Grieving

With daddy gone, we've all been grieving in our own ways. 

We're coping emotionally. 

But the thing that really irks me, is the definition of mourning/grieving. 

I was brought up to be a freedom child. To embrace who I really am, instead of hiding or turning myself into a cookie cutter; just to conform into the society's standard of anything. 

Perhaps this is where my confidence comes from - to love myself as who I am, Regardlessly. 

Sure, there are basic rules to live by as humans. 

But the freedom to be anybody that I want to be. That's how my parents show their love for me, to invest in my gifts and talents, instead of forcing me to become something else that they wished me to be. 

What I cannot accept, is this weird theory where the shittier you look, means more filial piety + you really love your dad + you're grieving and is really sad. 

I don't know who came up with that theory. But I'm sorry. 

Grieving comes from the heart and within. 

Not from how I look and the exterior. 

Looking strong and normal does not mean that I'm not heart broken from the loss of a father, or as my sister puts it: The first man who loved me.

In fact, I doubt my dad expects me to walk around like a hobo just to prove that I miss him, or to affirm his demise. 

That's just strange, and it makes everyone around me uncomfortable. 

As it is, I feel that my friends are really scared that if they say something wrong, it might trigger my tears or emotions. 

Here's my take on it. 

Instead of moping in pity, I'd rather suck it all up, and make effort to live even better than I had before, because my dad exist in me.

Without dad and mom, where the heck would I be? 

I look like my dad. That's what everyone says to me. 

In that case, without a doubt. The better I live, the better my dad would live through me, for I live now not for myself, but on behalf of my daddy. 

Back to mourning. 

Here's the rules of engagement.

No happy colors, no make up, no bling = no accessories, no bright colored underwear, no nail polish, along with no celebrations, No visiting friends house.

It's like i am expected to be the living dead. 

Wth. 

I'm sticking to monotones and blues out of respect to the tradition. 

No accessories or make up or joyous occasion is overboard. 

I'm trying to move on. Looking like shit doesn't help with the hurdle. 

Remembering dad has got to come in more sincere forms than just action for the living to see. 

So glad to get this off my chest. 

It's been bugging me since the first day til now. 

I spent a night digging out and sorting my wardrobe of black white grey blues and greens. 

Luckily I'm mostly the white sort of girl by default, and the siblings favor blacks in general. 

:)

Tomorrow.

I don't know about tomorrow;
I just live from day to day.
I don't borrow from its sunshine
For its skies may turn to grey.
I don't worry o'er the future,
For I know what Jesus said.
And today I'll walk beside Him,
For He knows what lies ahead.

Many things about tomorrow
I don't seem to understand
But I know who holds tomorrow
And I know who holds my hand.

Hearing the news of Daddy, my world sort of crashed.
I was the one who received the news.
The one who last saw him last month.
The last to say goodbye to him on the phone on sunday and I'm sorry that I didn't tell him more while I still could.

My dad passed away on 11 november around 2.30am.
He had a heart attack while he was out with a few of his friends, in China.
the past week has been a mess. 

Between frantically trying to make my way over to China, pacing at the airport, eventually the multiple trips back and forth to the authorities, mortuary, and daddy's apartment. 
Everything seemed to me a blur.

It's been slightly over a week since he left us, and there's so many regrets left and so much angst. 
Why did he have to leave so soon
Why couldn't he have lived longer ~ to enjoy the fruits from my labor?
I needed time, but time wasn't in my favour.

I resent.
but yet I can only force myself to believe.
It's really hard to find faith at such trying times, but yet the amount of hands that reached out to me in my time of need is incredulously well timed.
Ask and you shall be given.

I find consolation that daddy's in good hands, and he's in a better place now.
Creepy as it might sound, and I'm not delirious (yet!), but daddy told me he's alright, and he could still joke about it.

Perhaps that's the only reason why I'm holding up so well to date, because I know he's still with me, and like I said, he's being taken care of.

In the span of days of my dad's demise, my family and I has been well taken care of by friends and family. 
For this, I will be eternally grateful to all of them, for reaching out to us in our troubled times.

Relatives that supported and helped in every way that they could, and even flew over to be with us.
My friends who offered to fly over to China, just to offer support and help, and those that stayed with me at the wake every day/night. 
The number of bubble teas and food that I've received to cheer me up in the span of 3 days is insane. 
From what I heard, we're probably the first wake to ever serve bubble tea to friends on venue.  *laughs*
The texts, calls and emails that I've received from friends and family to check if I'm alright.
I know I'm loved. I know everyone cares for me.

The list of stuff that I need to accomplish for daddy seems daunting, but I'm my daddy's daughter. I'm his little warrior.
I will solder on, I will survive, I will flourish.

I miss him, but I won't forget what I need to do.
My dad lives in me, and I will continue his legacy in my own ways, 
just because its what I have to do, and that's what he wanted me to do too.

It'll probably take a while for me to bounce back, but baby steps is good.

One of my last few proper pictures of myself, taken with daddy that I'll always treasure.
I miss you, daddy. I'm sorry I couldn't do more.

Good bye Daddy

I'm not ready to talk yet.

The last and the first.

This was the last pair of dance heels that I customised before I left dancing for good.

<<  >>

It is now the "sole" survivor, that remains amongst the dance shoes, with the rest crumpled into dust.

In fact this one's semi dying as well, but it's holding decently (for now), while I shop for new ones.

Hello to the beginning.

The start of muscle aches and adrenaline rushes from too much dancing.

Before dance practise even starts,

I can hear my bones cracking already.

Hahahahahha.

Whatever happened to kizomba, and Kpop I guess I will shelve them to a proper time.

;)

Wish me luck!