her daughter. Was.

I really couldn't figure out what happened, but as I got older, the pedestal where I used to see my father and look up to him slowly vanished. I changed. He changed. He was no longer the man who could bathe me for an hour, without me feeling uncomfortable or embarrassed. He was no longer the man I could hug and kiss whenever and wherever I wanted to. He was no longer the man I made cards for every father's day and his birthday. A wall between us emerged; a wall created and strengthened by my time and experiences away from him. We couldn't understand each other anymore. He often would scold me about the things I should and shouldn't do for my betterment. I often blamed him for being narrow-minded and preventing me to explore and learn from my own mistakes. It felt like I was the prodigal daughter amongst his children.

Just this morning, we had a big fight about my work. He didn't want me to continue my part-time job because of the schedule, since my shift starts at 5am. I've been working there for a month and a half, and every time I was about to leave for work, he would always start a fight about it. I understand that he is concerned with my safety, but I already have a commitment with the company I'm working for. And I'm just doing that to help out with my family's finances. But this morning, he didn't seem to comprehend my reasons. He blocked the door so I couldn't get out. It was really terrible, all the fighting and blaming part, throwing of cruel words. I cried a lot. And I was hurt. I knew he was, too. At the end, he finally decided to take me to work himself. We were very quiet then. Before we rode the cab, he bought me a pack of mentos and lent his hanky. Although he had a religious discussion with the driver (one of his hobbies), the taxi ride was very calming, nonetheless, giving us some space to reflect. Our parting was fine, there was an air of hope that the right time would come when both of us could learn to give way to each other's decisions, to build again a healthy relationship between us.

I was his girl. I am his girl still.
But at the same time, I am also not HIS girl.

I love you Papa, I always did. And will always do.