Checkered shirts, talcum powder, scruffy beards & retrospective pictures.

I’m turning 20 soon. I’m beginning to have thoughts splattered onto a clean slate like fine art ruined by a touch of contrasting paint. I have lists of ideas panned by a thousand doubts, yet I have a box of memories wishing that you were still around. You left this world with nothing but love, though you went past all the difficulties that showed nothing but trouble for this family to be intact. Teas in the evening made it a profound moment for one to step back and let time stood still. Rubber mats and cigarettes were entitled to its unique possession by the doorstep.

This quaint paraphernalia left me wordless. Left me visioning flowers planted as an ending to life. Stories were disclosed about your past, leaving me even more surprised with how things used to be. As shocked as I felt for unturned events, there was always a flicker of light allowing my senses to breathe it all in. I wish God gave me another chance to let that fragile smile of yours be in the present state as I walked through oak doors. Hoping to listen to your gruffed chuckle while you let yourself be entertained by the multitude of conversations concerning daily needs.

A few days before God took you to a much more better place, you cradled my face, grinning in a way to show me that strength was barely there when you need it but ensuring that you were going to be fine. I may have mistaken the signals you were trying to show me, but that was the only thing that came to mind. I may have been lost in wistful lies, but remembering back all of it provided a hint of truth to mitigate severeness of pain. There was also a scent of roses and pearl necklaces by your side. A garden of perplex episodes and lavish complementaries was more like it, but boy oh boy, she nailed all those circumstances.

Walking on cold tiled floors, the back of your wheelchair was the aspect that caught me off guard as I passed by. Looking at you perusing through your beauty aids as you await the arrival of your friends. Swatching a light crimson shade on your lips and witnessing a glow of happiness trace your amused expression. It took me quite awhile to get used to your absence as well as the need of a checkered shirt to be in sight. There was also a distance that prevented me from being able to bid farewell to your welcoming hugs. A light tug you always do in order to ponder on the changes of my appearance as I grew day by day.

Visible smoke to foreshadow the ramblings of you and your son, despite the familiar ambiance of being all loved up and cared for. Your walking stick didn’t let you seek justice, but you did make sure that the necessities of life shower you with what you think would be considered as pleasure, even if some people were to feel disinclined with the notion. I wish I was there for you, but a prayer will do. As much as reliving instances of when I was a child would draw me close to you, frames hanging on rods was an alternative for the impossible. Spacing out gave me an excuse to be accompanied with what you had left.

It has been five months, ten months, four years and about a few years back for me to have the privilege to be surrounded by scribbling notes, a bottle of water, tissues and my sanity to jot (make that two hours) this all down into one piece at this very moment. My recollections of your wisdom would always be a guide to how I should live life. Thank you, I still and always will, miss all of you.



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