Seven

Here ends and starts another year since my dad passed away. It's been a ritual of mine to write something every year on this day.

This past year has been the first year where I've spoken less about my dad. This did not mean that I thought of him less - not at all - I just felt that I had talked about him enough, and now it was time for me to move on thinking about him in solace, as a happier memory of mine.

I've begun understanding the kind of person he was, and the idea I had of him 7 years ago has dramatically changed this past year. I think I've learnt as much as I could about him and I'm so glad to have done so, but I'm also glad to have left the rest a mystery - because you can never truly know a person completely. And with that thought of mine, I put my inquisitiveness to rest until further notice.

I've come to a point now, that the only way I want to think of my dad is with my own memories and the things I've learnt about him through these past several years. I don't like listening to people talk about him - be it my family, or his friends. I just feel strange now. I feel that we've talked enough, and heard enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sick of it or anything, I just feel that there comes a point where something like this, becomes a part of your life.. And talking about it over and over, just doesn't change anything - doesn't make the pain easier, or the memories sharper. It just remains a fact of life, and a part of your everyday being.

After all of that, I want to just share a memory.. One of my most vivid ones about my dad.

I remember this one time when we went on a family trip to Hatta - just outside Dubai. I must have been around 7 years old. We all sat down near a waterfall which extended into a small lake/pond where we all went swimming for a while. After that we were walking back to the cars and my dad took my hand and walked with me where we walked further on than everyone else and far ahead as well. I remember just looking up at him, because I was still pretty short and I was thinking to myself what a big man he was. He had a pipe in his mouth, and his hands were very big. My whole hand would wrap around perfectly around one of his fingers. It was like he was this astounding and amazing man that I could only wonder things about. He was a mystery to me, even at such a young age. I just remember that because I felt so secure, safe and special being the only one with him. He wasn't even saying anything to me, I think he was in deep thought about something but I didn't mind at all.

And although there are still things about him I have no idea about, I think it's beautiful to leave it at that - to protect and seal the identity he had, which made him the most fascinating man to me.

Here comes the end of another year walked, and experienced without him. And I always wonder what he would think if he had been here - about me, my life and about how I was living it. Alas, his memories will always stay stagnated in this place for life, and we will move and grow with them.

And in loving memory, he used to sing.. " I hear babies crying, I watch them grow.. They'll learn much more than I'll never know And I think to myself.. What a wonderful world."

And that is how I want to remember him, with those words..

On my first birthday..