i guess i was always daddy's girl...
he would always sneak me some extra pocket money for my allowance when mom wasn't looking (although i think she kind of knew that)... it's like a gulf of ocean to communicate with each other when your daughter is growing up with raging hormonal changes, and unpredictable mood swings... like every other teenager on the block.

when the teenager's angst revolve around doing well in school, choosing a career path for LIFE, leading by good example for her sibling, breaking out with acne on the face and feeling like that's the only thing anyone can see, gaining weight and trying to maintain a balance in this anorexic fashion world, crushing on some boy or other in class, end-of-the-world drama with friends... it's hard to relate to each other every day.

i remember i would worry about my parents safety when, inevitably, there would be night robberies at knife or gun-point, or break-ins after dark when drunken criminals threw rocks and bricks at the store.

Recently i was at a Baskin Robbins store on a weekend... i looked over and there at a booth sat a pair of asian father-daughter... the dad wordlessly watching in total contentment his 10 year old daughter, who was demolishing the ice cream cone with total happiness. she had a backpack on, and he held her nintendo gameboy in a plastic ziplock bag. it touched me beyond words because it was such a tender moment for the dad... he is able to provide his daughter's happiness, and he knew it, and she was totally content. as i sat there, i think, give it another year or so, and the ice cream will no longer be a sufficient solution for the girl's happiness. it won't be her fault nor his, but they were close to a turning point in life where growing up and hormones will drive them apart soon. looking at them, it made me miss my own dad.

he had told the story of when i was young (maybe 6-7 years old), the neighbour woman would pick me up from school along with her own boy, and babysit us until my parents came home from work to get me. one day, dad had the day off (he works nights as a bartender), and instead of coming to pick me up himself, he wanted to just observe my typical day.

he followed us from school, which was only a block away from home. the street hawkers selling curry fishballs and deep fry turkey legs were always outside the theatre (which we pass by every day). on that particular day, the neighbour kid wanted curry fishballs, so we stopped at the hawkers's cart. his mom bought him some, and i wanted them too, but she only bought it for her son and told me i can't have any. as we walked up the hill towards our building, my dad appeared, reprimanded the neighbour lady ("it was so cheap, and kids don't know better, she doesn't know why she couldn't get to eat the curry fishballs but that your son can, how can you do this to a kid?").
He picked me up in his arms, and we walked back to the street hawker, where he bought me 2 skewers of curry fishballs...

i had vague memories of the events, except somewhere between his storytelling and my fuzzy memories, i see the images of being in his arms, and holding the 2 skewers of curry fishballs in my little hands.

i hope my dad knows how much i love him, even through the mist of adulthood, living on the other coast in a different country, and the gulf that divided us when i was a teenager... i'll probably call him this week.