Home Sweet Home

I thought I wouldn't last 10 minutes. But I was there for nearly an hour. Everyone was amazed that we had so much to say.

We talked about a lot of things. Local politics, mutual acquaintances, relatives, my social life, his thoughts on life, the people sleeping on the beds next to him.

We were very relaxed. Very casual. Very friendly.

A friend called up to say hi. To check up on him. So I passed the phone over.

There was a delighted smile on his face as he yakked animatedly with my friend. He couldn't hear the voice very well and handed the phone back to me after a while. But not after some friendly chatter.

I looked at him sitting cross-legged. Garbed in a hospital gown. Sipping hot milo. And my heart ached. I wanted so badly to bring him home where he belongs.

"It's getting late, time to go home and bring your mother out for dinner. Don't forget to buy back food for your brother," he said.

"Ok, let me pray for you first."

And for the first time since I can't remember when, my dad took my hand in his. We bowed our heads and I prayed for him. For his health to be restored. For him to come back home.

I waved at him cheerily as I left. But when I got into the car, the tears came. I miss him.

Updates as at 30th June: My dad has been discharged from the hospital and is much better now. Thank you so much for your prayers, well wishes, calls and loving concern. They are much appreciated...

Photo Credits

I dunno about you, but it's so hard to tell dad that I love him.

"Happy Father's Day, Papa," I greeted him cheerily yesterday. There was at least one and a half feet of distance between us. Mom gave me a nudge. "Go hug him," she said with a wink. So I tentatively closed in the space between us and gave him a quick side hug. Poor dad, he wasn't used to this sudden display of affection that he just moved away a little.

Evening soon came. I found myself staring at the poem I wrote in honor of him on Father's Day. I wanted him to read it, savour it and relish in the knowledge that I esteemed him highly. And yet, I wasn't sure of how he'd react. To be fair, he had always loved my poems and dedications to him. But there was an incident when my verbal declaration of love to him was met with unexpected hostility. I guess that still left some scars.

So there I was, staring at photo and poem that I've printed in pristine white stock card paper for him. I told myself that there was no better opportunity than Father's Day to give him my love offering. I crept downstairs and in the midst of my other family members, handed him the poem.

He received it calmly and an excited smile spread over his face. Mom was excited, too. "Oooooh, it's one of Ariel's poems. I can't wait to read it!" she said.

"Well, I can't wait to read it either. Do get me my spectacles please," dad requested. Everyone gathered around his chair and ooohed and aaahed at the photo of him carrying little me so carefully. Mom handed him his reading glasses.

"Look at his nervous smile," mom cheekily gestured at the photo. "I think he was afraid of dropping you!"

I explained to dad the reason I chose some of the clip arts I added to the poem (which you guys didn't get to see). And then we left him to read the poem alone.

He came out of the room to join us about five minutes later. "I'm going to laminate this. Where's your Mother's Day card? We are going to laminate that, too," he told my mom. Mom scuttled to retrieve her Mother's Day card I printed her that was proudly displayed near the ironing table since May 14, 2006.

Tucked away in a corner of his file cabinet, was a file full of the cards that we kids have given them throughout the years. Not a single card was missing nor thrown away. Each card was well-kept and preserved in pristine conditions. The precious ones were laminated.

No mushy words were exchanged. No "I love you's" were said. But from my written words, dad knew that I loved him. That's what matters. And that would have to be enough. For now.

To the man of my life,

How do I find the words to say
To someone who means the world to me?

How can I even verbalise
The things you have sacrificed and braved through
to give me a better life?

How can I begin to count
The very many ways you have shown your love
from when I was a tiny tot to the lady I am now?

For all my verbosity and prattle-like nature
I couldn't find the words to do you any justice

But I'll try

For all that you are
And have been to me
I thank you and love you, Papa

I'm so very thankful for each day that I get to spend with you.

Happy Father's Day.

Here are some trivia about Pineapples:

• A pineapple plant only bears one fruit or at most two in its lifetime


• It takes two years for a pineapple plant to produce


• You can grow your own pineapple plant by twisting the crown off a store bought pineapple, letting it dry for 2-3 days, then planting it.


• It's fat-free, cholesterol-free and high in vitamin C


• The sweet ones are utterly yummy!

After two years of dilligently watering and tending for his pineapple plants, we finally got to eat the fruit of dad's labour. The pineapple was tiny and oh, so sweet. I wish there was more to go around. I'm thankful that my tomato plants will take a much, much shorter time frame to bear fruits!

The pineapple and I