On Your Shoulders

Dear Father,

I found this poem stashed away in one of my old folders. I think this was what I was supposed to post last Father's Day but forgot all about it.

I hope you like it.

On Your Shoulders

You came into the door
I reach out to you
You pick me up from the crib
And held me high on your view

Then I pointed to the picture
Hanging on the wall
Without a word
You put me on your shoulders

On your shoulders, I feel like I can do anything
On your shoulders, I know nothing would happen
Not with you there guarding me
On your shoulders, I am free

Your hands held mine
As you shook and trembled
Pretending there is an earthquake
I got scared
And held tight onto your hair
You yelled and the tremors stop
I laughed.

On your shoulders, I feel like a giant
That I could reach anything
And see everything
On your shoulders, I am secure
When will I feel that same feeling again?

Twenty one years later
Here I am
Standing below the picture
That I could barely see then

In that picture, you were smiling
In that picture, you were happy
In that picture, I was sitting on your shoulders
In that picture, I laughed.

I wonder what happened
Where had all that laughter gone?
Why is it that when I sat on your shoulders,
It was the first and last one?
Was it my fault that you had to leave?
Or was it all your decision to do so?
Father, father, I wish I could turn the time around
And sit on your shoulders once more.

Respectfully yours,

Your daughter.

Happy Father's Day!

I know its a bit late. But...

A Dad's Poem

Do you know when a grown man is handsomest? For me its when he carries his child on his shoulders and is not afraid to tell the world that he is a father.

Dear Father,

While browsing through some old email, I found this wonderful poem. I guess I've read it before and ended up forgetting all about it. But let me take this opportunity to share this to all who would want to read.

Disclaimer: This was sent to me through a chain email. I cannot exactly point out who the real author of the poem is, but I would be willing to credit anyone who would come forward declaring ownership.

Here's the message attached to the mail:

"A beautiful poem written by a Father to save his Daughter. Do read it once... I am sure u also won't be left untouched by the words and the feelings that they depict. The last stanza, after reading from the beginning, suddenly slows down the heart-beats."

TO MY CHILD

Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying.

Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.
Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this afternoon, I will take us to McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.

Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will snugglebeside you for hours, and miss my favourite TV shows. Just for this evening when I run myfinger through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given.

I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms.
The mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly and screaming inside that little body

And when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer.

It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing,

except one more day...

Jerusha Meets Jervis

Because we held hands...

Dear Father,

I wish to ask you again. How did you court my mother back then?

Whenever I ask her, she would just go on ranting and tell me that she doesn’t exactly know how the two of you ended up together. I guess she’s still angry at you after all these years. So that’s why I am asking the same question to you, hoping to get an answer.

But I guess you won’t be able to answer it either.

Why do I want to know, you ask?

Well, the truth is, Father, someone finally decided to court your little girl.

Sounds impossible right? It’s been months and I still think that all of this could just be a dream. But it feels nice, Father. For once, someone finally noticed me.

It’s been around 4 months (around a week before Christmas) when I first met him through a common friend. It turns out that he studied in the same university, under the same building, and joined the same school organization (This is a conspiracy. I could feel it.). We, together with my friend and her boyfriend, went to the mall to attend a convention and buy some anime stuff there.

Physically, he was about 2-5 inches taller than me, a bit dark skinned, and has a bigger-than-average body built. (A far cry from my college crush whom I fell for a couple of years back.) He was a really funny and energetic guy, and he kept striking up a conversation with me all night. It felt strange, for me to feel suddenly at ease with a guy whom I just met. And that I enjoyed the whole evening because I was with him.

I really didn’t want to jump into conclusions, like I did before. So I tried not to think too much about him and focused on the activities Christmas had in store for me. It worked, for that moment, but when the New Year arrived, I found myself thinking about him again.

Why am I like this to someone I had just met? I kept asking myself. Nobody answered, of course. But I bet that God was grinning down on me during those days.

Days passed and I went on with life. With my permission, our friend gave him my Yahoo Messenger ID so we could chat online. We began to talk of anime and of Aura Perpetua, which he had started to read after clicking the link on my YM status message.

And the next thing I know, he’s inviting me for a date on Valentines’ Day.

I tried to keep my composure as I typed back my acceptance to his invitation. In my mind, I was dancing in delight. Finally! Finally! Finally! Someone is asking me out for a date! I thought. It was something I’ve always dreamed of doing during Valentines’ Day, and now, because of him, it was coming true.

It was fun while it lasted, Father. I enjoyed three firsts that day. My first ever Valentines’ Day date and my first time to try Ice Skating. We were both novices to Ice Skating and had fun trying to keep our balance and our sanity…

And it was also the first time somebody sang a song dedicated to me.

I really enjoyed that day, Father. It also gave us a chance to know more of each other and find out that we have a lot of things in common. Conversations were endless. And when it was time to go home, he volunteered to accompany me, even if it would mean that he would have to ride an equal distance back.

And since then, we have been keeping our conversation lines open between us.

Well, Father. I guess by now you have guessed that I’m beginning to like this guy.

Truth is…

Yeah. I really like him.

But I haven’t told him that yet. Even if he already told me that he loves me about a hundred times now.

Because I wanted to be really sure, of him, and of my feelings for him.

I don’t want to make the same mistake I did before.

And I don’t want to end up making the same mistake that you and my mother did.

So I guess… those are my reasons why I’m making him wait.

But I hope… I dearly wish… that he would wait.

Because…

It would be all worth it.

…

I really wish I could see your reaction to this letter right now. If you were like the father in the movies, this would be the point where you would go ballistic and prevent me from seeing him and all that drama.

Actually, I wish that you could meet him as well.

Someday, Father. I know. God will make a way. You will get to meet this person who promised to make my life happy.


Sincerely yours,
Your daughter who has already grown up.

Please Hear What I Am Not Saying

Shh... Listen to what I have to say first.

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well
as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings--
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

Written Charles C. Finn on September 1966

** credits to Ms. Euri from Tainted Soul and to Poetry by Charles Finn where this poem was taken from.

Dedicated to the people, friends, and family who had always been there to try to pull me out of the darkness I succumb into. And to that one person who promised to always hold my hand...

These are that things that I am not saying. Thank you for always being there to listen.

Silence

The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it in to my ear
Without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

- Jeffrey McDaniel

***

It's just amazing how much faith and trust can go a long way.

Happy Valentines' Day, Father.

***

"You say it best when you say nothing at all..." ~ When You Say Nothing At All by Alison Krauss

Aura Perpetua

Credits to Tala-chan for the wonderful banner.

Dear Father,

My muse had returned, and I decided to write again. This time around, I'm posting it in the Internet for all to see, and critique as well. I'm not a very good writer, and my English grammar is poor, but I try to make up for it along the way. I hope you appreciate it as well.

If you have a little spare time, please drop by my blog-novel: Aura Perpetua and let me know what you think. It would be a really big thing for me too, to know if you like it or not.

Yours truly,
Jerusha Abbott.

Prisoner of Time

What would you to if you can travel through time?

Dear Father,

The Holidays had been a happy and busy event. Mama and I spent a lot of time together and just enjoyed the one and a half week break I got from work. It felt really nice because this time around, I was the one who was giving, and that the money I used to give was from my hard work. We were able to enjoy a great Noche Buena composed of a Roast Chicken Meal c/o Kenny Rogers' Roasters, some hot chicken soup prepared by Mama, Buko Salad c/o yours truly, some fresh fruits, and of course, Christmas Ham. It made me extra happy to finally have ham on the table again.

There were lots of food, most of which came from my Aunt and her family. So much that we were still eating the leftovers even after Christmas and New Year. There were also visits from my two male cousins (both of whom have their own families), and a lot of noise from my naughty nieces and nephews. We also made house visits to several of Mama's friends and gave them gifts. It feels really good to be the one giving the gifts. I only got a few gifts in return, and Mama was able to come up with a card for me this Christmas. It felt kinda nostalgic, since I've been giving her greeting cards as gifts for years now. But I love it anyway.

I checked my mailbox every now and then, but it seemed that you forgot to send a card this year again.

Though things had been pretty busy and messy this past weeks, I still managed to find time to curl up with a good book and float away into wonderland. A good friend of mine lent me her book (the one our team gave her for Christmas) entitled "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger. Basically, its about a man named Henry deTamble who suffers from Chrono-Displacement Disorder, enabling him to travel through time, either past or future. In the middle of all the complex situations this disorder had lead him, he manages to meet his wife, Claire, when she was still 6. Claire moves through time normally, and ends up looking forward to Henry's visits, knowing more and more about him in the process. The book is about the unfolding of their life together in their strange mixed up chronology while Henry tries to find a cure for his disorder.

The book was well written that you'd just believe that a man like Henry would suddenly pop in out of nowhere and introduce himself as a time-traveler. But the best part for me was around the end of the book. Henry goes forward in time and meets his daughter, Alba, for the first time (at the present time, Alba wasn't born yet.) He found out that Alba was a Chrono-Displaced Person like him and could travel back and forth in time. Alba was delighted to meet her father, but before he could spend some time with her, Henry was pulled back to the present time.

Later on in the story, Alba and Henry would meet in the past and spend some time together. So in a way, even if the present Henry had passed away, he was able to see his daughter and watch her grow.

The Time-Traveler's Wife is a really sweet love story. It made me think about what I would do if I could go back in time, but not really change it. What about you, Father? If you were given the same gift/curse that Henry has, what would you change? Would you go back to the past and change everything? Or would you visit the future and see how much I have grown?

I guess I'd never know.

Your daughter, in her 21-year old self.