Daddy

He was, and always will be, my first love. 

He held me when I was little, and played ridiculous, humiliating games of pretending to be farm animals only to see me laugh. He hugged me, and protected me when I got scared of nightmares. He sang me lullabies, and helped me sleep when I couldnt. He pretended he couldn’t see me and made me felt wanted, needed by yelling “Oh my God, where did she go??” during Hide & Seek (although I was in plain sight. I used to stand behind the door and close my eyes, and think I was invisible). His voice would make me cackle at first, because he couldn’t find me. And after a few seconds, I would go rushing out to him because even at that age, I did not want him to worry. His trips abroad made me feel lonely. And when he would return, I would burst into tears – tears containing all those feelings I had bottled up inside me when he was gone, tears that wouldn’t stop because I had missed him so. I used to feel so possessive of his love, that I couldn’t bear it if new guests who had entered our home spoke to him, or even looked at him. Everybody had to win my approval first.

When I was eight, and was laughed at by everyone at school for having buck teeth, he was the one who told me I would win the Miss Universe title one day. When I stood second in class, he pushed me further, saying that I was his girl and that I would do him proud. And each time, no matter what place I stood at, he brought me chocolates, and proudly told everybody he knew that his daughter was a genius. When I bled from cuts and scrapes, he would put ointment on my wounds and hold me tight to make me feel safe. When I was punished by mom for being naughty, he would make me laugh and give me the strength to feel better again. 

When I got sick, he carried me over his shoulder and made sure that doctors give me their undivided attention. When I got into fights with bullying boys at school, and got into trouble with teachers, he would patiently hear my side of the story, and then defend me to the school administration. He gave me the strength to believe in myself. He taught me my worth, and stood by me through every hopeless breakup with boyfriends.

To me, he will always be my hero. Throughout the years, we have had our share of tiffs and disagreements. But I will always love him fiercely, and to me, he will always be the ideal man. Today, whenever I face criticism for being too independent and for not behaving like a damsel in distress, I feel my Baba standing next to me as I tell them to go to hell, because I know that I am right. When I speak up against injustice, or wrong-ness, I feel a voice in my head - Baba's voice - that I am doing the right thing. 

When I help people I don’t even know, it’s because of my Baba – the person to whom everybody would always go to when in need of help. When I feel frustrated, and have this crazy desire to just quit, I hear my Baba telling me – You are stronger than that! You are my kid! And when I see other girls whose fathers try to control every aspect of their lives – be it career or love – I feel angry. Angry, because I don’t understand. And I don’t really understand – because my Baba had never, ever stopped me from following my heart and my dreams.

I love you Baba. Thank you for being so wonderful. Thank you for teaching me my worth, and to know the difference between real men, and jerks. Thank you for loving me so much, and at the same time, to let me be free. I love you more than words can say. You & mom are the greatest loves of my life, and my best assets.