LITTLE BOY LOST

I have never met my father.  Ever.  I have never seen his face, nor have I heard his voice.  No pictures, no memories.  As if he’s non-existent.  He was just a name on my Birth Certificate.  A name that was blatantly vague.  I couldn’t dare ask questions, thus, I couldn’t dare demand answers.

Having no father figure, I dread Father's Day, the most.  For me, it is the loneliest holiday ever, even ‘blacker’ than all Black Saturdays, combined.  Of course, I acted nonchalantly, to save face.  I gave the impression that I couldn’t care less, but, literally, I was in shreds.

Now, I’m all grown up, yet certain that I never outgrew the little boy lost persona inside me.  I’m still that boy who has no one to call Dad, Daddy, Papa, Tatay, Ama.  Still crying silent tears.  Still unrelentingly praying, wishing, hoping, longing and yearning to be complete.

Until last week.

I accessed my Facebook account.  And there it was: a friend request.  From someone I have never met.  Ever.  Someone whose face I have never seen, whose voice I have never heard.

It was from my Dad.

TO BE CONTINUED…..