A Little World of Folk Child Memories (Dad's Face)

7:41 PM Lovely Bunny 001 0 Comments

My second writing after accident of that bloody draft unsaved. New rechapter.

I don't want to lose memory about Dad. Since I remember how to remember when I was little girl. I know clearly his face. Lately his appearance just like recently Jason Mraz face, trust me!

He had a tiny small moustache but not with beard. My mom dislike it. But I like it, it's cute and suits my Dad's posture. Because his narrow and small face doesn't seems bold, exceptionally when he smiled. Lately I got awkward when he smiled to me. Maybe never thought that would be the last. He's not so tall. Could be about 20+m approximately taller than me. That's why when I get older he doesn't think to treat me like a kid anymore. But why my brother taller than all of us??

He loves music. He can operate any instruments, not so well. But he's a real rocker. I know I'll be born to be a daughter of this fancy and crazy dad. He generalised all kind of genres, that influenced me to like every music I heard. Sometime I heard him listening to Blues or Country, sometime I seen him dance with Jazz and knocking knocking on the car body with rubber hammer when he heard to rock songs, I mean my rock songs. He loves that too. But not Nirvana and Linkin Park. He loves Avril. But why he obsessed to watch Rhoma Irama's concert?

Mom fallen in love to Dad when she had too many Englisg homeworks and she's very bad at english. So she asked my Dad to backup it. Then finally all crew in class got what they got of cheating, copying my mom homework. Yup, my dad is very good in english. That's where I got that skill. But it is not purely that way. I told that every afternoon and weekend Dad will play some random music in English, so that I can have his cassette lyric papers. So I read it and sing along. Knowing the songs ask me to find the meaning. Those all kind off process by learning English in fun ways. So do now I adapted.

Dad is a handsome gentleman. I feel so sick everytime I hurt his feeling or made him sad. Because since I was kid he always spend his time to me even he's busy. Read me the encyclopedia and Qoran. And so teach me and my brother of our homework. I start to dislike my Dad when I get older and having lot of time not in home. He keeps blame me of not doing my best. The more the gap between me and Dad getting larger the more I feel I can't talk to him closer like before. But he's just keep silent even when he got anger.

Dad is a real traveller. When I was just born, he took me away to places and places randomly. I don't remember all places. Just Bali in my mind, because my mom rarely told me story. Then Borneo, when my brother was born we were in Anambas. The last place was Bintan. Right now, I think it's fancy to move from place to place. But when I was child, I don't have bestfriend because can't adapted faster to children society then move again to another places. Also, even he already got me and mom. He's ever left us to Jakarta. For looking up any job that can make us continuing life. I miss Dad but I can't tell mom everytime I felt. Because exactly I don't know that feeling is true or not. I don't wish any souvenirs when he back home, I just wish he smiled for me again then we can go to fishing and spend our afternoon watching sunset at the harbour.

There's also another crazy but also miserable story about dad. When me, Dad and Mom lived in Bali. Dad was a Harley Davidson's biker and joined the comunity that would across the island for touring. Sometime he would left us alone in home. Harley can't take up passenger. Also it's too dangerous. That day mom didn't feel so well not like usually. From mom story she told that day, Dad was almost fall to the bottom of cliff while he's riding at a dangerous route somewhere in Ubud. Then I don't remember the next story but I think I know a bit why Dad became a Vespa rider at his rest time.

My dad isn't perfect. He had been tried his best to be my Dad. But he would never complained even when he got hurt he never told anyone.

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