Dance With My Father Again (My 500 words/5)

If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him

I’d play a song that would never ever end

How I’d love, love, love

To dance with my father again….

If there is a job interview or an interview in any kind of tests, am sure I will not get the job, and I will not pass the test if the question they ask, “describe a day in your life you will never forget.” I am suck at these. My life will sound so boring. Even though I am myself know that it is so boring, I will never admit that. Not in a million years! (Am I admitting it now?).

I cannot think any answer for that particular question. Either I have plenty but too painful to remember, or I just don’t have any that I will say that I will never forget.

Once upon a time, not so many years ago, when I was still in primary school, in fact it was when I was around 13 years old, still very very young and vulnerable. It was the time of my life when I hardly pay any attention to my surrounding, things that happened around me. Even if I did, I took it for fun, for granted. I never thought it would bring any impact on my life when I get older. I was only thinking about me and just that day, nothing more than that.

Anyway, at that age, I spent my days going to school in the morning; just 10 minutes walk from home, and went to English and Math courses in the afternoon. The courses were in the city. To get there I had to walk 10 minutes from home to the mini bus stop and it will take around 30 minutes or more for the mini bus to get there because that what mini buses do. They stop everywhere they like, as long as they wish to wait and get passengers. In my hometown, we call mini buses ‘labi-labi’.

I usually finished courses at 5.30 pm. sometime I went straight home, sometimes I stayed until a little bit later to hang out with friends. Most of the times, if the clock almost half past six I had not got home, my father would wait for me at the labi-labi stop (you know the place where I got on the first time). He would wait there with his bicycle and we would ride home. Those rides, which took less than 8 minutes is all I remember. How happy I was that my father was there. How happy I was that I did not have to walk home alone when the sun was already gone. How happy I could sit on the bicycle with him. How happy I was, all those times when he waited for me, his smile was all that I remember. He did not get mad that I came so late or whatsoever. And now thinking about these moments really make me sad, more like I am upset at myself. Because why at that time, I never asked, I never thought, not a single thought came to mind, how long have he waited there?

 

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