with my left eye, one frame at a time

It’s been seven years. Seven. As a measure of years, it is surely a mark of permanence, the last word used in the usual manner in which we humans purport to lay claim to such a state.

Those thoughts have not found me that much in recent years. But this autumn, and I see no reason why it should be so, I have found my mind returning to you.

I remember how you used to reach home late at night with supper. How R. and I looked forward to eating those suppers. It didn’t happen every night; I think that was part of the fun.

I remember myself in that white dress and my hair so straight at the fringe. Daddy’s little girl, who went everywhere he did, carrying a little green plastic box in her left hand. Said box contained peanuts, shelled and peeled. Daddy love eating peanuts, and hence the little girl too.

I remember the little girl who would always want to sit in the front passenger seat and not care whose lap she was adding weight to, just so she could change gears for her daddy while he drove.

I remember too, how you kept the worsening of your illness from us kids because I was having exams in law school. You never saw me graduate or witness that allegedly important event that marked the start of my career.

I remember once thinking that I will never have a wedding that involves an aisle. There will be no one to give me away.

Still, it has been seven years. We are here now, and you are there. We will miss you once in a while, if you don’t mind. I will probably write about these memories over and over again, but hopefully with more flair and wit as time goes by.

Hello Daddy, goodbye.

Goodbye, over and over again.