I stood up from the seat, three rows before the end of the bus and sat beside this guy who was eating a big junkfood that reads, “Mang Juan”, then I looked over the window pane, I saw my dad waving goodbye with a smile on his face. I smiled and waved back just before the vehicle moved. Tears began to fall from my eyes.

It’s almost nine thirty, Wednesday. We decided to meet here in manila although he would be coming from Laguna to accompany me in my aunt’s tailor shop in Del Monte QC. I am a “probinsiyana” (however that spells) myself, so my dad who is a former manila boy turned “probinsyano” when he married my mom volunteered.

We met after my work at around 6. Then went straight to my untie’s. In the almost 3 hours bus ride because Manila’s traffic is visibly unbearable, we talked too much things. We had also a nice dinner before my crying moment in the bus.

Why did I cry?

Plain and simple: I missed moments like that with my father.

Since I started working, I have been living here in Manila (and to sum that up, almost seven month now). I go home every weekend, yes. But I have too much commitment to make. Every Saturday, I have a cell meeting, then WLP indirect practice while one Sundays I need to go to church and attend some meeting. Plus, the anniversary of the youth moment of our church is drawing near (Feb. 19!) and so, I’m one busy young (adult). Hahaha.

Anyhow, I’m not complaining about all my responsibilities. Just that, I missed my dad. Talking to him. I mean, every night when I got home from school back in high school and college, I will tell him what happened roughly the whole day. Even now that I am telling you this, my tears are about to fall.

#141. Quality time with my papa.


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