Sunday, November 28, 2004

My elder sister and I went for grocery shopping for my father's needs this morning. As we arrived in his house situated in the farthest corner of a 800 SQM compound where I had spent my childhood years until I ran away from home in 1979, my heart melts with his living condition. His house was the most neglected house built inside the compound.

The house needs general cleaning. My father is living alone with 6 dogs, 2 geese, 19 chicken and 6 doves, enough to make him busy everyday feeding his pets. He's 70 years old, sickly, and diabetic.

Among my father's children, I was the only one who didn't liked to step in that compound. Most of our relatives on my father's side are well off and socializing with them had never been my cup of tea. We went to clean his house, anyway. Glad Paul Denise was with me and he helped us a lot, along with Boyet and Nelson. As usual, I argued with my father. I want him to throw away or sell the junk items he's keeping around his house. But, just like before, he firmly refused. He wanted my brothers to have them in case someday, they would want to build their own house. I explained to him no one among us are interested with those stuffs but, my sister stopped me. We know he's unhappy we're moving his things, throwing things we considered garbage but valuable to him.

It was past five in the afternoon when we decided to continue next weekend what we have started and probably look for people who will help us in lifting old furnitures and appliances. My muscles were aching but surprisingly, I feel good. I feel a little bit lighter because I know, in spite of comfortable life I once had, I failed to give my father the attention he deserves. But, the problem was he didn't like to live with any one of us.

Someday, somehow, I will be older, too, like my father. Will my kids remember me?