Last night, I dreamed that Pa wanted to start a new life. He sold the first and only home he ever owned in this country, and decided to move to the SOMA area of San Francisco, where there is still a sizable Filipino population. He planned on hooking up with old friends and taking classes at the Filipino community center there.
Part of me was happy that he’d be so much closer to me, but at the same time, I felt an inexplicable surge of panic. Pa was giving up his home, the place I used to call home, to live away from the family in a small, cramped apartment in a shady neighborhood. I was worried. I couldn’t stay there and watch him all the time. All I could think about were ways to stop him.
I knew my dismay stemmed from his strong desire to seemingly throw away his old life.
Hum. So selfish of me, to want him to stay just my Pa in Carson for as long as I live. I’m growing up and I shouldn’t expect him to remain the same, or subconsciously prevent him from changing either.
Sometimes it hits me that despite my brother living with him, he must still feel very lonely without Ma. I’m always happy when I hear of him going out and doing things with his friends, even if it’s just going to church a few times a week, or spending the day at the Indian casinos.
I keep meaning to send him a postcard from the King Tut exhibit I saw last weekend. He seems to get a kick out of my random postcards.
Pa deserves to be happy more than anyone else I know.