'Cause I Like Him Too Much

Chapter Thirty-One

  Yes I was happy Aunt Anne came back, however she wasn’t able to bring Papa with her. That I understand, and I think I should, but I couldn’t really stop having these questions which I really wanted to be cleared, only I was always feeble and anxious to ask, I could simply share it to no other than myself.

  “If Papa’s living there has become very eventful that he can’t come to see me, why didn’t he call? It’s so dreadfully sad to think that the last conversation we had was months ago, when his line went dead, he never called back. He never wrote to me either. Not a single word I heard from him, and even I do enjoy staying here ever since I left the very place where I grew up, I still think of him. I’ve these beautiful people around me, making me feel that I’m never alone, George, especially. There is this constant emptiness that no one else can fill up. Only him, can. I miss my father I’ve always got, I can’t deny that. Still no one can be compared with Papa, how much he loves me, making me feel that I am protected and cared for. I want to see him, and I want to hear his voice at the same time I want to embrace him tight as he tells me how much he misses me too, calling me his ‘little princess’ like he used to.

  But it seems that he doesn’t miss me at all. I don’t want to think of it that way, but just.. Come on. If he misses me indeed, he should’ve called, he should’ve written, he should’ve done something to contact me. I don’t want to hate him—he’s my father, he’s the only one that stood by me all the time, and it hurts, it really hurts that we’ve lost connection, forgetting that he has a daughter here, waiting to see him again. Aunt Anne came back, and told me that Papa’s busy. I mean that’s all? Couldn’t he stop working just to send me a message, just to write and tell how he’s been doing, or is he feeling all fine? A single letter would’ve made me worry less, it would make me understand enough.

  Hold on. Did I ask Aunt Anne about Papa? Didn’t they have a chat, or should I say a very long talk when Aunt Anne gave her relatives, including him, a visit last week? I’m sure Aunt Anne must have mentioned how I am doing under her supervision, or if I am not much lucky, she must have told my father about me and George. And if Papa asks me about it one day, I’ll answer with a sweet yes. Now what am I saying? I guess over thinking all these isn’t really that good, maybe I should get some sleep.

  It will be better soon, as I always hope it will.”

  Closing the rutted, vaguely torn pages of my old account, I pinned the pen at the back of its cover and   opened the small drawer of my side table and put the notebook inside. Enough writing for today, I sighed. The only purpose of having a pen and some papers with is to let out this stream of thoughts I could hardly share to others. At least my notes will remain quiet and unknown unless someone gets to read them. And that’s why I’m doing my best to keep my journal hidden.

  Up till now, I wasn’t able to sleep that easy. I always felt I am, my body kept searching for tranquility, yet finding it, or just attempting to obtain it was tough. I thought it was only occurring all because I was eagerly excited these past few days, but now there wasn’t so much to get excited about. I felt there was none, still no matter what I do, and even at night, something kept on hindering me from getting a well-good rest.

  I got out of my room, walking to the kitchen on barefoot, I opened the pantry and looked inside.

  A big glass of milk might lull me to sleep.

  Mhhmm! This is what I need!, I smacked my lips after I took a long drink from the glass. It just tasted so good, when the warm liquid touched my dry throat, I quivered in pleasure. Strange, as it felt like, I wasn’t truly fond of drinking dairy, but my mistake.  I later realized that I had already finished the first drink and I didn’t think twice to take another one. Drinking half of my second round, the telephone rang loudly.