About My Father

As I promised, I would try to write about my father. Yet, I feel that no words can ever properly describe him. Ever heard The Script's song 'If You Could See Me Now?' Well, that might explain how I look upon my father. How everything I did -- and do -- was/is for him. 

"Because the man wasn't good he was great." Yes, my father was that great. I'm so lucky I had a chance to learn what's the meaning of perseverance, passion, family, hard work, all from him. He taught me that the world isn't always kind. Yet, he always hid his problems from us -- from me and my brother. He asked me to be independent. Yet, I know he would give everything in order for us not to suffer alone. 

He gave me books and books to read. He gave me stories to learn. He gave me words and strength. But now he is gone. He is gone forever.

I don't know what he's doing now. I would like to believe that now he is happy in Heaven. I know he must worry about us -- about me and my brother and my mom. About my university as well as my brother's school. He always put education on top of everything. He risked everything in order for us to pursue a higher and better education. Yet I fail him. I know, I know everyone at funeral was saying that my father was really proud of me. Proud of me because I study -- or studied, actually -- in Germany. Yet, deep down inside, I always feel that it was such a fake pride. I haven't graduated. I'm still nobody. I can't even get side job in order to help my mom paying our education (oh why the hell that school and university must be this expensive).

I know my father had a lot of patience. And I know he was really kind and sacred -- that his body had not even begun to smell and get destroyed until four days after his death. I know he died peacefully, and he was smiling forever. I know he is at better place now. That this world is just too cruel for him.

Honestly, I feel like I would be able to write more, if I wrote this in a month after his death. Right now, I have tried too much to run from reality, that it becomes hard for me to explain my feelings.

I wish my father would like to be photographed more. I wish I recorded every single thing that my father ever told me. I wish I could listen to his voice over and over again, reassuring me that things are going to be alright.

But I can't. It is impossible. You say nothing is impossible? Bullshit. 

I hate how everything about him slowly fades away. Yes it's true. I try so hard to always remember his words. To always remember the way he said things to me. Though, again, it is impossible. It is so hard because I don't even have any video of us. Only photos. And though people say photographs worth thousand words, no, in this case they don't.

I tried to recover every chat record we had. I tried to sleep, in a hope that I would ever meet him again in my dream. Yet the last time we met in my dream was four months ago. A week or probably two weeks after his death. And he only said two sentences: 'Don't be in a rush. Dad would try to find a way for you.'

That's it. I'm not really sure with what he meant by these two sentences. I know he didn't choose to leave us. He had no choice. But I can't help to ask myself in the night -- when I can't sleep and things are just too heavy for me; if you love me, why'd you leave me, Dad?