March 29, 2012

  • The less expectations you have of me, the less disappointed you will be.
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    As I rummaged through the piles of clothes, bags, luggages, and closets of my dad's old apartment, an area barely enough for you to walk or sit in, I couldn't help but imagine how life was like for him when he was living by himself.

    Apparently, my dad was a "stuff" collector just like me. Or should I say it's the other way around and I'm like him? Stacked up all through his closets and bookshelves were stuff that seemed quite useless, including envelopes that have obviously been used a dozen of times, old watches, towels, just a lot of items you'd think would end up as a better match if you'd find them in a dumpster or salvation army. In his kitchen there is barely enough room for me to squeeze through because my dad built a closet right there by the edge of the walls whereby if you open the closet doors you would find everything stuffed in like he was in a rush or something.

    His living room is his sleeping place. And on the side of his windows is his computer and printer, and a few picture frames of my grandma, grandpa, and other ancestors.

    When my dad past away, inside of his wallet was a picture of me and him. He used to show it around to his friends whenever he could get a chance to. He was proud of me. But he didn't expect anything from me. So he was never disappointed in me. All he wanted of me was to be happy.

    All he wanted to do was love me.

    And now he's gone. Just like the wind.

    As I cleaned up his closet by putting his pieces of clothing one by one into plastic bags, I also imagined how life would've been different if I was around for him. When the weather was cold, who would bother to button up his shirt for him? When he was tired from work and came home to eat, who would cook for him? If he wanted to clean up his place, who would do the daily or monthly clean ups for him? These were all things that made me want to tear whenever I just think about the days he was living alone.

    And then there was the briefcase. Somewhere in his place there was a briefcase filled with my dad's accomplishments including graduation certificates and awards. I think if me and my dad were to compare with each other, I would never have been as academically successful as he was. I haven't had enough time to rummage through them all so next Wednesday my uncle will hand me over the briefcase so I can look at them in detail and be as proud as I can be (for once) because of him.

    To dust we were and to dust we will be.

    I've been thinking a lot lately about my life. Or just life in general. But the more I think about it the more confused I get. I saw a friend today and asked him about his recent life. He told me about what he's hoping to achieve and where he is now, and how he doesn't really like his job he is in. And I told him about bits and pieces of my past few months this year. It seems that everyone is trying to achieve something, whether it be fame, money, car, house, or just a good relationship. But at the end of the day, all we ever become is dust.

    So what is the purpose of my life? What am I supposed to strive for when I can't even identify with myself and I can't find my purpose in this life? On the outside everything seems perfect and fine, but really, how many of us are just plain messed up inside?

    Things aren't always what they seem.

    God. Please tell me. Please.