Fatherless

Chilly Air

            Water splashed up from under the wheels as the jeepney ran on the wet road. The cold wind blown into the jeepney made me shiver. How I wished the driver had let down the plastic window covers. How I wished the rain just brought the cold wind with it as it left that early morn. I crossed my arms over my bag on my lap and brought it close to my chest. I hugged my bag tightly for warmth. I hugged the bag even tighter not because of the chilly air but because of sight in front of me, the sight of a man carrying a big pink bag, sitting beside a little girl. 

 I overheard him saying:

        "Behave well in class." 

        "Listen to your teacher." 

         "Your paper is in here.

        "Your pencil is in the pencil case."

        "After you use them, put them inside the bag." 

        "Your snacks are here." 

           "Pa, what time will you get me? "

        "Wait for me after class."

        "Don't play in the rain. You will get sick." 

              Then the girl rested her head on her bag that was on her father's lap. The father wrapped his left arm around her. I turned my head away, held the cold jeepney door, and gazed down the road My father's face flashed in my mind. My throat started to hurt. I remembered the early mornings when he prepared breakfast for us, the times when he would tickle my ears or the soles of my feet just to wake me up at 5 AM for school, the school visits at midday to check on me, the reprimands when I did something wrong against my siblings, the celebrations we had on my recognition days. 

               As I remembered those moments, my throat hurt even more. Tears started to well up in my eyes. With my right hand, I quickly reached for my hanky in my bag's front pocket and covered my eyes with it. I pressed the hanky gently to dry my eyes. Then, I just covered my eyes and feigned sleep for the rest of my trip. 

            I miss my father. I lost him to aneurysm when I was 11 years old. I always thought my life would have been different if he hadn't died. My mother wouldn't have been angry, depressed, and confused as to how she would raise and support me and my other five siblings.My childhood would have been happier. So many would have beens. I know he's already gone. I know I have to move on and live my life but it just hurt to remember him whenever I see a father with his daughter.