Letter No. xxxxx to Abah

Dear Abah,

I've never really get to have a proper cup of coffee with you, just you and me, two cups of coffee and perhaps a cookie or two. We could have talked about a lot of things.

Things that would seem minute to you but very important to me. And because of the latter reason, you'd listen to them attentively anyway because I'm your daughter.

We could have had that talk as two adults, equally ridden with the supposed real-life problems. You would talk about your wives and I would talk about my work. You would give me advices on how to be stronger and I would graciously argue with you on how the advices would not work. You would comment on my mountainous ego and I would reply that I inherited it from you. You would tell me to stop blaming others for my own weakness and I would say perhaps I should stop taking example from the father I worship.

We would be a pair of father and daughter of very egoistical inclinations, both have to always be right and never wrong.

Truth is, I miss you.

You have been gone for a year and four months. In that one year and four months, there has not been one single day where I cease to think of you, dream of having coffee with you [though you did not take coffee] and talking to you.

I am getting scared that I am to forget how your voice sounded like.

My depressive melancholic tendencies have stopped. My emotions with regards of you have been quite monotonous for quite a while. Which is a good thing. I don't cry for you so much now. As much as I hate to admit it, I am slowly accepting the fact that you are never to come back and I am to never see you again.

Never thought this day would come.

Still, I miss you terribly. I woke up today and thought about you. Like any other mornings. And I would go to bed today thinking about you, too, like any other nights.