112 - The day my father dies

One thing that has never come up in my everyday ponderings is the prospect of my dad dying. I know it sounds terrible to think about my father's death, but let me just explain how my emotional system works.

I don't like watching people or hearing about people being stricken by tragedy. I don't like knowing people can feel devastated, or torn apart. Most of the time this happens, is when people get too used to taking life for granted. They take the people around them, they take the things they've got for granted, and it's only a matter of time before some unknown force takes it away, because the reality in this universe is nothing lasts forever.

Something as tragic as my father's death is undoubtedly going to affect me. I shouldn't even be allowed to blog if I thought his death wouldn't affect me, due to how disturbingly stoic and inhumane that kind of reaction would be. However, the one thing that I can reduce is the shock factor. The one thing I can control is whether I feel something has been taken away from me, or has merely been lost. I don't want to feel that God will have taken away my dad. Especially with the information I have, I shouldn't feel that way.

My dad takes drugs. My dad drinks. My dad smokes. One would normally take these facts, and say they worry about their father's health, and that would be the end of that train of thought. It would be a dark piece of information lodged in the back of their mind, and they wouldn't think of it any further because they would be afraid to think of that dreadful day. Everyone wants their parents to grow old, to watch our growth, and to live a long and prosperous life.

But being afraid to think of death is what causes that sense of surprise. Having faith in life lasting forever is what makes us overwhelmed by grief. Which brings me back to why I imagine how his death is going to go beforehand. 

I picture myself in my bedroom, at my computer, in the five-person house I will rent with the English friends I've met at university. Or perhaps I will be walking out of a lecture, and as I do so, checking my phone for any missed calls. Any way it happens, it'll probably be my mother who tells me how, where and when my father happened to die in Hong Kong. I would be surprised by the news then, but I will not feel dismayed, shaken up, or awe-stricken.

I would tell my mother when I would fly back to Hong Kong as soon as possible. I would notify my housemates of what happened, and what will happen in the next few months, and will probably shed a bucketful of tears as I do so. I would fly back on the plane, quiet the whole time. On my arrival back in Hong Kong, many days will be spent organizing and discussing with my family what will be done with my father's body, and how we will commiserate him. Nobody will really care to ask me if I want to talk about what just happened. They will just assume I do, when really I don't. It'll be annoying, but I can't and won't blame them.

A couple weeks later, his funeral will happen, and I will be there in the front row, directly in front of a portrait picture of him, with his ashes or coffin situated behind it. The suit I will wear will be the most expensive outfit I will have ever purchased. Outside, it will not be sunny that day. It won't be cloudy either. It will just be normal weather conditions, semi-sunny, semi-overcast. I won't wear a tie. My face will be blank. Maybe I'll wear sunglasses, like how my father wore sunglasses at his dad's funeral. The church would be silent, just the way I like it, besides the words of the reverend that will perform the ceremony.

Standing behind and beside me will my three half-sisters of which my father also beared, my paternal grandmother, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins on my father's side, as well as my father's co-workers, my father's friends, and three of my best friends and my mother who I invited for my own moral support.

I might speak about my father to the people who attend that day. After all, I am his son and I am a writer. I don't know what I will say, but I don't need to start writing that any time soon.

But that's already past the important part.

The important part will have been when I stand in front of his picture and say goodbye in my heart.

And as the days go by from now until that day, whatever may change externally will be countered by some change in this image that I have constructed, promptly and appropriately. Like if it turns out that I get an apartment by myself next school year, then I suppose I don't have to tell those housemates I originally planned to live with. That's how the grief reduction program works.

This system works every time. The system prevented anxiety attacks when it came to my final high school examinations, because I prepared myself mentally for glorious success and dismal failure. The system helped me face my summer job, knowing how to balancing inner confidence and the idea that I might get fired at any point I was working. The system saved me months of depression in the last few weeks I was in Hong Kong, on the plane ride to England, and for the past four months in university when I had perfectly good reason to feel weak and lonely.

Before I came to England, I imagined myself crying every night, missing home. And I now imagine crying every night after my father dies. In doing so, I live the experience once already in my head. There will be no heartbreak anymore because I've already had it broken. It's not to say I don't care about my father anymore. I'm not saying he's dead to me. I still care about him, my mother, and all of my family and friends. But I feel that I need to be strong, and I need to take care of myself. As people sometimes say, you can't look after others until you learn to look after yourself.

That's what I'm doing. That's what I just did, today. I went through the day my father dies. I will be fine on that day. They will say, "Wow, Michael. You're handling this incredibly well. I can't even begin to figure out how you do it."

And what you have just read is my explanation in full.

106 - On my parents' life lessons

Recently, I came to talking with someone about the way I was brought up and how that made me the person I am today. My mother's main desire with me was for me to always broaden my horizons. She would always take me to see all the movies, to all the different restaurants to try different cuisines, to the bookstore so that I could find books to read and learn from. And we also have shared a lot of vacation time together. We've probably been on holiday together around thirty times now, and we're in the midst of planning a trip to Scotland next February.

Often, I find that my conversations with her are always too serious. They always concern family, safety, time management, health, and the two biggest topics of all - money, and my future. And this is why it was good for us to go on holiday, or to go to the movies. It would give us the opportunity to spend time together, but there was distraction to keep our minds occupied, and ultimately, to help us avoid an overly serious mother-son relationship.

My dad on the other hand, he was always about teaching me to enjoy my life. Although he works a very serious job as a private investigator, engaging with the police and the big CEOs and the triads of Hong Kong, he still managed to teach me how to deal with a dichotomous reality where life can be complex and toilsome at times, but also calm, laid-back and enjoyable during other times.

To enjoy life didn't mean going out to bars, drinking and partying - that wasn't the only part of it, or even a major part of it. He knew how to find fun and beauty in doing simple things like playing chess, going out bike-riding, and playing catch with a baseball on the beach. Even though the modern world, with all its technology and education, is a major part in our societal advancement today, a simple pork chop, barbecued over a lit fire-pit in the backyard with some honey glazed on top, could be so much more marvelous compared to pretentious braising, caramelizing or sautéing.

And I find myself really blessed to have parents like these. They might not teach their children, me, the way the other may want to, but I think I've come to take all the good life-lessons they both had to offer. And I appreciate the fact that although going out drinking, or enjoying the great outdoors may not be my mother's cup of tea, she still likes the fact that I'm going out there, learning things about people, broadening my horizons in that sense. And with my dad, although education, books and traveling may not be what he's all about, he sees that I enjoy it, that I'm enjoying my life - which makes him proud, makes both of my parents proud.

They are divorced, but that isn't a concern for any of the three of us any longer - just a fact, just something that happened in the past. They may not agree on certain things - but they've both reinforced the same ideas in my head, collectively guiding me to be a person that appreciates my family on both sides, to stand up for myself when I feel I'm being wronged, to not be afraid of the world and the difficulties it brings, to be sincere, and honest, and kind to people generally, and to have a strong will if I want to do something passionately.

And finally, I'll end this here, with the two things they constantly remind me to keep in mind the most. It's almost annoying how many times it comes up in conversation. The first rule is to always use protection. They don't want me catching HIV, which I guess is reasonable. The second rule, of course, is to never, ever, ever, ever - get married.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha...

66 - My dad, the cats, and I.

I’m now sitting in a cab, on my way home, after spending the night at my dad’s place. Yesterday marks the first time I’ve seen him since last July after I vowed never to speak to him ever again. I find it strange, and wonderful, but mostly strange, how relationships heal over time, how feelings can change so rapidly. Who knows? Maybe next time I’ll get pissed at him again and promise myself the same thing I did a year ago. I guess you (and by ‘you’, I mean ‘I’) just need to approach each meet-up with an open mind, or better yet, an optimistic attitude.

So, what did we do yesterday… after school, I journeyed to Pacific Place, a rich-bitch shopping arcade that features Lane Crawford, Gucci, Chanel, Dior, and the like. I met up with him at this small restaurant-bar thing, where he was having a beer in a beautifully sculpted glass. He ordered teriyaki beef with rice and salmon sashimi for me, because I was hungry and apparently, they were very good according to him. He also asked if I wanted a beer, and I ordered a Coke instead. First alcohol temptation test since deciding to quit drinking – I passed without hesitation.

We then went to Lan Kwai Fong, the drinking and clubbing venue in Hong Kong. We went to say hello to a good friend of his, who was playing pool with a girl named Belinda at a pool-restaurant place called ‘Racks’. I think I saw one or two Hongkonger celebrities there… I can’t say I wasn’t impressed... in fact, my dad has always known all the cool hangout venues. I am always impressed by where he brings me.

Next on the agenda was his favorite bar, La Dolce Vita ’97. I unfortunately broke my no-drinking rule right there and then, and sinfully downed a Malibu Coke while he had a second beer. I don’t really know what to make of my quitting drinking. I guess I’ll just aim to reduce the amount I drink, as opposed to stopping totally.

He then took me to his place, and I was pleasantly surprised.

He lives in a tiny metropolis sort of place in the middle of Hong Kong. There’s everything you would ever want to live close to: supermarkets, cinemas, concert hall, coffeehouses, delis, fast-food and fancy restaurants and sports grounds are just a few examples. Being a resident there also meant you had access to the club house where they had squash courts, swimming pools, a Laundromat, table-tennis tables, pool tables, a sauna, a spa, etc…

Dude, my dad was living in a rich man’s world. I have to say, everybody we passed by while walking toward his place from the bus stop either looked stylish, rich, sexy, or some combination of the three – that’s boys and girls, mind you.

The actual apartment was spacious, clean, very stylish, and an ocean view. There was a plasma TV, speakers surrounding the sofa area, his laptop computer, space for my notebook, and the music he played was good, too. I took a shower as well, and seriously, I don’t think the hot water runs out, like a five-star hotel. Lining the bathroom sink were bottles of Hugo Boss and Giorgio Armani fragrances for men. There was great shampoo and conditioner, great shaving cream, even great toothpaste, soap and mouthwash. And by ‘great’, I mean ‘expensive’.

When we got to his house, we had dinner while watching some TV… I taught him how to get good quality movie streams on the internet and he went to doing that while I did my own thing on my laptop.

But the thing that really made my night last night was his two pet cats. I don’t know if they have names, but they were two adorable Scottish Folds. When I first saw them, I went up to the black one and pet him and he was just drawn to me immediately, we clicked. The white-with-brown-spots Fold came over soon after, and in an hour or two, I found myself posting on Do you hate it too? with the two cats as my armrests while I typed.

I was originally going to head home once it got really late, but I simply liked it there too much to leave so soon. I fell asleep on the couch while my dad watched a horrible movie called ‘Dungeon Girl’.

At around 10:30am, I woke up to find both cats curling up beside me, clawing at my hair, gently punching my stomach, jumping over my head, over my legs and back again, meowing, licking my face and my fingers, like they were trying to tell me it was time to get up. I just opened my eyes at that point, saw them, and really genuinely smiled for the first time in a long time, like I didn’t have a worry in the world because I had these two cats with me.

They had seen me open my eyes, and I guess they decided it was their turn to go to sleep. They spread themselves on the sofa we were sharing, and used my stomach as their pillow for their heads. I just lay there, for twenty minutes, watching their heads go up and down, up and down, up and down as I breathed. And I couldn’t remember the last time I was so content, so comfortable, so happy.

My dad was alright. But it was those cats that were the main son-magnets. A good journey overall, can’t wait to see what happens today.

64 - I quit drinking.

Alcohol and I don't mix well. It brings me down (as a depressant should). Under the influence of alcohol, I'm just incapable of looking on the bright side of things. I'm unable to cheer people up, to give them good advice like I would if I were sober. After a few shots, my mind is just lost in confusion, my heart full of fear.

Someone yesterday told me that they saw a lot of sadness in my eyes. I worry about that because I don't think it's possible to tell if someone's sad by looking into their eyes.

I've been thinking a lot about who I want to be in the future. I've been thinking a lot about who I am now.

Going out drinking and clubbing and partying was never my thing. I always used to power through it, and force myself to drink a range of bitter tasting beverages. I don't know how to dance. I don't like how sweaty I get from bopping up and down after gulping down liters of beer. I don't like margaritas either, my allegedly favorite drink. I hate how vodka makes my throat feel dry. Tequilla and gin are no better. I dislike the taste of spirits mixed with anything. Olives are mushy and bland. And I am sick of picking at mixed nuts.

I've been cheating myself, and others, into thinking I do this sort of thing. I've been tricking myself for a long time.

And yesterday, after drinking a bit, I thought about what I want to be when I grow up.

And the one thing I don't want to grow up to be is my father, and if there's anything he's notorious for, it's his drinking habits. My experiences in the past three or four years have shown me that no good can come out of consuming alcohol. It has always, always depressed me, leaving me saddened at the end of the night.

So, as of today, I quit. I'm going to be sober, at least for a while. There will be no exceptions whatsoever, my birthday, my graduation, nothing. It won't be easy, and I'll need people to back me up on this and support me, because I now know a ton of people around me that have just begun to love drinking or already do. I just hope everyone can get behind me on this, and won't apply peer pressure on to me and make me break my self-promise.

Really, my head has had enough headaches, my throat has had enough of that toxic substance trickling through it. I hate it, and I've had enough.

As of today, I quit drinking.

I quit drinking.

53 - Please, I'm scared.

Just for those of you who are unfamiliar, here's a little summary of my current situation: my parents are divorced and I live with just my maternal grandparents. My father was 'being difficult' last summer in a number of ways, and since July, I haven't seen or spoken to him. He was self-centered, and always moaned about his ex-wives and his boss. Consequently, he was insensitive to my problems. I got sick of him, and that side of my family. He was a waste of my time.

Tonight, on this homework-crammed night, I received a text message from my father that said: "I wanna see you this thursday".

I will see him on Thursday. And I am scared.

In the past year or so, I have gradually become more and more scared of depending on the people who are close to me. This is because, in the past year, I have been greatly disappointed by three people who are very special to me.

One was my best friend. One was a girl. And one was my father.

I think I am partially culpable for my own downfall, but I do hold expectations for certain people because I think giving, sharing and tolerating is what friends and family do for each other. I always take a leap of faith with people because I believe good hearts lie within each of us. Since last year, I've really learned the hard lesson: people aren't always reliable.

But I'm going to see my father with a open heart because I think it is the mature thing to do. I'm going because we are connected by blood. (I am always amazed by how well he and my mother know me so well without the formalities of actually learning about each other that exist with friends.) I'm going because I believe I got angry over something silly, because I reckon I lost my respect for him too quickly in a rush of emotion. And I'm going because shooting some snooker and downing shots of Jack Daniel's has always been fun. With him.

On the other hand, I am scared that he will still be irresponsible, and irrational, self-involved and arrogant. I am scared that by having him in my presence, the negative traits which he has passed on to me by blood will emanate out of me despite my constant internal repression. I am scared that I will have to go through losing him all over again if I get impatient with his cocky personality one night after a taxing day at school. And I am scared that he will distract me, have an impact on my grades, and affect my future.

My fellow bloggers, tell me the sun will shine, please.

Please tell me I don't have to be scared.

Please tell me I'll be fine.

34 - The tears need answers.

I am always disheartened by the fact that nobody ever calls me or texts me except my mother. Sure, people will reply to my text messages or pick up my call but they will never initiate interaction between me and them. It's like nobody cares that I'm here.

But every now and then, I receive a phone call from someone that actually wants me because I've somehow been with them and gotten along with them enough to be the person they call in times of trouble. This is a good thing, but these phone calls never come easy.

You answer the call and if you have Caller ID, you will know if it's someone close to you. Seeing their names on the Caller ID of my phone makes me so happy because I look forward to communicating with my good friend or my close family.

Oh, but the first thing you hear from your loved one is the sniffling, the sobbing, the cold, hard facts of the situation, distorted by the inability to speak properly while crying, and in most cases, the audible outdoor noises, such as the wind blowing, the cars beeping, the dogs barking and the chirping birds.

I've called people like this before. People have heard me wail about what's wrong on the phone. People have watched my waterworks on a webcam. One even woke up to find a letter on the floor in the morning, with my handwritten ravings, ink smudged by the tears that passionately ran down my face and managed to freely drop on to the scripture.

I've cried dozens of times, in front of dozens of different people.

But what do we do when someone is crying? What can we possibly say to make the tears go away? What answers are we supposed to give them?

Sometimes people have the appropriate answers. My best friend always has the right ones for me. He's an expert at drying my eyes with his trusting and trustworthy words.

I was also able to give my own father some answers when he was contemplating suicide or leaving the country for good. It wasn't easy as the 16-year-old son, but hey, I am surprised at myself as I feel rather humbled by his confiding in me.

Sometimes people don't have the answers, such as her for example. She never did, whenever and wherever we were sitting opposite each other. What can I say? Falling in love makes you raise your expectations.

There are many of my friends who don't carry the content or the articulateness in their words to soothe others whom are crying. Sometimes, even I don't and so I feel awful.

I can only hope I had the right answers this time round, with this phone call I got today just moments ago. I can only hope that what she has lost gets returned to her by the hands of God and that she stops crying.

And if I didn't provide the right answers this time round, I can only hope that I get another chance in the future. I feel sympathy pains. I want good things for her. That has never changed and will never change because she's my dear friend.

Update (8:09PM): Are you okay?

26 - Reflections on 2008.

It's been a very, very long year, to say the least. This is the first time I'm doing one of these reflections, so I hope it helps in bringing me closure, so that the new year can be approached with another year of life experience to support me. How should I format this?... Hmm... Oh, I know! I'll just make a list of all the major events and talk a bit about each of them. (The last one is the most relevant to you guys. :D)

(Jun) Father got divorced again: He tells me my stepmother cheated on him with another man. Not just any man. A 63-year-old man. And I believe him, but I think that if Dominique and their other two girls appear to be fine, then my stepmother and the old guy are fine. Why does my father have to exaggerate everything, I don't know. I agree with him and sympathize for him to an extent, but the fact is: he was the less committed one. I'm a lot like him to be honest... especially in relationships. Over-confident when we really don't have a damn clue. I think I'm working at it. I don't see that in him. All in all, he's an ex-husband twice for good reason.

(Jul) Stopped talking to my dad: Nobody else will understand my perspective of things, that's a given. But let me just tell you: if there's anybody I hate more, it's people that are narrow-minded, unforgiving, who fail to look at things in other people's perspective, who don't even try for a second to walk in another person's shoes. That is all I ever do with my life, every, single, fucking, second, of, every, single, fucking, day. My father is radically different in this aspect and I hate the way he is so arrogant about everything. I look at him and I see the smoking, the drinking, the two divorces, the negligence toward his three other children, the prostitutes in Shenzhen, the lousy dead-end job of a private investigator, his knucklehead friends, especially her (who he's exploiting at the moment), the pervy uncle, the grandmother who always fed him what he wanted, the spoiled brat inside of him that never grew up from over thirty years ago, and at the time, before July, I didn't give a shit about any of that. And it's a testament to how much I know about him, the dreadful, honest truth about him. What does he know about me? Nothing.

Next year, all he will know is that I went to holiday this winter, because he needs to give my mother permission to bring me out of Hong Kong. He will also know which country I'm going to next year for university, only because my mother will tell him. When I grow up, he will know what I do for a living, but only vaguely, only a little bit, only because my mother will tell him. That is all he will know because he never cared to get to know me or the details of my personal and academic life, that as a student and a teenager, are very, very, very important to me.

I am not going to be all melodramatic and say I won't visit his deathbed, go to his funeral or visit his grave. But when those occasions come to pass, all father-and-son sentiments will be lost. There's no space available for me to forgive. My mind does not have the capacity to and my heart is not functioned to forgive a father who does not care to hear about his son's 'lifeless' day. I have been through more than any of my family really knows. This isn't a contest to see who's been through the most, but he should stop boasting and pretending to know everything that I don't. Piece of shit father.

(Jul) The last outing I had with Dad: I went to the beach I grew up on with my father, my grandmother, my uncle, my cousin, my two stepsisters (all on my dad's side, of course) and one of their friends. We had this killer mashed potatoes with tuna and raisins that serves as one of my grandmother's signature dishes. Filipinos know how to make the best comfort food in Asia... We were at the infamous Pui O beach, the word Pui (貝), meaning 'shellfish'. Buried under the sand are hundreds of clams. I had a fun time swimming with my stepsisters. I had a fun time barbecuing with my dad like we used to when I was a kid. When I was out there in the ocean, I dived down and managed to find a clam the size of my hand (around 15cm in diameter). My dad soaked it in beer to wash out the sand and placed it on the fire. I ate it and let me tell you, big doesn't necessarily mean tasty. ;)

It was a good trip, a good final trip before I vowed to ignore him and avoid him at all costs. Why he had to ruin that week is beyond me. His impatience got the better of him and will serve him well.

(Feb) Fell in love for five days: I fell so deep and so fast. I was so darn lonely, to the point where I just didn't care about anything else. They were like another family, to add on to my list containing six or seven other families. I took a leap there, and they caught me, they let me know that life was okay, is okay and will always be okay. Sisters, brothers, father and uncle. Oh, Michael, you're so pathetic.

'Cause the shame in these five days is that they came all the way from Oman. They were only here for a week but I was totally immersed into their group of friends. I will always have a special place in my heart for them but I think that's very useless now. It was there for five days, and now it's gone.

(Dec) Came to a decision: I have found a solution to the problem at school I've been having for a year now. It's time for a change and the new year will bring on a good one. It's been a long, treacherous journey with these people. They've pissed me off more times than I can count and I'm sure I have gotten on their nerve many times as well. I will never forget any of the good times, but hey, there weren't that many to begin with, and they weren't that good at all.

(May) Birthday: My birthday always happens when other things are happening. It was quite a lot of fun going out that night after the Graduation Ball, but again, I drank alone, I danced alone, I went home alone. Why is it so hard to find somebody? Why is it that the four of them stuck together? Why is it that they were a couple? Why do they go home? Where does it ever leave me?

No, that's not the right way to think about it. It's precisely about me on my birthday if I am willing to believe it to be. Besides, I have made a decision to stop caring about them. I had fun on my birthday, and it was a considerably good one when compared to my birthdays in previous years. I won't forget it and next year will be even better.

(Sep) Mid-Autumn Festival: I've never been to the beach on that night. I had no idea that loads of people actually did that. It was good, though. And I got the chance to see her, so it was nice. The moon created this mysteriousness amongst us. I wonder if we would ever find ourselves in that same spot again.

God, why do I always think I'm alone? People will always tell me, no, you're not alone, but heyheyhey. I really am by the end of the night. I think I have to make peace with the fact that I will be more alone in the next few months. Yikes.

(July) Family trip to Toronto: Now, this was a really good time. A time that I pretty much forgot about until I looked at a calender to remind myself about what I was doing in those blank two weeks in my head. I went to Toronto with my whole family (save my mother and my aunt). We went to eat crazy-good steak, and to see all the attractions that I could now look at in another, more mature, light. I love Toronto. I will live there at some point in my life. And although I can't say I love time with my family, at least they never, ever make me feel alone.

(Jun) Last week of school: I had to stage manage a concert, as well as perform in a lead role of the senior play. To be honest, I stage managed better the previous time. This time, I was breaking down, I didn't care about these people and I couldn't do my job because I let these people get to me. Not all of them were bad. I don't want to say it goes to show how tired I've gotten of them. I think it's just me again. Pathetic, emotional me.

For the school play, these people were cool. Actors are nice people. Never really bothered me much. Oh, how could I forget about him though. He was a pain up my ass. Oh, but at least the lot of them were sitting in the audience, far, far away. The show went quite well and everybody clapped for Andrew, Bea and Chas. I want to do more professional stuff, though. The stuff I had in my old school, as opposed to this mini-production. Oh, the life I could've led... It's my own fault for bringing that upon myself.

(Aug) Cheung Chau: Here in Hong Kong (I start an awful lot of my paragraphs like this, don't I?), during the holidays, a lot of young people like to rent a house on one of the outlying islands for a few days to enjoy life outside the city for a change. We can go biking, go to the beach, eat lots of junk food and even bring our laptops, our Playstations and even our electric guitars to the house to just relax and be lazy (or in my social group's case, work and study :P).

This year, five people came to my house thing that I rented. Last year, twelve people came, so I was a little let down. I was happy that the four 'right' people came to accompany me. Especially the couple. Both of them lightened up my time there... It wasn't all smiles, but I was content. However...

(Aug) Loneliest I've ever felt: It was a strange night that night. They were asleep in the room and I didn't want to wake them (well, I did. And I texted them). I stepped outside, went biking for a while, bought a drink at the store at two in the morning, but gosh, the emptiness inside of me felt so strong, it was unbelievable. I sat on the beach, frantically, desperately trying to call everyone I could. Nobody would pick up their phones. I had no computer to go online. I was overwhelmingly sad and it was cold and it was dark and the beach was empty.

The beach is a place I usually go to sit and think about life. Beaches have always been comfortable for me. I find it nice when there is sand in my shoe, caught between my toes. I like the feel of my jeans drenched in seawater. I can have a good night's sleep on the sand, falling asleep and waking up to the sound of the waves. For some reason, that night just did not work for me. I was restless, lonely and miserable. I cried that night very, very hard. It brought back thoughts of my suicidal incident four years ago. It brought back memories of all the pain I ever experienced with either parent, with my friends, with my heart that's fallen in love so many times, so deeply and so wrongly. I just wished that someone was there so badly.

But I was considerate enough not to bother the couple. They had enough on their minds at the time. It came at the cost. How big of a cost am I, really?

(Oct) Started blogging: I didn't believe that blogging was therapeutic. I didn't think that I could entertain people, or that I could touch people's hearts with my writing. I just thought it was a leisure activity, where angry, depressed and/or talkative people would bail their hearts out and talk about the most insignificant things. I don't know why I felt this way, because normally, I'm usually a person that's very open to new experiences. But, in a rush of emotion one night, just because I was bored, I created Do you hate it too? and wow, I had no idea that people from the States, from Brazil, from the UK, from everywhere, could be so welcoming, and could give a damn about what I had to say.

I used to be mightily unhappy around my friends and family. They would piss me off to no ends. But if there's something I must thank them for, it's for doing exactly that. Driving the living Hell out of me with their annoyances so that I could start my blog and enter a whole new realm of socialization. I cannot express how grateful I am to all my followers and all the people who have such fantastic, inspirational, equally and differently opinionated blogs for me to read. Blogging is still not therapeutic (in fact, it gets stressful at times trying to come up with topics), but I think I can be confident in saying that it has brightened up my mood and cheered me up after a year that has been so eventful, stressful, troublesome, miserable and lonely. You are all like family, and I cannot wait to grow up, travel the world and meet all of you in person perhaps, visit the places you mention in your blogs, meet the people you talk about in your entries. Blogging is the biggest and the best part of my 2008.

*update: I forgot about the Presidential Elections,the Olympics and other big news. Goes to show how self-centred Iam...*

15 - All the best cowboys have daddy issues.

Dear Dad,

You don't know me very well but if there's one thing you should know, it's that I have a tendency to deny that I'm a young talented writer, one with the natural gift for finding the right words to say at the right time but this... this is undoubtedly one of the hardest things I've ever had to write.

If you're reading this, it probably means that I worked up the courage to link you to this blog or send this to you in the form of a written letter. It could also mean that you've used your 'brilliant' skills of private investigation to dig up this particular aspect of your big boy's life, which, in turn, would mean you've become slightly more obsessive since I last spoke to you five months ago. Either way, you're reading this, so good for me, and good for you, for I hold a strong belief in the sanctity of honesty between family members. Everybody deserves truth.

I get the feeling that you've been served truth throughout the seventeen years that I've known you. You don't handle it very well. I look at your alcoholism, your addiction to the cigarettes, your money problems and your concupiscent engagement with prostitutes in God Knows Where and I have listened to you explain to me time and time again why you're not an asshole. I don't mind any of those bad habits. I don't mind at all. I don't even mind your two divorces and I don't mind your negligence toward your three other children.

But the thing I just can't help but take issue with is how you treat me and how you see me. You know, you have tried to teach me how to be a man and often I feel like I have failed you. I feel useless in your eyes because you seem to think that I don't know what life is about, that I am naive and I don't know how to life a successful happy life. I have to ask, who are you to judge me? What have you ever truly wanted and desired in your life besides a good fuck? I know you remember the night where you cried to me about your failures in life and you asking me not to be another failure in the Rivera family. Don't you know your son tries so hard to be better? Don't you know he tries so hard to grow up beyond his years?

I have very few friends because of you. I'm always serious and I never know how to take things lightly. I'm not a child. That's all because of you but I'm fine with it. You don't seem to be fine with yourself after your forty-five years of experience and you don't have the right, not even the parental right, to judge me and think that I'm not living my life in the 'right' or 'wrong' way.

There's no easy way to say this so I'll just say it. I hate you and I don't have the slightest iota of love in my heart that belongs to you. I was an accident. I was a mistake. Even though you and Mom both regarded me as some sort of a perfect storm, she was the one that has always treated me like I was. Perhaps it comes with her job of being a teacher but either way, I know you would agree that she's been a great mother to me, one full of devotion and care and one that always carried the ability to accept me, be my friend and teach me how to find love in this world but what have you ever given me - besides the booze, the money and the time of day where nobody else wanted to be with you?

You know you had me and my mother back in the day. You know you had your second wife and your three children before you got divorced the second time. This isn't about when she cheated on you. I'm talking about your cheating on her and your lack of effort to keep a marriage together when you first got married. It wasn't the children that screwed you over. It wasn't your wives that screwed you over either. Blaming your failures on anything other than yourself is such a sore loser thing to do. It was you.

You are the part of me that makes me think I am unfit to be a father. You are the one that's passed on your anger and arrogance to me. I used to think that I was stubborn just like you but the truth is that I am capable of change and have done so. You are the one that's always been stubborn. You are the one that nobody wants to forgive because it's futile. I'm very happy with who I am. You are the one that will always be the way you are and I don't know if you're happy with it but because of who you are, that's it.

I'm leaving you behind.

Michael.

6 - My early life.

"I was born and raised in Hong Kong."

That's the simple version of my early life. The simple sentence that I'll share with people that probably don't have much interest in learning more, the people who don't care, the people who consider their lives to be big and interesting enough. But, to me, the past seventeen-and-a-half years have been remarkable, and scary, and every living second of my time now is spent not knowing what I'm doing or why I do it. I certainly like to pretend that I do know what I'm doing, though. I've always tried to be independent, confident in my own ability and self-reliant. I believe I've inherited that quality from my parents who constantly don't know what they're doing at all either, but they pretend. They try.

I was born conventionally (not by C-section) in a hospital. She was 23 at the time while he was 27. They met while working at a hotel. She was the voice that you hear on the room service hotline and he was the bellboy that would conveniently carry your luggage to your room. They were both naive and they fell in love. They got married. I was an accident.

My father was unfaithful to my mother, sleeping with other women while I was in the womb. That wasn't too big of an issue... My mother always aspired to be a teacher and as soon as she was relieved of the burden that is me, she went out to find work and pursue her goals. My father ended up being the househusband, feeding me baby food, amusing me with toys and wiping my ass. For two years, the family dynamic was this way and it frustrated my father greatly because he firmly believed that the man should be the one working and earning the dough. He would take me to countless part-time jobs with me lying in a crib under the office desk. He would get fired because of me. He just couldn't find stable work and he felt emasculated as my caretaker. One day, while my mother was at work, he moved out and took me with him.

For three painful months, my mother searched desperately for me and my father. My dad would hang up on her whenever she called and my paternal grandparents wouldn't let her know a thing, always staying on my father's side. They would tell my mother that Michael was okay, but for three months, all that would satisfy her maternal instincts was to hear my tiny voice innocently whisper the words, Michael loves Mommy.

They were still married when my father had 'kidnapped' me. My mother could take it no longer and she filed for divorce. My father was forced to let my mother see me again. In court, it was clear that my mother deserved full custody since she had the stable income, and the large family to back her up, while my father had nothing. In addition, my mother had cunningly tape-recorded all the phone conversations with my dad during the three months she was separated from me. It proved that my father had purposefully separated us and that my paternal grandparents had encouraged it to happen. I belonged to my mother from that point onwards.

I went to Toronto, Canada, and lived there from the ages of two to four. I don't remember much honestly, but I know I was happy. I know this by watching numerous video tapes that my mother had recorded with the excitement and enthusiasm that all typical mothers have when their kids are that young and cute and when technology had begun to enable parents to capture their children on digital media. Parenting me on her own was something that she was so proud of, and nowadays, everyone on both sides of my family would agree that she deserved to be proud.

I remember I was watching one of these videos and we were going to a cherry farm. One segment of the video exhibited me on the very top step of a ladder, picking off cherries with my tiny, plump hands. My mother asked me, "Are you scared?" and I replied with, "no." When we had finished our day in the cherry farm, we sat down around a wooden table and she asked me, "Would you like some of my cherries?" and I said, "no." And then on the car ride home, she asked me, "Michael, are you happy today?" and I continued staring out the window without answering her. Seeing myself at that age reacting to my mother in such a way really touches me and as I watch the tape, I cry. I cry because even at that age, I knew I was independent, I knew I didn't need my mother's help, I knew I wasn't scared to face the world. The one thing that's always been difficult for me though is finding happiness. More than ten years ago, this was already the case...

I've had some good times in my childhood, though, obviously. My mother decided that my father could have me for my kindergarten year as long as my mother could see me once every weekend. I have to say that my kindergarten year was probably my happiest, my favorite, it was my best.

My father was a manager at a restaurant at the time. The restaurant served fries, burgers, garden salads, club sandwiches, hot dogs, ice-cold Coca Cola, onion rings, ribs, potato skins, and all the traditional comfort food that any kid would love to eat everyday - for free. While he was at work, I had a baby-sitter. My father was paying for diapers at a convenience store one day and my father asked the nineteen-year-old cashier lady if she would like to take care of me instead. Each day, she would ride her bike to kindergarten with me sitting in the backseat, and after school, she would bring me to the playground, or McDonald's or the beach. The baby-sitter lived with us, so it was pretty much just me and her all the time.

When my dad was free on his days off, he spent his time teaching me how to ride a bike and how to swim. He brought me fishing and hiking too. We also had a lot of barbecues in the backyard where I picked up a few fire-making and steak-perfecting skills. We were very outdoorsy, something that I really miss from my life now where it's all books, exams, essays and university applications. I don't just miss being a kid like everybody else does. I miss being that kid, the kid that I was at the time, diving to the depths of incredibly salty water without my goggles. I miss hiking to the top of a mountain that appeared to be a million metres high just for the sake of it, just because I could at my age. I miss biking in the middle of the night, being a little daredevil that wasn't scared of the dark.

Speaking of which, there was one night when I couldn't fall asleep. I was five years old. I went out to see if my dad was watching television, but I found that my father and my baby-sitter were both not present in the house. I decided to go out for some fresh air on my bike, perhaps stop by McDonald's for an apple pie. I did go to McDonald's and surprisingly found my father and my baby-sitter seated at one of the tables. My father gave me some money for three apple pies and when I returned with the food, my father gave me some big news.

It was there and then that I found out that my baby-sitter and my father had fallen in love, and that she was pregnant. I remember smiling ever-so-widely at the thought of me becoming a big brother, and I was so happy for these adults whom I loved so dearly. Despite the fact that I was still young, I knew that family is important and that love is great. Unfortunately, when she was just four months into the pregnancy, it was time for me to be returned to my mother for primary school. My best year had ended there.

I had little contact with my father for the next six years. I didn't know that I was a big brother to a beautiful baby sister. I didn't know my baby-sitter got pregnant again, and gave birth to another girl. I didn't know that the restaurant my father worked in got shut down and that he lost his job. I didn't know that he started an internship working as a private investigator. Most of all, I didn't know they weren't married. I always assumed that they were, but they weren't. I didn't know anything.

After I turned six and left my dad, my mother began to provide the childhood experience that she deemed to be the best, filled with books, travels and (of course) many good times with her. I can't say I hated it entirely. I enjoyed learning at school and I loved to read. She would always bring me out to have dinner, or to go see the latest movie, or to the bookstore. Every summer holiday, she would take me somewhere foreign and this engrained in me this passion to travel all the time, a passion that I reckon will exist within in me for my whole life. She took me skiing in Korea, and diving in Thailand, and shopping in Japan. I saw Niagara Falls, the White House and the Statue of Liberty. It was truly unbelievable as I think about it now. My time with my dad allowed me to learn a lot about the great outdoors, while my time with my mother was something a whole lot different. It was about building academic learning, about travel, about broadening my perspective.

Both of them have shaped my early life into one that I am very proud of, one that has been enriching, fulfilling, joyous, incredible and one that I sometimes miss so badly. I'm crying as I type this, not because I'm unhappy that I cannot relive the past, but because I'm impressed by my upbringing, I'm happy that I had one like such. The second half of my life has been a lot harder, and I'm glad that at least the first half was lived truly happy. It's the sort of childhood that I wish my future kids will have. I wish they will learn the important lessons in life the way I learnt them. There's a lot that goes on in my life right now, but everything that I'm doing now is to achieve that one goal, to parent children that will grow up happy and proud to have me as a dad.

I'm far from being a good father now. I'm only seventeen. I'm only a student. But one day, I will know what I'm doing. I'm sick of pretending to know what I'm doing. I'm tired of trying to do the right thing. I will be a good dad.