Andaming may birthday! Haha.
One, two, three and....
Belated Happy Birthday OLIVER LORENZO FERRANCULLO FELISILDA! (June 3)
Miss na kita! Bumalik ka na. Haha.
Belated Happy Birthday Kuya RAYMOND ANTHONY MASAMAYOR RELOVA a.k.a. KUYA RYAN! (June 6)
I miss you so much Kuya! Hope to see you soon. :)
Happy Birthday ARVIEL VELASQUEZ DELA CRUZ! (June 7)
Miss na kita! Libre mo ako!
and of course...
Happy Birthday EMMANUEL ROBERTO VISARRA MASAMAYOR a.k.a. Dad! (June 7)
You don't know how much I want to see you right now. I really, really miss you. I love you, Dad.
Miss na kita! Bumalik ka na. Haha.
Belated Happy Birthday Kuya RAYMOND ANTHONY MASAMAYOR RELOVA a.k.a. KUYA RYAN! (June 6)
I miss you so much Kuya! Hope to see you soon. :)
Happy Birthday ARVIEL VELASQUEZ DELA CRUZ! (June 7)
Miss na kita! Libre mo ako!
and of course...
Happy Birthday EMMANUEL ROBERTO VISARRA MASAMAYOR a.k.a. Dad! (June 7)
You don't know how much I want to see you right now. I really, really miss you. I love you, Dad.
I feel like making a blog tribute. Haha.
Hulaan niyo para kanino?
EMMANUEL ROBERTO VISARRA MASAMAYOR
My father. My guide. My REAL first love.
My father. My guide. My REAL first love.
It isn't a secret to many that this great man, my biological father, died when I was five years old. By that time, I was not yet capable of grasping the fact that I lost a father. People tell me that I was even playing around, smiling for pictures. It wasn't until I grew old enough that it finally hit me: Dad's gone, and he's not coming back.
Throughout the course of my life, throughout the 12 years I've lived without him, people have been telling me a lot about him, and each time they tell me, I can't help but wish he lived long enough for me to realize how great a man I have for a father.
Dad was a priest. He said mass for one year, however learned that he really didn't find his calling in being a priest. He got out of the priesthood. Mommy even says there's a copy of a kind of permission notice by Pope John Paul II. She says it's lying somewhere around here. I haven't seen it yet, though,
Dad managed to land a job as advertising manager for WG&A Shipping Lines. This is where he met my mom. And the rest, well, let's just say I was officially introduced into the world. XD
They say I acquired my Dad's eyes, brown and round, as well as his nose, and well, his height. Haha. Mnay people comment that I'm a perfect morph of my parents.
Dad was a very quiet person from what I've gathered from my five-year experience with him. I hate to admit it but I don't really remember his voice that much. However, despite the apparent silence, he had a great many friends. The funeral was jam-packed with loving relatives and friends. A lot of people think he's prone to anger, when in truth he really isn't. He had a lot of friends because he was a really good friend himself. That's one lesson I'll be carrying for the rest of my life.
He was also a terrific boss. Many of his past officemates say that he wasn't the kind of person who would go ballistic over the simplest mistake or fire people out of nowhere. No. He was the kind who would calmly correct people without leaving them with the feeling of intense embarrassment. He was also exceptionally kind to all our household help that time. He would even give them money to watch a movie on their days off.
Dad was also a guitar-player. Sometimes I wish he would teach me how to play. He was also a very wide reader. His collection of books remains here at home. I've always planned on reading the books he read but I never quite got to doing that, but his collection is more than enough for me to believe that he really was fond of reading.
Dad was quite the writer. Many people describe his writing as spontaneous, lively and well, beautiful. I used to nod at this in amazement of how wonderful a writer he must be for people to say such good things about his style of writing. Very recently though, I was able to feast my eyes on tangible proof of his greatness. It turns out Mommy compiled all the letters that Dad sent her. Cellular phones hardly existed before and people mostly used pagers and beepers. Since the nature of Dad's work had him away from home at times, he wrote letters to Mommy. He was a very detailed writer, from what I have gathered. He wrote every single detail of his travels in pure English. He even talked about he felt bad when his favorite PBA team lost. I didn't have the time to read all the letters, but among them was the epilogue he had written for his own mother's funeral. It was a lovely account of how his mother lived. Dad really was a great writer. "Myth confirmed" Disclaimer: I am watching Mythbusters videos on Youtube as I write.
Speaking of PBA, Dad was an ultimate fan of basketball. I remember the times he used to take all of us to Cuneta Astrodome to watch the games. I remember nights when it would be just the two of us in the room. It was either we were watching Disney movies, comedy sitcoms or basketball games. When he was in the seminary, short as he was, he was the coach of theri basketball team.
As I mentioned earlier, he was an advertising manager. He was in charge of all those designs and stuff for the company, and my was he good at it. He created such lovely designs for T-shirts, mugs, logos and the like. Photoshop didn't really exist that time so he used Adobe Pagemaker and at home, his pen and paper. I used to watch him do his designs. He is incredible. His left hand just simply swoops over paper and creates drawings just like that. One reason I love dolphins is that I often recall watching Dad draw dolphins to create logos for the company. Dad was, in fact, the person who taught me how to draw, and I'm starting to regret not carrying on with this passion that we used to share.
But what most people hardly fail to say (and I don't think it's just because they're talking to me) is that Dad had one weakness: Me. A lot of people always tell me how much my father loved me. My parents almost lost me once. Mommy bled once during her pregnancy. That could have been the end of me. Ever since I came into this world, Dad did all he could to show how much he loved me. He would give me all the best. Ever since I was born, I was always included in Dad's letters to Mommy. He made sure I had great clothes, great toys, great everything. I had a full closet of clother, an Imelda-like array of shoes and a room cluttered with my toys or at least, remnants of them. His usually slow-to-anger nature would be crippled if he found out anything happened to me. He made sure everyone in the house spoke English so I would get used to the language. He would be afraid of the slightest scars and even birthmarks that I used to have because he thought I wouldn't be "Ms. Universe" anymore (something I always laugh about these days.) When he would go out of the country, he would buy me toys. Mommy recalls of the time that he carried a really big Donald Duck stuffed toy on the plane like a little kid. To this day, Donald Duck is still here.
Sad to say, I wasn't really the most appreciative daughter in the world back then. My father's constant love kind of spoiled me one way or another. Even I sometimes can't believe how bad a girl I was. There would be times that he would buy me toys I wouldn't like and I would be steaming mad, slamming doors, throwing stuff around, throwing a tantrum in short. Surprisingly, Dad revealed in one of his letters that my tantrums were one of the things he missed about me. I also would not appreciate clothes or shoes. Being a kid and all, all I cared about was toys. I'm sure I hurt my father's feelings a couple of times with these antics of mine.
Dad had a lot of health problems, too. By the time Mommy met him, he already experienced mild strokes. He had diabetes, hypertension, and all the other complications that came with it. Dad was hospitalized September of 1997. Being the kid that I was, I hardly noticed how serious that was. We played in the hospital. I would act like a Queen and Dad would be the King.
I still remember the day Dad collapsed, was brought to the ICU, and eventually died on the 4th of October, 1997. I was in a blue dress that time, the same dress I had worn for my 5th birthday. We had chicken for lunch. For some reason I was having one of my tantrums, and Mommy was scolding me. Dad said that I should not be scolded, since I was only a child.
I went to the bathroom when I suddenly heard Mommy scream and drop a tray of utensils. Next thing I knew I was staring at doctors and nurses rushing back and forth into the room.
Like I said, Dad died, and I hardly realized that.
After he died, Mommy and I would sometimes pretend we could call him in heaven using my toy telephone. We would take turns talking to him on the phone that time. That was fun, even if it was all make-believe. I'd like to try that again sometime.
It's a known fact that one of my favorite movies is The Lion King. Everyone says that every time the cartoon gets to the part when Mufasa dies, I cry. I used to think this happened after Dad's death, which would explain such action as some kind of psychological outlet. But I just found out that all this crying about Mufasa started before Dad's death, meaning ever since I started watching it on tape, I would cry whenever Simba found Mufasa dead. This struck me as some kind of foreshadowing that's often employed in literature. I never thought it could ever be true.
Today, Dad is supposed to be 61 years old. I sometimes think about what life would be like if Dad was still here. He would have played basketball with me. He would have taught me how to draw like he did. He would have taught me how to play the guitar. He could have been the one who attended my graduation. He could have helped me work on my speech and practice it with me. He would have been the first to read the draft. He would have watched all my school presentations. He would have videotaped every single one, photographed every slight movement I would make. He would watch movies with me and recommend books to me.
But I know he's just somewhere there. I know he'll never stop watching over me. He always has. It was hard when I realized I lost Dad, but everything happens for a reason we cannot comprehend at the moment. I still miss Dad, but I wouldn't have had things turn out any other way. I'm happy where I am now.
I'm happy to have a mom who braved time and distance to make ends meet.
I'm happy to have a stepfather who loves me like his own, never mistreating me in any way.
I'm happy to have a stepbrother who taught me that not all people are like me, and I have to learn how to live with that. If it wasn't for Gerald, I would never have learned to cope with different types of personalities. I'll always love him for that, no matter how many short fights we get into.
I'm happy to have a Dad who'll always watch over me even if I can't see him. He's always been there, I know that. I feel that.
And I'm happy that I have a God who constructed my life so beautifully, giving me blessings I don't even think I deserve, giving me trials and heartaches whenever I need them, never giving them to me without a specific purpose. :D
The Lord wants this for me. And I trust Him.
------
Dad, thanks for always being there for me. I'm sorry if I was not the perfect daughter that you deserved when you were still alive. I'm glad I have a father like you, not just because you can do a lot of things and people say good things about you. Above all that, I'm happy because you love me so much. It feels so good knowing someone loves you that much. I want to give you a hug, a kiss and tell you how much I love you too. I hope I grow up to be the daughter you can be proud of, to fulfill the dream you always had for me - well, minus the Ms. Universe part, of course. Haha. I love you Dad. Happy birthday. :D
Throughout the course of my life, throughout the 12 years I've lived without him, people have been telling me a lot about him, and each time they tell me, I can't help but wish he lived long enough for me to realize how great a man I have for a father.
Dad was a priest. He said mass for one year, however learned that he really didn't find his calling in being a priest. He got out of the priesthood. Mommy even says there's a copy of a kind of permission notice by Pope John Paul II. She says it's lying somewhere around here. I haven't seen it yet, though,
Dad managed to land a job as advertising manager for WG&A Shipping Lines. This is where he met my mom. And the rest, well, let's just say I was officially introduced into the world. XD
They say I acquired my Dad's eyes, brown and round, as well as his nose, and well, his height. Haha. Mnay people comment that I'm a perfect morph of my parents.
Dad was a very quiet person from what I've gathered from my five-year experience with him. I hate to admit it but I don't really remember his voice that much. However, despite the apparent silence, he had a great many friends. The funeral was jam-packed with loving relatives and friends. A lot of people think he's prone to anger, when in truth he really isn't. He had a lot of friends because he was a really good friend himself. That's one lesson I'll be carrying for the rest of my life.
He was also a terrific boss. Many of his past officemates say that he wasn't the kind of person who would go ballistic over the simplest mistake or fire people out of nowhere. No. He was the kind who would calmly correct people without leaving them with the feeling of intense embarrassment. He was also exceptionally kind to all our household help that time. He would even give them money to watch a movie on their days off.
Dad was also a guitar-player. Sometimes I wish he would teach me how to play. He was also a very wide reader. His collection of books remains here at home. I've always planned on reading the books he read but I never quite got to doing that, but his collection is more than enough for me to believe that he really was fond of reading.
Dad was quite the writer. Many people describe his writing as spontaneous, lively and well, beautiful. I used to nod at this in amazement of how wonderful a writer he must be for people to say such good things about his style of writing. Very recently though, I was able to feast my eyes on tangible proof of his greatness. It turns out Mommy compiled all the letters that Dad sent her. Cellular phones hardly existed before and people mostly used pagers and beepers. Since the nature of Dad's work had him away from home at times, he wrote letters to Mommy. He was a very detailed writer, from what I have gathered. He wrote every single detail of his travels in pure English. He even talked about he felt bad when his favorite PBA team lost. I didn't have the time to read all the letters, but among them was the epilogue he had written for his own mother's funeral. It was a lovely account of how his mother lived. Dad really was a great writer. "Myth confirmed" Disclaimer: I am watching Mythbusters videos on Youtube as I write.
Speaking of PBA, Dad was an ultimate fan of basketball. I remember the times he used to take all of us to Cuneta Astrodome to watch the games. I remember nights when it would be just the two of us in the room. It was either we were watching Disney movies, comedy sitcoms or basketball games. When he was in the seminary, short as he was, he was the coach of theri basketball team.
As I mentioned earlier, he was an advertising manager. He was in charge of all those designs and stuff for the company, and my was he good at it. He created such lovely designs for T-shirts, mugs, logos and the like. Photoshop didn't really exist that time so he used Adobe Pagemaker and at home, his pen and paper. I used to watch him do his designs. He is incredible. His left hand just simply swoops over paper and creates drawings just like that. One reason I love dolphins is that I often recall watching Dad draw dolphins to create logos for the company. Dad was, in fact, the person who taught me how to draw, and I'm starting to regret not carrying on with this passion that we used to share.
But what most people hardly fail to say (and I don't think it's just because they're talking to me) is that Dad had one weakness: Me. A lot of people always tell me how much my father loved me. My parents almost lost me once. Mommy bled once during her pregnancy. That could have been the end of me. Ever since I came into this world, Dad did all he could to show how much he loved me. He would give me all the best. Ever since I was born, I was always included in Dad's letters to Mommy. He made sure I had great clothes, great toys, great everything. I had a full closet of clother, an Imelda-like array of shoes and a room cluttered with my toys or at least, remnants of them. His usually slow-to-anger nature would be crippled if he found out anything happened to me. He made sure everyone in the house spoke English so I would get used to the language. He would be afraid of the slightest scars and even birthmarks that I used to have because he thought I wouldn't be "Ms. Universe" anymore (something I always laugh about these days.) When he would go out of the country, he would buy me toys. Mommy recalls of the time that he carried a really big Donald Duck stuffed toy on the plane like a little kid. To this day, Donald Duck is still here.
Sad to say, I wasn't really the most appreciative daughter in the world back then. My father's constant love kind of spoiled me one way or another. Even I sometimes can't believe how bad a girl I was. There would be times that he would buy me toys I wouldn't like and I would be steaming mad, slamming doors, throwing stuff around, throwing a tantrum in short. Surprisingly, Dad revealed in one of his letters that my tantrums were one of the things he missed about me. I also would not appreciate clothes or shoes. Being a kid and all, all I cared about was toys. I'm sure I hurt my father's feelings a couple of times with these antics of mine.
Dad had a lot of health problems, too. By the time Mommy met him, he already experienced mild strokes. He had diabetes, hypertension, and all the other complications that came with it. Dad was hospitalized September of 1997. Being the kid that I was, I hardly noticed how serious that was. We played in the hospital. I would act like a Queen and Dad would be the King.
I still remember the day Dad collapsed, was brought to the ICU, and eventually died on the 4th of October, 1997. I was in a blue dress that time, the same dress I had worn for my 5th birthday. We had chicken for lunch. For some reason I was having one of my tantrums, and Mommy was scolding me. Dad said that I should not be scolded, since I was only a child.
I went to the bathroom when I suddenly heard Mommy scream and drop a tray of utensils. Next thing I knew I was staring at doctors and nurses rushing back and forth into the room.
Like I said, Dad died, and I hardly realized that.
After he died, Mommy and I would sometimes pretend we could call him in heaven using my toy telephone. We would take turns talking to him on the phone that time. That was fun, even if it was all make-believe. I'd like to try that again sometime.
It's a known fact that one of my favorite movies is The Lion King. Everyone says that every time the cartoon gets to the part when Mufasa dies, I cry. I used to think this happened after Dad's death, which would explain such action as some kind of psychological outlet. But I just found out that all this crying about Mufasa started before Dad's death, meaning ever since I started watching it on tape, I would cry whenever Simba found Mufasa dead. This struck me as some kind of foreshadowing that's often employed in literature. I never thought it could ever be true.
Today, Dad is supposed to be 61 years old. I sometimes think about what life would be like if Dad was still here. He would have played basketball with me. He would have taught me how to draw like he did. He would have taught me how to play the guitar. He could have been the one who attended my graduation. He could have helped me work on my speech and practice it with me. He would have been the first to read the draft. He would have watched all my school presentations. He would have videotaped every single one, photographed every slight movement I would make. He would watch movies with me and recommend books to me.
But I know he's just somewhere there. I know he'll never stop watching over me. He always has. It was hard when I realized I lost Dad, but everything happens for a reason we cannot comprehend at the moment. I still miss Dad, but I wouldn't have had things turn out any other way. I'm happy where I am now.
I'm happy to have a mom who braved time and distance to make ends meet.
I'm happy to have a stepfather who loves me like his own, never mistreating me in any way.
I'm happy to have a stepbrother who taught me that not all people are like me, and I have to learn how to live with that. If it wasn't for Gerald, I would never have learned to cope with different types of personalities. I'll always love him for that, no matter how many short fights we get into.
I'm happy to have a Dad who'll always watch over me even if I can't see him. He's always been there, I know that. I feel that.
And I'm happy that I have a God who constructed my life so beautifully, giving me blessings I don't even think I deserve, giving me trials and heartaches whenever I need them, never giving them to me without a specific purpose. :D
The Lord wants this for me. And I trust Him.
------
Dad, thanks for always being there for me. I'm sorry if I was not the perfect daughter that you deserved when you were still alive. I'm glad I have a father like you, not just because you can do a lot of things and people say good things about you. Above all that, I'm happy because you love me so much. It feels so good knowing someone loves you that much. I want to give you a hug, a kiss and tell you how much I love you too. I hope I grow up to be the daughter you can be proud of, to fulfill the dream you always had for me - well, minus the Ms. Universe part, of course. Haha. I love you Dad. Happy birthday. :D
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