Dad was born in the year of the horse, 6 months after his father died on the battlefield. It was Fall. The air already became brisk. The day Dad was born, he did not cry. The old people of the town said his mother probably cried all his tears out. There was none left...for this poor child.

When he turned 2, his mother "took another step", as they said, to marry a man who refused to accept Dad. So, at the age of 2, Dad was turned loose on the street, placed to sleep... inside a woven bamboo basket. He did not cry.

The people in town took his basket to the house of his paternal aunt who was already married...with 3 children, of which the youngest was at Dad's age. So, with them he lived. They gave him a new name, the name he still keeps...to forsake the birth-given one. 

Dad had 2 paternal aunts. The one who welcomed him first was his father's oldest sister. She loved him. Her husband cared for him and trusted him more than his children. He was loved, but always as a nephew-child. He did not get to call anyone father. He did not get to call anyone mother. He was just ...him...existing. 

Dad was sent to school by his loving aunt when he turned 6. He was so bright. He could absorb anything taught. He would write his lesson on the dirt floor with a stick, smeared it all away, and wrote it again. At 11, he received the presidential honor roll, from the country's President, for he was the best in his school. 

When asked why he studied so hard, Dad said it's because he was lonely. So he buried himself in the books, in his imaginary world, to be comforted. But Dad also had another purpose, he wanted to become successful, to repay his aunt's kindness, to avenge his heartless mother. He studied hard and he also labored hard. 

At the time, everyone in the family worked to make ends meet. Dad was not an exception. He would assist his uncle on their cassava fields, tend the water buffalos, hire help from the neighboring town to operate the family's coal factory. He was the money keeper, a trusted accountant. Life was busy. But, at night, after everyone else were soundly sleeping, Dad would be tossing under the blanket, in the flickering oil lamp's light, secretly weeping until he fell asleep. He missed his mom.

In junior high, Dad's second aunt, his father's second oldest sister, came into light. To "be good" to her brother, second aunt insisted on raising Dad...every other year. So, in 7th grade, Dad moved to the beach city, to be with second aunt's family of a husband and 5 kids, 2 older and 1 of his age. Second aunt's family was very well off. Her husband was a high-ranked government official of the time. Their children were sent to the best school, and so was Dad. But, Dad...was their servant ... in every sense of the word.

In the morning, he had to take care of everyone's breakfast. He had to wait for them to finish their meal before he could eat. His meal portion was never counted in the expense. But he was smart, so he made deals with the sellers for an extra loaf of bread or an extra bit of sticky rice. After the rushed few bites, he had to clean up, rode their kids to class on the family's moped, brought the vehicle back, then grabbed his notebook and sprinted on foot ... to the same schoolyard. 

After class, Dad had to do all of the house chores, washing clothes, tending the livestock, cooking the meals, cleaning after people...before he could study. There were nights when his second uncle was lonely, so he commanded Dad to come to the living-room and say the rosary...together. But Dad was already too tired after a long, hard day "at work", so he would doze off periodically. Unfortunately, whenever second uncle noticed, he would make showers of whiplash fall upon Dad, with no mercy. He would subsequently "discipline" Dad's "disrespectfulness" by locking him out of the house for the night, with no tent, no blanket, no windbreaker. So, on those nights, Dad would be lying on the cold cement porch, befriending the moon, the stars, and the ocean breeze...telling them his life story, his lonesomeness, and his longing for a family...till he cried himself to sleep. 

During those "every other year" years, Dad became more and more weak and frail. But he never fought back, for he knew, he was at their mercy. So, he swallowed his tears and anger and injustice. He worked, he lived, and he studied. He was dreaming of a day, when he has a family of his own, he would be a loving Dad, he would get to feel a sense of belonging. So, he pressed on.

I am not sure if this is true, but people said that sad lives create poets. And so Dad was. He wrote long poems of the horses' lives, with each carrying his tears and immense sadness. Some were so sorrowful that I could feel his heavy exhaled breaths piercing through me as I brushed by him in the middle of the night. He found consolation in writing, in his flute, and eventually in his mandolin's strings...everything self-taught. 

In his last year of high-school, Dad fell in love, with a beautiful girl. Her hair was so long and black. Her smile was so dazzling. She loved him, too. But, fate played him or his God said it was not in the plan, so her family moved to another country for a chance at fortune. She left, with just a goodbye...no promise of a re-union. Dad died in his heart, that day. At 18, his love was already so deep and mature, for he understood the meaning of it. Thus, he felt as though he had lost the world, once again, this time with full capacity of comprehension for the throbbing heartache, the longing, the resentment. But he continued to live, for the future.

Graduated from high school, Dad applied to Education major in college. Yet, one day before his admission letter arrived, Dad was drafted into the army...just one day... one day that could make or break a man's life. At that time, university admission was given only once. So Dad lost his life's chance to become a bachelor. Oh, tragedy! 

Second year in the army, he almost had a renal failure. His entire body was swollen so much that the army doctors ordered his discharge. Came home to his first aunt, he was considered to be on deathbed. But, it seemed as though he would have felt too unjust to die... after suffering from this sad life, so he miraculously recovered and lived. 

At 29, his first uncle summoned him to the tea table and said "Why don't you chose a decent girl in town and marry her? So I could be at peace to face your father when I leave this world. My time may be up at any moment."

The next month, Dad married a fellow singer from his church choir. She was lovely, but also broken-hearted. Her lover left the country for a new economic opportunity. For certain, there was no romantic love between Dad and this lady... at first. But they understood each other's pain. They shared mutual respect and were willing to be each other's companion. 

During the first year of marriage, Dad got sick again. This round, his body was swelling so much. The doctors, again, said "It's time." Yet, Dad survived. The next year, he was wrongfully accused twice and was jailed while awaiting the investigations...then, forty days later, was set free because he was innocent. In jail, Dad got malaria through mosquito bites and, once again, almost lost his life.

Two years later, they had their first child, a baby boy, so handsome, with deep dimples and a warmest smile. Then came the second child, then the third, and, finally, fourth. Dad worked hard everyday to provide for this family. He farmed. He traded agricultural and construction goods. He became a carpenter. He became the house builder and self-taught "architect". The concrete houses that he drew the plans for and built are still standing to-date. He also taught himself herbal medicine and acupuncture. He saved many lives...those that Western doctors at the hospitals already said "Your time is up. It's too late." Yet, at night, he still made time to read to his children and fanned them to sleep. He would tell them millions stories, breathed into their minds the beauty of life and the power of hope. 

Once in a very long while, Dad would tell his children the little sad stories of his life. He would occasionally cry...just a little, then stopped. In his eyes, the world still exists, with sparkles. When asked why he continued to live. Dad smiled, with twinkles in his eyes, and said "I only have this one life. I want to see its limits. I also want to see mine. I hated my circumstances. I hated certain people. I hated life. But, still, I only have one life to live. And I want to live well...till my limits."

Now at 64, Dad would sit at the window sill on cold Winter nights, staring at the flying snow flowers I carry in my stroke, in complete silence, missing a father he never had the opportunity to meet. In cool Summer nights, he would play his favorite song on the flute, and look up to the sky, praying for a good tomorrow.

Now at 64, Dad still regrets that he never had the chance to attend college. But he finds consolations in the fact that all four of his children went to college and are leading good lives.

Now at 64, Dad is grateful that he had survived ... all the hardships ... to become the loving father that his kids hold dear.

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- Mommy, his life is so sad. I am crying.

- Don't cry because of sadness, my child. Cry of happiness, for him, who has fought his entire life for the love, for the family that he dreamed of. He deserves happiness and respect. So, I want you to look at him and this short life story as an example for when you feel weak, my child, be resilient and push through your obstacles. Challenge life. Challenge your limit, my dear.

- How could he overcome all of the hardships, mommy, while crying himself to sleep?

- I also don't understand where he found the strength and courage, my dear. I just know that he always kept his eyes wide open. He looked up to the sky, the moon, the stars, and the birds...soaring in the early dawn. As if... he was swallowing the brightness of sunlight, absorbing the flower scent carried in my summery breaths, drilling his feet steady and deep into the ground...so he could continue to live.

- Mommy, I wish him all the bests for the rest of his life. At 64, he may only have just another blink of 29. Ohhhh, this man called Dad!