6 months! Its been that long that I toiled myself in doing my masteral paper and finally, I successfully defended it last Friday, April 15,2005. The first thing that I did after the defense was to call up all the people that are dear to me and a few of my classmates to share with them the good news. I rested awhile enjoying the moment before I drive home. The traffic seemed benign to me although it is in fact quite congested. While driving, I was “dreaming” about the future and what I should do and what promises that it hold now that I’m free from my academic burden. I was also thinking whom I’m going to call or inform next about my success. I called my mom and told her to get dress so that we could go out and celebrate at her favorite pizzeria. After the call and out of the blue, I said to myself, “Pa will definitely be proud of me, what will he be doing if he knew what I’ve achieved?” Then and there, my eyes got wet. My father was murdered when I was 12 years old. I remembered that I was alone when I walked the stage during my elementary graduation. I remembered that I was alone when I walked the stage in my high school graduation. Only the principal and the teacher were there to pin the medal on me for graduating with honors in my Chinese class. I remembered that my mom was with me when I got my diploma in college and she was the one to put the medal on me during the ceremony for the board exam passers and top notchers. My father was not there to see me and definitely, he is not going to attend my graduation this time around either. I wished that this is just a bad dream that I’m going to wake up someday and there he is but I learned a long, long time ago that this ain’t a dream, it is as real as you can get. My father would probably brag me to his friends and call up his relatives to tell everyone of them about me for I’m the first in my father’s family to graduate college and the first in my father’s and mother’s family to got a master’s degree. He will probably give me a pat and say that I’m a good son and that I make him proud to be my father. Simple deeds and simple words you here other people say that it becomes a cliche of sort but my father is not here to do so or say so. It is quite funny because when I was 12, I couldn’t wait to grow up but now that I’m old, I wished that I was still a boy being patted on the head by his father. I’m not a spiritual or religious guy and therefore I can’t make myself to believed that he is “here” watching me and be proud of me nonetheless. He is dead and that’s the end of it, period. Nothing nostalgic about it. As I near home, I parked my car on the roadside trying to compose myself. It takes awhile but I manage. I need to compose myself because I don’t want to remind my family about the loss. I need to compose myself also because nobody should see a man shed tears. A man could cry privately if he feels the urge to do so but a man cannot be seen weeping in public. It is simply not what a man should do. It maybe hard to grow up into a man without a man to teach you how to become one but I somehow manage and I’m not just going to give it away by simply being weak. As I got home, I give my mother a hug and my brother a high five as I relate to them the entire story of my successful defense. Afterwards, I excused myself and went up to the ancestral prayer room and lit 3 incense sticks and tell my father that I’ve passed my masters and that I hoped that he is happy about the news and that I hoped that he is proud of me. As I leave the room, I noticed the slowly rising fragrant smoke from the incense sticks carrying my message and maybe just for that night, I want to believe that my father would be able to hear me and see me from wherever he is.
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