Happy
Birthday dadda 💞!
Twelve years of thinking about wishing Happy Birthday to you in person.
Twelve years of thinking about you, wishing I could hug you, and tell you that I loved you. I wish I said I love you more to you. It was easy to say 'I love you' to you. You always said it back, you even said it first so many times.
Twelve years of wishing I could see the words 'Papa' flash on my phone, and hear you on the other side.
Twelve years of me wondering how our relationship would have evolved if you were around. Would we have become friends? Would we be closer now? Or would we have had a distant relationship - perfunctory discussions of jobs and health?
Twelve years of wondering if you would have been proud of me. I wonder if you would look at me, and see bits of yourself – some good, some bad and ugly. Did I borrow your charisma, daddy? Your gravitas? I wonder if you would have looked at my work, and thought, "Ah, I see myself in her". I also wonder if you would have seen me make decisions with reckless abandon, and sighed and said, "Ah, I passed that on, too."
Twelve years of wishing I had taken more pictures with you, more videos, and voice clips. Damn, this shit is hard. Why do I just have 10 pictures with you.
Twelve years of wondering if you'd like the guys I dated. Would you approve of them?
Twelve years of thinking about you, looking at your picture, meeting you in my dreams, and randomly having conversations with you.
I hope you're enjoying a whiskey on the rocks, perhaps indulging in a puff or two(sparingly), reading about International Relations, and are surrounded in engaging discussions with your loving students. I almost hear you imparting your age-old advice to your students, "Handwriting is the first impression that you make on the minds of the examiner." The irony of your advice in the digital age is not lost on me - nobody cares about handwritings now, daddy. I do want to tell you that I've always been a sucker for your advice, though, and still maintain a beautiful cursive handwriting. And in your loving memory, I will continue to mildly judge everyone who refuses to befriend ink and paper.
I love you,
Twelve years of thinking about you, wishing I could hug you, and tell you that I loved you. I wish I said I love you more to you. It was easy to say 'I love you' to you. You always said it back, you even said it first so many times.
Twelve years of wishing I could see the words 'Papa' flash on my phone, and hear you on the other side.
Twelve years of me wondering how our relationship would have evolved if you were around. Would we have become friends? Would we be closer now? Or would we have had a distant relationship - perfunctory discussions of jobs and health?
Twelve years of wondering if you would have been proud of me. I wonder if you would look at me, and see bits of yourself – some good, some bad and ugly. Did I borrow your charisma, daddy? Your gravitas? I wonder if you would have looked at my work, and thought, "Ah, I see myself in her". I also wonder if you would have seen me make decisions with reckless abandon, and sighed and said, "Ah, I passed that on, too."
Twelve years of wishing I had taken more pictures with you, more videos, and voice clips. Damn, this shit is hard. Why do I just have 10 pictures with you.
Twelve years of wondering if you'd like the guys I dated. Would you approve of them?
Twelve years of thinking about you, looking at your picture, meeting you in my dreams, and randomly having conversations with you.
I hope you're enjoying a whiskey on the rocks, perhaps indulging in a puff or two(sparingly), reading about International Relations, and are surrounded in engaging discussions with your loving students. I almost hear you imparting your age-old advice to your students, "Handwriting is the first impression that you make on the minds of the examiner." The irony of your advice in the digital age is not lost on me - nobody cares about handwritings now, daddy. I do want to tell you that I've always been a sucker for your advice, though, and still maintain a beautiful cursive handwriting. And in your loving memory, I will continue to mildly judge everyone who refuses to befriend ink and paper.
I love you,
Charul
