I remember the time when my dad used to give me a piggyback ride.
It was really a lot of fun. The ride had already become a habit that as soon as I wake up, I would check on him to see if he's waiting downstairs. And if I don't see him at once, I would go down by myself, feeling frustrated.
My years with my father were never complete. They were always cut short. There was only one thing I asked of our relationship: That he would be there for me, specially in times when I needed him the most.
True, I have a biological father, but he is almost always out of the country.
He once said it was for economic reasons. "It's for the good of the family," he would justify his leaving. This happened not only once but also many times whenever he would fly off in search of greener pastures abroad. I could hardly recall how old I was, then, when he first took off.
Obviously, there's nothing green about the Middle East, a region so arid, I thought. But he made good money in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, though. Not to mention his work in Saipan and Aruba.
Giving his family a bright future is the only reason he has to leave, a principle which most fathers would live up to for their loved ones' sakes. I was always playing with the idea that at least this flying off won't take forever.
I don't know how he has been doing it but I was really thankful for all the sacrifices he made with only the thought of providing us with three decent meals a day, our own place in which to live and good education. Thanks to Tatay and his hard-earned money.
Waiting for the regular one-and-a-half years is no joke. That's why at the time when he leaves, I can't help but cry. We get by, although the thought of missing him is another story. We had to make do without him on numerous occasions.
My growing years have seen the lack of relating to a father only because of this greener-pasture thing, plus the promises government. I thought I was deprived of the enjoyment of a father-daughter relationship, which many like me, hold so dearly.
I'd say even his relationship with Nanay was badly affected, which really turned me into an angry daughter. Indulge me my bitterness this once.
I have had enough of the government calling the OFWs modern-day heroes. Of course, the country will call them heroes - my dad and the other millions of overseas Filipino workers, which authorities say, contribute to the bulk of the country's income. Way to go to console our souls!
I've always thought there must be something wrong with this set-up. Others might say it was a choice my father made. Well, there's no other option left for him here, to tell you the truth. And even if he has, it won't be sufficient to support a family.
Tatay, however, never had a chance to see my life unfold. He was never there to witness his children graduate. He has never attended any of our PTA meetings with Nanay. And worst of all, he didn't entirely see us grow the way most fathers do.
He never saw, at least physically, how his hard work paid off.
Receiving mails and photos we send was the best gift of the day for him.
It's been over 15 years since he first worked abroad. And the country is still faced with conspicuous unemployment and underemloyment problems stuck like stain in our society's appendage.
If I were a god, I'd give politicians a couple of advice: One, don't make any promises if you really can't chew the immense responsibility attached to them. And two, don't make haste as if you know us and other families with similar stories like mine and say you are all for us and you know our every need. You just break our hearts!
I have had my share of moments with my dad. But he seems to know better. This is probably the reason he'd rather leaf through the classified ads than listen to government litanies.
There's more assurance in reading the ads, he said.
Quite a tragedy, isn't it?
