Sometimes I wonder whether I'm being unreasonable. There are so many things that came out of Dad's death that makes me think that I do not, as I had thought before, have my anger under control.
For a while I was angry at God. I wondered why he cut Dad's life so short, when I had just graduated and I could get a job and give him the retirement that he always wanted. He had a tough childhood, and it was not fair that he died just before he had the chance to live. But I've gotten over it, although I have still not brought myself to church since his death. And that was a good 9 months ago.
And then there was his family. Who are all still dead to me at this stage. But I've talked about them over and over until I'm blue in the face. I hate them. I don't want anything to do with them. They are dead to me, DEAD.
And then there are other things like Chinese new year. I don't think it's a holiday that I can ever celebrate ever again. And I don't think anyone can blame me for it. Dad died on the last day of the Chinese New Year. There is nothing about this holiday that I like. No new clothes. No cleaning the house. I hate the festival.
People say that when someone close to you passes on, it makes you a different person. For most, it has made them a softer person, because you sort of put life into perspective. I believe that Dad's death has made me a harder person, harsher and not all that forgiving. I fear that one day this hate will consume me and I might do something that I might regret.
I miss Dad. Last year this time, I was almost home, spending what was the last Christmas with him. Christmas is the time that I will cherish with me forever. I will always remember the sweet memories i had, the times that I spent studying my fathers face because I knew somehow, in my heart of hearts that that was the last time that I would see him alive. And I hate to say it, it was true. I still remember as though it was yesterday Mom and Dad dropping me off at the train station and I said goodbye to him. He was so weak, he could not even get out of the car to say goodbye. And I thought to myself "This could possibly be the last time I'm seeing Dad alive" and I think he must've been thinking that too. Because he wouldn't look at me. And I didn't want to cry in front of him and pretended that it was all going to be ok and that I will see him again. That is my regret. I regret not crying and telling him how much I loved him and that if I never saw him again, he should know that his choice of only having one daughter was not a mistake. That I loved him more than anything and that I'm sorry if I was a disappointment to him.
It's funny how I never believed in regrets, but now I feel as if I'm living in one big regret. It's funny how the things that have been buried in your subconscious can come rushing back. I remember in 5th year, I was avoiding speaking to dad because I had to do a couple of supplementary papers. And I was angry at him as well, because he wouldn't let some things go. I should've known that Dad never says much and when he does, then something is really bothering him. I remember stating how mad I was to a colleague, someone who lost his Dad (I didn't know it at the time). He had turned to me and said "You know, you should cherish your father as much as you can".
And all I can think about these days is whether I did.
