The Magic My Father Left Behind

Father's Day has just passed, and as often happens this time of year, I find myself thinking of my father. Most of my memories of him are tied to nature. He loved sitting outside in the garden under the mango tree, and he loved watching the sunrise and sunset. I developed my own ritual of waiting for the sunrise, following his practice. The photos of him staring into the horizon, towards where Mt. Apo lies in the distance bring to me such a sweet ache as he watched the sun rise and set.

Musch as he loved the changing colors of the skies, there was something he loved even more. The beach. He would always reminisce about his memories as a young boy in To-oy, Himamaylan chasing after “agokoys” in the sand. Some of my favorite memories are of bringing him to the shores of Samal but by then he was no longer a young man. Life had carried him through decades of work, responsibilities, victories, and losses. Yet the moment he stepped onto the sand and looked out toward the water, something changed. His eyes carried a spark that reminded me of the young boy he once was, and as he stared at the distant horizon, I can just imagine his thoughts going back to the carefree days when the only thing to do was to chase the “agokoys”. And when coaxed, the stories came - stories from a simpler, carefree time. He spoke of chasing tiny crab-like creatures along the shoreline, running barefoot through the sand, and spending hours without any concern for time. I share a portion of his letter to me in 1991 when he was living in San Leandro about those memories:

That story fascinated me. I could almost see him there: a skinny young boy laughing as he ran along the water's edge, curious about every moving thing he found. Long before he became my father, before he carried the burdens of adulthood, he was simply a child discovering the world. Being at the beach allowed him to return, if only for a little while, to the wonder and freedom of his childhood. As I sat beside him in Samal, I realized that the greatest gift was not that I had taken him there. The gift was that he shared those memories with me. Through his stories, I was able to meet a version of my father I never would have known otherwise.

Today, when I watch the sunrise from my balcony, I sometimes think about him. I think about the beaches he loved. I think about the boy in To-oy chasing tiny creatures along the shore. I think about the man who taught me, without ever intending to, that beauty is worth stopping for. That a sunrise and sunset deserves your attention. That a beach is more than sand and water. That sometimes the places we love most are the places that remind us who we were before the world told us who we should become.

I continue to seek out sunrises, sunsets, and quiet moments of wonder maybe in the hopes that as I do so, I gain a little of his peaceful heart and appreciation for quiet wonder. This past Father's Day, I could not even bring myself to finish this because the tears clouded up my glasses too many times. The man who once stood beside me watching sunsets, who smiled at the sight of the ocean and remembered the beaches of his childhood, has long since gone beyond my sight. There was no card to give, no letter to write, no phone call to make, no beach trip to plan. Only memories. As I keep working on Searching for Faerie, Finding Me, I find myself returning again and again to the memories of the quiet man who shaped me, and celebrate the moments and the stories that deserve to be remembered. My father may no longer walk beside me, but he remains woven into the pages I write, the sunrises I watch, and the wonder I continue to honor. In honoring those memories, I keep a part of him alive, carrying him forward into places neither of us could have imagined when he was a young boy chasing tiny creatures along the shores of To-oy, Himamaylan... leaving behind a trail of magic in my heart.