I hear them speak about you, of what a great father you were,
I wish I had my own memories to share,
I hear them speak about you, of what a great mentor you were,
I wish you lived for me to be coached by you,
I hear them speak about you, of the great mind you possessed,
I wish I could be just like you
I’ve learned to see the beauty of your absence in my life, but nothing hurts me more than seeing the excitement on stranger’s faces as they say, you’re THE Prof. Bingoto’s daughter?!. Sadly I don’t know what that means.
See dad, I’ve learned to forge my own identity outside of yours, but at time I find myself crawling back into the safe space of being this great man’s blood, which isn’t always great.
I remember the day I realized that you died, I was probably 4 or 5. I cried for a full week, asking God why me.
See dad, my young mind had to piece together who you were, how you left & why it had to happen to me.
I don’t hate the universe for taking you away from me anymore, I am grateful to still see your accomplishments 26 years later.
Dad, I don’t have words to explain how I really feel, I just thought I should put what I could down on paper,
I miss you…