The smallest words to mend the biggest wounds.

 In many of my previous posts, I’ve shared glimpses of my relationship with my dad, often painting him as the absent, grumpy, and sometimes distant figure in my life. But there’s so much more to the story, and as I write this, I feel tears welling up. It's hard to acknowledge that I’ve portrayed him in a one-dimensional way because, truthfully, there were things I didn’t understand back then that have become clearer with time.

My dad is the eldest in his family, and while our relationship has been complicated, there are parts of him I’ve come to appreciate deeply. One of those is his love for music, something I’ve definitely inherited. I’m now a music and lyrics enthusiast, and I know that’s a piece of him living in me. He also has a deep love for books and perfumes (  something I’ve definitely inherited too)—he always had shelves full of books at his house, and he always smelled amazing. He knew how to cook, and he was great at it. His friends respected him, and he had a solid group that loved him.

Growing up, I mostly lived with my mom’s side of the family. My dad was in and out of my life, and every time I was with him, I felt uneasy. I didn’t understand why, but being around him made me feel like I was walking on eggshells. I think I wanted to be close to him, to hug him, but there was always this invisible wall between us. My brother and I weren’t close back then either—we were both dealing with our own traumas, trying to navigate life the best we could. We threw ourselves into distractions like drinking and hanging out with friends, thinking it would fill the void of the love and security we lacked after my parents separated.

During high school, my dad wasn’t around much. It was up to us to go to his place if we wanted to see him, and I remember feeling a deep jealousy toward my half-sisters. It always seemed like they were his priority. He loved them openly and without hesitation, and I didn’t understand why it felt so different with me. I built walls around myself because of it, distancing myself not only from him but from them too.

There’s one moment, though, that stands out in my memory, where I saw a different side of my dad. I got into trouble with the police, and I needed a guardian to step in. I didn’t want to burden my mom, knowing she already had enough on her plate, so I called my dad. Despite his frustration with me, he showed up, and in that moment, I knew that no matter how rocky our relationship had been, he had my back. It was a small moment, but it meant the world to me.

In 2010, I had a dream that shook me to my core. In the dream, I found out that my dad wasn’t actually my real father. When I woke up, I was flooded with guilt and shame. For years, I had blamed him for so many things in my life—his absence, the way he treated me, the feelings of abandonment. That dream was a turning point for me. It made me realize that he, too, was just trying to figure things out. He had his own struggles, his own mistakes, and his own pain. Silently, in my heart, I forgave him.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to see things differently. I remember a time when my brother had an argument with one of our half-sisters, and I instinctively stepped in to defend him. It felt like we were still fighting for our place in my dad’s life, for his love and attention. I said something that cut deep—“Bakit anak mo rin naman si kuya ah”—as if we were in some competition for his love. That moment still stings, and it’s a reminder of the unresolved feelings that linger between us.

Over the years, we’ve swept a lot of our issues under the rug. We never really addressed them, just moved on. But when my dad visited the Philippines after the pandemic, something changed. It was like a breath of fresh air. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells. Maybe it’s because he’s older now, or maybe it’s his new partner who has softened him. Either way, we had a great time, and for the first time in my life, he told me he was proud of me. I said thank you, but inside, my heart swelled. It was the first time I’d ever heard those words from him, and they meant everything. Just that one sentence healed so much of the pain I had been carrying for years.

Of course, there are still struggles and differences between us. I hired my half-sister to be my assistant, and it didn’t work out. We clashed, and my dad stayed silent about it. He knows me, and he knows her, and I think he didn’t want to take sides. But it still felt like he was siding with her in his silence. I know I was hard on her, trying to teach her to be strong, but maybe she didn’t see it that way.

Despite everything, I know my dad has his own trauma and pain. I see how he’s a good friend, a good uncle, and a good father to my siblings and my brother. But when it comes to me, it feels like we still have more work to do. I know he’s a good person, and I believe that with time, we can bridge the gaps that still exist between us. Maybe we just need more time together, to bond, to talk things through, or maybe just to enjoy each other’s company without the weight of the past hanging over us.

One thing I’ve learned through all of this is that relationships, especially with parents, are complicated. But they can heal, even after years of hurt. It just takes time, understanding, and sometimes, the smallest words to mend the biggest wounds.