56.

This is a story about my father.

My father is a very quiet man - when he says okay on that piece of clothing you picked up from the rack, you better make your move fast to the counter and seal your purchase. When he's silent, you better start reasoning your choice - why do you need a car when you can take the bus, why do you have to go to that picnic with your friends, why this, why that. When he says no, you don't negotiate, you just quietly retreat to your room. 

His way of showing his love (and he prefers to not show it at all) is through his actions. Once I was sneezing non-stop due to a sudden heightened sensitivity towards cat fur and he secretly left Panadol tablets and cough medicine on my traveling bag - as I had to leave for Bintulu the day after. On my way home from the office that one day about to embark on my usual two hour journey, I spoke to my mother on the phone and our line was cut off mid-conversation. I thought nothing of it until I realised it was my phone's fault and after an hour without coverage, I switched it off and back on again. The moment signal was restored I received a phone call from my sister telling me in frantic that my father was already on his way to Bintulu to look for me halfway. And that one time when I received the good news for my interview in KL whilst driving back to Miri from Bintulu, I immediately called him and instead of congratulating me I was cut off short, "Drive dolok, kelak cerita." Click. 

When I achieve something proud-worthy to him (and I rarely do) instead of hugging me to congratulate, it was always, "Bapak tumpang sekaki ajak."

When I ask for something, when I do achieve something (anything), he won't say another word and just.. sign on my heart's desire. A car, a new laptop, a mobile phone, a watch, the hard cover book when I could just settle for paperback.. 

My father is a man of a number of rules. No hair-dying. No nail-colouring. No more-than-two piercings. No going out after Maghrib. No sleeveles tops. No laughing too loudly (oops?). And back when I was still in secondary school, no going out with friends every weekend (only once a month). No drinking (duh!). No smoking. No clubbing. 

When I was younger, I used to wish he'd love me less. Because for every rules that he set, my other siblings were able to limbo pass it with no qualms! No hair-dying, and you see my sister with light brown hair or bleached streak on her bangs (which I also worked but for only a week because my father threatened to shave my hair when I sleep). No more-than-two piercings, and you have my sister sporting more than two and at various locations and my baby sister currently with four on her lobes when I had to hide mine (when I had four!) like it was the biggest sin one could ever commit. I was 21 and still my father would call me at 5 (and I was in KL!) and insisted that I make my move back to the dorm before Maghrib. As for the last three rules? I turned out okay. I don't drink, neither do I smoke or go to clubs.

Of course, I am not perfect and I never was. 

To read the third paragraph of this entry and think that I used to wish he'd love me less? 

You know he's angry when he's quiet. You know he's furious when he speaks out.

Throughout my 23 years of living, he has only ever scolded me once. It was for something I did not do and it was so bad, I sobbed in front of my friends without hiding and later that night, to sleep. 

Once, I felt so depressed and possibly at my lowest state, with my heart so heavy, I walked to his room and told him about it. There you have me crying the living hell out of myself, and there you have him, steady - in his Baju Melayu after coming back from the mosque, his reading glasses perched on his nose, his face unyielding any emotions and he asked, "So, what are you going to do?"

That was my own fault.

Once, I was broken hearted for a boy, who was not even worth a second of my lifetime and I fell sick for weeks at a time, when I returned home, he picked me up from the airport, grabbed my shoulder, felt the bones sticking out, he said, "Kurus gilak dah kitak." And had my mother fly to Labuan regularly so I could finally regain my appetite. Needless to say, my father never approve of that boy ever again after that. But I was foolish and had to learn the hard way how parents are always right.

Above everything else, he taught me how to tell apart diamond from glass.

I'm closing in to 24 now and have witnessed a great deal of people all around me. And it makes me wonder how does my father manage three daughters. Satu dah lepas, sebab dah kahwin - and she was the true rebel, but now is happily married to a loving husband. I'm more of a rebel-in-hiding. 

But I'd like to think that I turned out alright.

Moderate. Not perfectly pious - but I learned my boundaries. I was once labelled materialistic by this girl but truth be told, no one can ever spoil me like my father does and I don't care much about anyone else's money anyway, except for mine. I know what I can afford and what I cannot. I am a little bit of everything but still more of in-between.

Semua yang baik (even if you think there aren't any) I give credit to my father. The bad ones? I aspire to be better.

My father means the world to me. To him, I owe so much more than just everything. Recently, he turned 56 and has finally retired after 31 years of service to SSB.

What led to this entry was, obviously, his birthday and retirement, (what could possibly be) the last Shell Family Day I attended the weekend before, the various people I have encountered up until today, the three day weekend when everyone was in town and the speeches at his farewell dinner with his bosses and colleagues. 

I am truly proud to have him as a father. Always have, always will.

Susahnya jaga anak perempuan.. only a father knows best. So thank you for not giving up on me, a work still in progress since 1987. Happiest birthday, pak. Semoga panjang umur, murah rezeki and hidup di berkati.