And Turn The Speakers Up.

THIS IS MY LOT, BEAUTIFUL STRANGERS.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

"I'm waiting for my dad to come back. Feb 15."

I'm waiting for my dad to come back too. Papa! It isn't the same without you here. It really isn't. I don't come down in the morning seeing you have your breakfast in the most casual of ways, smiling and grinning to me as I rush down, asking "Do I have time to eat? Do I have time to eat???"

I don't think about my results. I don't like to worry about it. I just want to think about it when it comes. Perhaps the day before, perhaps the day itself. What's the point when the right time to have been thinking hard about it was when I was actually preparing for it, drilling myself for the very examination.

But as I typed the reply to you, I realised how scared I am to disappoint you. I've never had high hopes of myself Papa, it's always been you. It's always been you who believed when I didn't, who pushed me (hard) when I said I couldn't go on. When I tell you I'm tired, you laugh like I'm a first-grader crying over a broken pencil. You laugh to make me feel like this is nothing- like there's nothing I cannot overcome.

Tell me now how can I get used to you being away, when you were the one who held me down, who taught me how to hold my chopsticks, how to keep my knee down at the table, how to go through life with that impish grin, how to say 'I can' when every part of me has given up.

Mummy needs an anchor.
Mummy won't be able to keep me up for a very long time.

Papa, it's not the same, it's really not the same.
I miss you.

TonFlyingHigh!11:20 PM

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