Father's Day Is A Weird One For Me
Father's Day is a weird one for me. I am not a father (besides being one to my dog Cosmo) and I lost my papa (that's what my brother and I called him) about 12 years ago. I am not going to go into the details of how it all happened because I am not quite ready to share those details openly, but since he passed I've spent Father's Day between states of being emotional and indifferent. I still don't quite know how and what to feel on Father's Day.
I do think about what it would be like to talk to him, and what I'd ask. He was an architect but had a very interesting life and did a lot with it. He graduated in English in the early to mid 70s and it was a big deal, because he was from a smallish village in India at a time when education, especially higher education, wasn't that common. He saw an opportunity to move overseas and went to Libya of all places, because at the time a lot of people his age were moving there for work. Any sort of work. He joined them and started out as a labourer on construction projects. He was an intelligent man and his English got him noticed. He found a job with an Italian construction company that was building critical infrastructure around Libya, after the Italian boss picked him out. He learnt Arabic and Italian and was fluent in both, and along with English he could speak to anyone around him. He led a great life there, mostly staying in Tripoli and travelling to Italy for work. My brother was born in Tripoli. I was born in India, after the family decided to move back. The company had finished its projects in Libya and was moving to Singapore for the next one, and he was given the option to go. He chose India instead. He did build a great life there. Lots of ups and downs, but always determined and full of life.
That's kind of all I know of him.
I was 26 when he passed. I wanted to ask him why he turned down Singapore in the mid 80s, and I've wondered what my life would have looked like if I'd been born there instead, given what Singapore has become since. I wanted to ask him how he coped with landing in a completely foreign country at that time, without any of the technology we have now to stay close to home. I wanted to ask what he made of the world generally. And I wanted to know what mischief he got up to, because a young man in Tripoli in the 70s with three languages and a decent job must have got up to something.
I know bits and pieces of all of it. I just never got to ask him any of it as a grown up.
I've had a similar life to him. I moved out of home after school, came to Sydney, studied here and started working. I've built a life I like (mostly) and I am quite content with where I am. But my papa didn't get to see what I'd done since leaving home. He didn't get to experience time with me in Sydney, and I didn't get the opportunity to share my life with him. I don't really have any regrets to be honest, but this is the closest thing to it that I've experienced.
It's just something I wanted to write on this Father's Day.
Here's a picture of him looking dapper.
