TOPAZ HORIZON

Papa young, always with a guitar

Papa old, always with a guitar

Papa could’ve been many things. Papa was one of the most blessed people that ever lived. He had a wonderful voice and could sing like no one's business. He could play any instrument. He floated on the dance floor. He could draw. He was funny. Funny in that magnetic, room-lighting-up way. Smart. Sooo intelligent. And he was charming. And handsome. (I have to say he's handsome because I look exactly like him!)

He had a beautiful wife. He had beautiful, smart, talented, healthy children. Eventually, beautiful, perfect grandchildren. If you just looked at him on paper, you’d think, “This man must have conquered the world.”

But he didn’t. Everyone thought he was a loser.

I said this in this blog before—I don’t hate my father. I’m not even angry at him anymore. 

I used to be Papa's girl, until I grew up and started seeing Papa through the eyes of everyone else. So we had a rough relationship when I was a grown woman. When we talked at the hospital, while he hovered between this life and the next, I finally realized he just didn’t know what to do with me. Or with us. Or with himself.

He felt inadequate. As a man. As a husband. As a father. He was so amazing, but at the hospital, he told me Lolo, his father, said he can't be what he wanted to be - an artist. Mama couldn't allow him to be an artist either. She and her siblings and cousins were horrified when Papa tried to be a dance instructor, wanted to play at hotel lobbies as a pianist, a newspaper man, an actor... Everything he was good at was only good for parties, but they weren't good enough to be a respectable man's living. They made fun of his dreams, belittled what he was good at, dismissed what he was undeniably amazing at, what he was proud of.

And so he was ashamed. And he was afraid. Afraid to fail. Afraid to be seen failing. So he tried to be a salesman, an insurance agent, a farmer, anything really, even a jeepney driver. But eventually, he did nothing because he couldn't be good at anything that he wasn't good at. And because of that, he failed anyway.

Mama, who couldn't support her husband, was resentful at his failures. My siblings and I, we each tried to outrun the gravity of growing up with a man who wouldn’t step up. My older brother ended up just like Papa. The rest of us, we overcompensated, I think. We just keep on working, you know? I don't think we ever rest. 

I bring this to God every day: "Lord, let me have peace. Let me rest in Your promise that You are my provider. Because I grew up with a father who didn't provide, I am having a hard time believing in Your promise."

Yeah, it sucks. I have such huge issues!

I’ve spent years trying to understand how someone so full of potential could choose silence over song. Absence over effort. Resignation over hope. I don't want to be like Papa so I am always thinking, "Am I a waste of my potential?" 

I think, now that I'm old, I'm finally feeling compassion. As a daughter who grew up and is tired of working my ass off every day and barely making ends meet, I get it now. Writing is hard. No parent wants their kid to feel they're only as good as their last creation. But as a mother and as a writer who insisted on this unreliable career despite Papa and Mama discouraging us (repeating patterns, you see) and still being damn proud of what I do, I can't understand it. How can you turn your back on who you are? How can you give up trying when your children are counting on you?

I'm so sad for Papa. I just feel sorrow for the man he could’ve been. He was so afraid of disappointing everyone... and in the end, he did. What a waste! 

The grief I feel for him is for the life he didn’t live. For the joy he could have had. For the courage to be a man who made a living out of what he loved. For the pride he could've felt using his amazing gifts to make a difference in this sad, sad world.

All week last week, my bunso boy was singing "Take On Me" by A-ha and, like Jim Carrey's quote, this lyric made me really think: "Say after me - It's no better to be safe than sorry." 

We think playing it safe means protecting ourselves or our families. But as I've seen in my father, sometimes the safest choice is the most dangerous one of all.

Because you can fail at what you don’t want. And that's a horrible fate. Just do what you want and if you fail at it, at least you lived with exhilaration!

So take the chance. On love. On yourself. On your dream. On the people who believe in you. Take the chance on the you you were meant to be!

Because the world already has enough sadness and wasted lives. It needs more people who choose to live bravely. 

Let's all be brave, beginning today. 

* * * * * * * 

"Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is to just begin." - from the back cover of Pluto's Not a Planet, a children's book my husband and eldest son made.