THE CIRCLE OF LIFE

There has always been a general wonderment in mind or more of a wish, “If only I could be a four year old and remember everything that happened back then.” I wished for it too, so did most of the people I knew. But never did I know that I would soon regret even the mere thought of it, for the possibilities for such an innocent gesture is cruel.

I have seen my father build, break and rebuild. It was something he was always good at, making up things like stories or tables. He was one of the highest paid people at the company he worked, and now he is sitting in front of me like a child; something he too might’ve wished when he was a young man. He holds up a pencil and smiles at me, repeating the word ‘pencil.’ I smile back at him fighting back a few tears. The man who taught me to beat the tears makes me bear them in the break of the day.

The circle of life was something I heard in The Lion King movie. Today, I understand that it is in fact true. He raised me, taught me how to be a better person that the best person, how to love and cherish everything in life. He believed there was only one religion, love. I believed in it, so did my beliefs.

He looks at me again with an innocent smile. “Hungry?” I ask him. He shakes his head, and heads to the table where some drawings are kept. Site drawings, the one he drew for a house he dreamed of making some day. He flips the chart paper and pushes it down the table. Another one of his dream down the drain, I tell myself.

“Don’t bite your lip too tight,” I remind him, seeing him struggling to find what was underneath the thin patch of moustache he was always proud of. All my day begin and end with only one thought, my dad. Few years ago, his worries were about me mostly. The magic of the circle of life.

He is being what he was when he was young; a naughty reckless boy filled with curiosity. Even as he moves from one room to another, he keeps staring at the switch, wondering how flicking it can welcome darkness and kill light. I hold him back to the dining table, where his lunch is set. He smiles constantly on the thought of the nap he will get after a healthy meal, just like how he treated me.

After he finishes, I wipe the leftover on his face, and walks him back to the bed. Tucking him in and closing the lights off, only one thought hangs in my mind. Yesterday, he raised a daughter to raise hers, and today she stays to raise him back again, to take him to where he was, to where he belong.