my earliest memory was when my father taught me to write the number 8 when i was just four, and i would insist on writing a zero over zero- a memory telling me the very role he had in my life. an EDUCATOR. he was the source of my passion for books, great books! i remembered growing up in the province and whenever there was a typhoon, while my mother was so busy fretting and working on the windowlocks of our house, my father was there in a chair, reading a book. he was the one who introduced me to great literateurs, and in fact, he was far better than me when it comes to classic literature. he knows shakespeare, browning, eliot, and many others far better than as i do. until now, he would at times bombard me and my Kuya with lines and speeches. i'm so proud to say that my father is intelligent, but more important than this is the very reason i am here (in front of you). no other than his HARDWORK. if you only know everything that he'd been through- wow, no daughter could be so proud. my father worked hard to finish his studies, strived hard to be an educator, and did great to be a supervisor. no daughter could be prouder than me. no story as my father's have ever touched my life, no other story than the story of my father. his hardwork and his passion in life.
papa, you remember telling me this: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may for time is flying. The flower that blooms today tomorrow will be dying." i remember it well. and all the little and great success that i have, you are a big big part of it. i am a fruit of your hardwork. i hope that inasmuch as i am so so proud of you, i'll be able to make you proud too. for indeed a teacher affects eternity- you are a teacher to me and an eternal inspiration. thank you so so much, papa.
(Written 12:40am 26 January 2006 QC)
