Steven

It was 4:20am, and Iwas heading home from my friend's hotel room, where I had finished four Baron's in 45 minutes. I couldn't see much of the road, let alone drive. I was tired and sleepy, and I don't know why I didn't spend the night, but it could have had something to do with a surprise visit, some awkwardness, and the funny fact that I actually missed home.

Three hours ago I had settled deep into the shallow settee in the living room, watching Sin City with my dad. It was pirated, no doubt, and enjoying movies on his "home theatre system" was one of his few pastimes. I was feeling comfortable. I was almost considering not waiting for the call.

And now here I was, misjudging a turn as I made a last minute decision to take another route home. Hearing the screeching of the tyres and the loud explosion as one burst, I knew I was screwed. Metal shrieked as it made violent contact with the side wall of the pavement. Hitting the curb at 80, I was lifted up and immediately dropped. I heard the loud bang of the undercarriage against hard tar. I sat, motionless, for 5 minutes. The gears couldn't engage. You wouldn't believe the amount of weird people whom you meet in the wee hours of an Ipoh morning.

The tow truck pulled away. I started crying. Here I was, drunk and smelling of stale toddy in front of the person I was supposed to be the most responsible to. He wasn't silent, but only words of love came out. I was utterly ashamed. I have never been any more in my life.

Glancing through pictures shows you a past you never knew existed. He went through life the same way I did, and whatever shallow, angry words I used at him before were totally unjustified, and I knew it. He lived my life; he knew how it was to be me...once. He too had the same fears, which were realised, yet somehow I know he had more courage than I could ever had. It was not recently that I saw himself in me, and myself in him. I was him. I had his genes. My glories were once his, and my shortcomings obvious in his greying hair. And yet he lived my life before. To deny me of what his life was would amount to the denial of himself. He was courageous to admit it, and courageous enough to allow it.

We lived modestly, but he spent extravagantly, much to my mother's dismay, on us. He gave so much yet never asked for anything in return. Growing up, I have come to realize how much was the value of his sacrifices. I remember the promises he didn't back up, but I too realize the selfishness of the requests that perpetuated them in the first place. And still he trusted me. Days before the annoucement of the SPM results, he took me shoe-shopping. I loved loafers and saw a beautiful pair that was everything I wanted. I could afford it but he insisted on paying. It was a lot of money to me then, and I asked him why. He said "For your results." I told him I could flop every paper. He told me it was ok, and it was a reward for doing my best. I got 10As. It was all his.

And now I find myself thinking back of all the days I lost where I could have told him more. And I find myself promising him I'll make him proud.

I'll won't be the man he wished he was. I'll be the man he always is. Someday. I promise.