I am my Father's son

I have written multiple times about my father.

In some instances I have romanticized my past with him. Those instances of hiking with him and flying a kite.

Those days that he would tell me about the plant names and their uses.

He would tell me stories about the jungle and how marvelous the large trees were and how he would touch the bark in an attempt to communicate with them.

Of course it never answered back but he still had that belief that they were sentient and thus can communicate. Just maybe not to something that we currently understand.

It's his birthday you see. He would have turned 80 today if he lived.

Yet he went to a far flung barrio and wanted to change the lives of simple farmers. Bring a biogas technology to provide them electricity and modern farming techniques.

He was happiest the most when in the fields clutching the brown, fertile earth beneath his feet.

Yet behind that smile he hid a certain sadness. Being away from his kids and without phonelines, letters were the only way that he could communicate.

He would write long, eloquent letters praising how hard working the farmers are. How amazed they were with the science behind his methods.

Most of all was how proud he was of his biogas converter. It would transform the methane from pig poop to energy that could light some of the houses.

Yet in between these words he placed his loneliness of being away from his kids.

He called me champ. In his eyes I could do no wrong. I was his first born son and one that he was so proud of.

He gave me such beautiful letters congratulating me for milestones in my life. How he was so proud of me being chosen to represent the school in national competitions. Of sharing my pain of losing but he said it does not matter I was still his champ.

Sometimes I wonder how my life would have turned out of he had not died. Would I have walked this life full of disappointment with my head a little bit higher when he would continually remind me that I am his champ.

Would I have not been this emotional weak and scarred if he was here to be my foundation.

I often wondered how my life would have turned out.

When I lay weak and with one foot in the grave a couple of days ago I asked my siblings to place my ashes next to him. Maybe in death together we both would find our peace.

I am still not okay. I am still hurting and I don't know how to get over it. I am so afraid of being alone because I know I will try again.

I hide away in anime and video games keeping my mind off thinking. If I stop I hear whispers again.

I need you now Pops.