The Living Years

I was thinking that this entry should be fitted to be published last week. To comemorize two years of my father passing. I was hesitated. Lot of things I have to do at that time. The moment wasn't right, the mood wasn't there, so the words didn't flown eloquently as an eulogy need to be. I'll give another try here. Excuse me for being a bit melodramatic.

As a father, my father is a distant one. We never been that close to have a meaningful father-son relation. I don't recall that we have ever really talk about anything. I thought like, when was he ever put something into my mind. Rarely we spent some time together. I'm not sure why. I suspected that he didn't know how. Or maybe he was much more of an abled charismatic leader in his work, but yet hesitate to take the charge if he has another option. He was known on his circle as a kind, helpfull, humorous and yet a good leader. I saw how he handle an embezzlement case.

I never realize until much later that all he did is set examples to me. Very rarely that he raised his voice in anger. But I remember from the times when he took me to informally meet his business partners. The ones come from the private sector, the ones mostly come from certain racial background (he was a frequent project leader back then, a financialy comfortable position that he always hesitate to take but keep appointed to). He was showing me how to handle these kind of people. He showed me how to cajole and to be cajoled by these people, that also sometime -raising a voice in anger is necessary, that he can be tough if needed, that I need to learn how to get angry too.

Then I remember when I asked for one of those cool airgun I've tried a shoot from a friend. He said (in 'Bahasa' of course): "I don't think so son, that would be condoning violence..". I got his point, and I never did had the gun. A contradiction I say that he always loved western movies (I kid once to him that he'll loved any story, even perhaps a Hindi soap opera, when equipped with the right cowboy setting). I guess some of his virtues are now the legacies I carry in my self. I despise violence, but I looove war movies.

So here, to my father, wherever you're. I know you don't understand English much, but perhaps you don't need to. We know that you're not a perfect father as I know that I never been your perfect son. I regret that we've never been too close, but I thank you for all the legacy you've left me with, and for that one last pat in the head. I hope you have your peace in your rest. I will try to pray for you.

(This was partly inspired by a funeral speech given by a friend who just lost his father a few weeks back. I’ve never seen him give a public speech before. I was very proud of him.)