My Dad and I never really understood each other. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there was a lot of love there, but I think we were too different, and this of course was reflected in the type of relationship that we had.
He was a man’s man, who understood and relished his role as head of the family, and to a broader extent, the community. I was this gay guy who was just trying to carve out his own place in the world.
He was a pragmatist, but which pragmatism was always rooted in good intentions and a genuine desire to help others. He took the world for what it is, and played within the rules of that world to try to make it a better place. I was an idealist, which sounds good on paper, but which idealism can make me, sometimes, judgmental and unforgiving of people who do not live up to my standards. He accepted the world even if it was imperfect, and did his best to make it as good as it can be in the way that he can considering the circumstances. I saw the same imperfection, but the most I can muster is resigned jadedness and disappointment.
It should be obvious that this divergence in personalities would lead to clashes sometimes, and it did. (A story— we were in the middle of an argument one time, when he said, “Bakit ba ang tigas ng ulo mo?” I replied, “Well, bakit kayo nagugulat? Kanino ba ako magmamana?”). But, to his immense credit, he nurtured my ability to speak my mind by giving me the space to do so. He was a strict disciplinarian, but he never used his moral authority as a parent to shut down my ideas simply because he disagreed with me.
And I guess what I am saying is this— what I loved most about my Dad was his ability to trust me. To know in his heart that, notwithstanding the differences in our views, I was a good person, and that, whether I am right or wrong, he trusted that I was coming from a place of good intentions.
During his wake, my sister and I had an opportunity to have a long conversation which at some point touched on the nature of love, and I remember telling her that our relationship with our Dad, in all its messy imperfections, shows pretty clearly why love is so difficult to define.
It’s not affection or desire, love is not that superficial. It’s not just positive emotions and never-ending happy memories. It is also shared history; it is resentment; it is loyalty; it is trust; it is rising above our own egos and being there for each other; it is sacrifice. It is many other complicated things that would take a lifetime to write.
It is carving a path to your heart and saying to that person, “here, I trust you, so I am opening myself up to the possibility of immense pain because that is the only way I can love you.”
It is knowing that, notwithstanding the fact that we don’t really understand each other, and even though there are times we might not even like each other, we will never leave (at least not voluntarily). It is choosing to stay. It is always reminding the other person that, notwithstanding our differences, there will always be love.
Thank you Dad for the lessons. I love you and miss you every day.
