Happy Birthday, Dad.

Today is my Dad's birthday. According to his driver's license, he would have been seventy-two. He died of heart failure the day before New Year's eve in 2002.

To his friends and colleagues, he was this noted journalist and political analyst who was not afraid to voice his opinion on the current state of affairs in the Philippines. To me, he was Daddy, whose chest I loved resting on while he did his crossword puzzles in bed. I was Daddy's girl, at least until the day he left. I was only 12.

From then on, it was hard to reconcile the father I knew who was loving and gentle in every way (even in the way he disciplined us), to the man who chose to leave us rather than try to rebuild our family and cohabitate with another woman. I know now that relationships are complicated and rebuilding a marriage is easier said than done with two very imperfect people.

In my view, my father led a less-than-ideal life. After such a promising start, I don't think he ever lived up to his fullest potential due to the few poor choices he made during mid-life. Nevertheless, my father had qualities that I unconsciously honed in me throughout the years I was growing up. As I sought to forgive him bit by bit, the way he came through any conversations I had with him, whether pleasant or serious, made a deep impression on me. His patient and calm demeanor, his very gentle and affectionate ways, the respect he accorded, and the thoughtful and quiet way he would opine and inquire in conversations, never overbearing or pushy.

Dad was no saint, and I am not going to be dishonest and say that he was, just because he's passed on. There were many things that he did that disappointed us. But he is my father and I do love him, warts and all. No matter what mistakes he did, he's contributed largely to who and the way I am today. My brother told me once that I am like him in many ways. It made me smile. I liked hearing that. I really did.

Happy Birthday, Dad.