Poetry

Like My Father

Published in WriterSkill’s CB chapbook, Mist Connections. Grab a copy for 150 pesos!


They say you fall in love with someone like your father, the same way my mother fell in love with someone who does not know of the word romance. Almost meeting at the same place, caught in the wrong time, they were lucky that their story was bookmarked on the same page.

And this is how they met:

On January 4, 1994, a phone rang at 4 pm.

A woman answers, a man calls—

at that time, neither knew how deep they would fall.

Remember, a lasting love does not need a special premise.

One day, he knocked on her apartment door with no flowers, no chocolates, no extravagant ruse. All he had to do was to get down on one knee to get her “I do.”

No, my father does not know of the word romance, but he knows of the word love.

Love is about being persistent: It is when my father would constantly ask my mother out when she would play coy and make him wait for days, for weeks, before she would spell out a simple yes.

Love is about asking questions: What’s your favorite color? What is your middle name? What are your dreams? Why do you always try to hide your smile, when it is the most beautiful? How come that out of all the people in the world, I fell in love with you?

Now when I look at you, I knew I fell in love with someone like my father. You ask me the same questions my father used to ask my mother. We met at the same place, at the right time, but our hearts were yet to catch up with each other.

And this is how we met:

An exchange of a slip of paper,

a simple conversation.

At that time, I did not how far I would fall.

We are still young but when I look at you, I just know some day you’ll get down on one knee and ask me one question. The same way you would kneel on the floor, bent down to tie your shoes with the careful fingers that would lace around mine, trying not to tangle up the words when you first said, “I love you.”

I look at your hands, strong and worn like my father’s. They are that know how how to create, how to protect, how to love. Hands that keep me warm when the cold starts seeping into my fingertips.

We are young, but let me tell you this:

I’m glad I fell in love someone like my father. I just know you two would get along.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s