RUN.

There was once this one fine afternoon I remembered when I saw my dad outside the fence, talking to a friend. As to a little girl I was, I ran into him, hugging his feet. There is a certain comfort when I know that I will always have him as a stronghold; a guarantee that I am safe in his hands. It feels safe because I believe he was unshakable, and maybe unbreakable like a super human would be.

What I didn’t know what would happen in the future when I was of that age was that I’ll never stop growing – which means I’ll never be able to run into his feet without not shaking him again. I’ll never be this young again to make him not reason with me for whatever he does; that one day I’ll have to accept the fact that my dad will be, has been, and once was – broken. That he is actually shakable, breakable, tired. That I was the one holding him back from going to heaven; that his job would never yet finish unless I grew up and be the woman he expected me to be. But the saddest part of this was this, that I would never find him as young as when that one fine afternoon I ran up to his feet.

But however it is now, I’m still glad that my dad is still my dad – my strong, capable, knight. He will always be my protector, my life guard, my first love; he is still man who taught me to have a high standard of what a future boyfriend should treat me like – that he was the kind of man to look for in a man. And like metals, we humans are as bad as they are in their longevity on earth: we both rust. They (and us) will sooner or later corrode as time goes with it – a perfect example I found.

One other afternoon, almost 2 decades after that story, I ran with him around the neighborhood where it is silent. It’s funny how he reasoned with me to get me to run with him through – that he was actually afraid if I turned down his invitation for a “healthy” quality time with him. He told me that I haven’t worked out a lot, and therefore I should stay healthy by accompanying him run that day. My dad, the trust worthy man I knew convinced me with the easiest reasoning when he can just force me to run with him anyway.

“RUN”, he told me.

He warned me to never stop until I reach my goal.

He told me that I should never stop until I reach my goal; that I should never dare to even stop – even if my body burns like hell; that all that is able to stop me is not him and nobody at all – nobody but myself.

He begged me to keep running as if it was the last important thing in life; even when he’s no longer able to accompany every step. He said that I should know in whatever I choose, he will be approving.

He pleaded for me to run; not aimlessly – but with legitimate purpose of serving my country.

He pushed me to sense and acknowledge fear in the surroundings of the approaching forest, letting me run into it alone.

“Focus...” he told me before he lets go.

“You’re gonna feel fear; of death – of hunger – of the uncertainty of being able to go on even through another day. But you are stronger than that. You can run further; you may even run better. You have to come back to me. Come back, okay?”

I felt his skin more dense than usual until I realized that he was sweating like mad, almost like crying through his skin. And then he let go. He let me run into the woods, conquering the plains, thundering the trees.

I was heartbroken that my dad lets me go, of course. I would’ve expect him to run with me or at least prevented me from running – but he didn’t. So I run. I do not let my sadness overcome my desire to live; I did not my willingness to better follow my father’s words die of abandoning him in my head. I preferred living rather than surrendering to nature. It isn’t because that my dad told me to come back, but it was because deep inside, I know that I was made to survive the wild – that I was made to survive any obstacle that was in my way so that I can come back running to my father’s feet after all these are done. I want him to be proud of me the way any parents would be of their children.

I want to show him that I am strong; that I am able to focus and listen to his words; that I am capable of surviving; that I am not a quitter; and that I value his words when he says that he wanted me to live. I have now understood.

I want him to know that the same way he didn’t give up on me is now the way I wouldn’t give up on going back to him – that I will always belong to him that I’d come back. I want him to know that his teachings, years ago, worked just the way he wanted it to be: that I RUN.

I did not stop because I feel like I needed to stop;

I did not stop because I feel the burning of my muscles;

But I stop, because I’ve reached my goal.

I’ve come back. –red