Remembering Dad and his nasi kotak.

Today should have been Dad's birthday. I don't have many strong memories of closeness with him because we didn't spend much time together when I was little. That's most likely why we have a distance in terms of emotional attachment. Since growing up and going through various events, I've started to believe that emotional attachment, no matter how far apart, can always be built and renewed. Lately, I've been feeling sentimental and regretful because I didn't get to take a photo of Dad. Initially, I thought there would be time tomorrow. An assumption that turned out to be wrong. Time always marches forward and never slows down. We only realise loss when we've run out of time. Dad was a generous man, calm and quiet. Traits that seem to have passed down to me. Dad taught me to become an independent adult as soon as possible, perhaps worried that he wouldn't have much time left. There would be a disabled sibling who would become my responsibility after he was gone. Looking back, besides his parenting style, one of the few lasting memories I have of that generous man is about packed rice boxes. Whenever there was a meeting, Dad would usually bring home a packed rice box. He never ate it. I was the most thrilled by the presence of that packed rice box. I enjoyed his last packed rice box about eight years ago when I was in my 3rd or 4th semester at university, because after that he retired. After that event, he never brought home any more packed rice boxes. There's another event I most want to remember, which is when I guided him to recite the words of faith in his God, which I whispered softly next to his ear, when his breathing was already heavy and laboured. Dad finally closed his eyes for the last time. That day was a big event. Something that might have been missed if I hadn't been there back then.