My Daddy's Face

When I was a child, my dad's work shifts  would always require him to arrive home either late at night, mid afternoon or early in the morning. He would always come home smiling, being warm and supportive with our schoolwork. Everything's good. Nothing should ever change. Until one day when I returned home for holiday, an accidental glimpse at his face changed my life forever.

It's been a long time since I've seen this face - every wrinkle and laughing line, every tiny scar I never knew existed, every black hair that has turned half grey. That's the thing. We often forgot about it. When we talk with our family, we seldom look at them. We know each other by heart. So why bother looking?

I looked at his face again. I listened as it poured out the story. His skin had turned darker. Mum said sometimes his job requires him to stand for a few hours outside the building to assist visitors. Rain or shine, there was no option. I asked mum why his under eyes were black. She told me that he was having trouble sleeping because of the changing pattern of his shifts. There were times when he could have a good rest after work, but that time would always be spent paying bills, preparing our meals, sending us off to school and simply just watching us growing.  I asked her about his tired face. She told me he was constantly having fever but a sick leave was not what he wanted. He always wanted to work extra hours. In fact, he needed to.

Now beneath his happy face, I found that he is a sad man. I saw his worries. His fears. His limitations. His deep insights on life and family. How can I have been neglecting these?  We have always been a happy family and that mainly exist because he made it exist. He is the keeper of our bliss. He protects us from the pain of building the bliss. He fought the hardest when we are the happiest. And yet, he never complain.

Now that I am so far from him, his face is my strength. His face is the hidden answer when they ask me.

"Are you not tired?"

"Why are you so enthusiastic about this?"

"Why would you even bother to give your best?"

I have never really thanked my dad for his ultimate sacrifice. But I have gone this far - determined to give him back the rest that is always missing and to fulfill his hope that his children will make him proud. For now, I choose to thank him by remembering his face. And in whatever I do, to never complain.