Hey. Its been awhile since I blogged.
Can't find the time. But won't let this blog die. So here I am back.
Once again, hate my blog layout, so if anyone that could improve it for me, please, please, email me or something :)
So what I am here to talk about..
My Dad just passed away. Yes. Not that name behind my name, in my birth certificate. The one that has been permanently inked in my mind and my heart. Khamis Bin Saad.
You see, my Dad and Mom met when I was around 9 or 10 years old. Their first date, the very, very first one, I was there. There I was, my Mom just finished her work at the airport, I saw this huge white lorry. Clear in my mind, with yellow curtains decorated behind the seats. As I first sat, salam him, and was wondering where to go. So we decided to watch a movie.
Yes. It was at Junction 8. And as I accompanied these two adults, cause all the calls were seen to be from me than rather them, I just be the kid I was. That date went fine, and so did the second and the third, and the fact my Mom took me along to decide any guy would be suitable for not only for her, but for me, I was glad.
Cause I swear, many guys tried to "jio" my Mom, but they are all nothing compared to this man. His hair was long, curly, like some band member in the 80s. With his super tight jeans and leather shoes. He was very, very different my biological Dad. Not just in appearance, but he knows how to win my heart. And not forgetting, my Mom's.
He knew his hair was a little to much for my taste, so he cut it short, and it was a great choice. So this man, could fill that fatherly figure position just like that, within months, when my biological Dad never did for 10 years. Strange, but true. I do not blame him, cause he is just a workaholic, but they always say, you gotta have a balanced. And I just needed that perfect father at that point.
You see, as my biological took away the house, and tries so much to reduce his responsibilities, by lowering the maintenance money, etc etc. (didn't understand much at that point) my Dad, did not leave us. He took me and my Mom at our lowest point. We had only one pair of clothes and were homeless. Yes. We had nothing. My biological.. erm Dad.. focused on saving his ass, and his relationship with his current wife, our previous maid.. let's not touch on that shall we.
So my Dad, he worked hard. But he satisfy not just the common necessities, but made sure we had time together. He advised, lectured, guided, teach, and never gave up. It got tougher for him, as I grew up. It was tough for him. But he was persevered. Up till I am almost an adult, he would lecture me till 2am, with his cigarette. At first, I must admit, it gives me body aches, headaches, and its such a chore to listen to him. But that repetitive speech, and that level of regimentation he trained us with, I am thankful. I am not that good now.. but at times, I am performing as what he has brought me up into. Responsible. Sensible. Anything that I achieved before, if it is not for him, I will never have made it. Yes, he may not be educated like my biological Dad. Or shout and cheer loudly like my Mom. He may not show love, but he is there, to blabber, despite the long hours working, and he does not give up. He does not even take medical leaves, cause he knows he need to work. He won't admit that he is unwell. He will hide all his feelings, his illness, his pain, his aches. SELF-LESS. Yes. One word I never used on anyone before but him. He only thinks of his family. Not even himself
He even stood firmly and cut off a relationship with his childhood friend, after during a Hari Raya visit, he addressed me as "step-son".
Thus, do know, that though my name has a different father behind it, on my birth certificate. But my heart has one... FATHER.
And I pray my mother and siblings would overcome this well, and have enough strength to carry on. My mother has to go on an operation soon, and that was bothering my Dad when he was alive. Hesitant as it is a risky procedure. Weekdays, I have to be back in camp cause of NS. Furthermore, I can't work. Weekends, I have to do videos.
And when I get shit on the Internet, people thinking they have the right to talk shit about me, I feel sad for them. Not mad. I wish that I can meet them. Tell my story, and I want tot hear theirs. And help them change that effort that was used for useless shit, to change it by using that effort for better and productive stuffs. Tomorrow may never come. Anyone may go anytime. It all lies to God. So do good, be good, try, and things will go right.
Thanks for reading my blog.
I love you baba.