Counting my Blessings.

Abbu and me - USA 1994

I'm learning to live with my dad again. As much as I've loved my father, for some ironic reason, I've ended up spending that much of my life away from him. When I was about 3, he went away to America for his PhD. I obviously don't remember much from that time but my mom tells me I used to cry in my sleep because I missed him so much. We eventually moved to the US a couple of years later and basically the dozen years or so we spent there together were the only uninterrupted ones I got with him. Man, did I look up to my dad. He was everything to me, and I wanted to be exactly like him. I wanted to do engineering, get really good grades, and earn a doctorate degree. When my mom got mad and yelled at me, I'd go running to my father. He never hit us and he never raised his voice. Sometime later, he started work in Saudi Arabia and we came back to Pakistan. It's only been a year since he-finally-came home, and it's been the best thing that's ever happened to me. 

I know the world expects us to have a lousy, frustrating relationship with our parents during our teenage years and well into our twenties, and believe me, I've had my phases. There was a time a couple years back when every time I opened my mouth in front of my dad, I'd say something that sparked off an argument. It was insane; it was like my dad and I spoke entirely alien languages. I would go around the house with my lips pursed, refusing to speak to him, and he'd try to get me to sit down next to him so we could work through it. But working through it would only lead to further arguments. So I did my best to avoid conflict altogether by staying away. And then a couple of weeks later he'd go back to Saudi Arabia and I'd go back to normal. I was a horrible daughter all right. 

And then something wonderful happened; my dad got a job in Pakistan and he came back for good. The first couple of months were weird. My mom had a running joke that it just wasn't possible for my dad and I to ever agree on anything. And for a while, she was right. But not anymore. The older I've become, the more things I discover I have in common with my father. Both of us like really spicy food, we'd rather spend all of our time outside than sitting quietly at home (much to my mother's annoyance), we're more sensitive than necessary, we both love poetry and I'm happy to say, the list is still growing. But even better than all of this is the realization that I actually enjoy the conversations I have with my dad now. When he talks about himself, it reminds me of all the things I still need to learn about him. My life's taken on a certain routine; the day seems to revolve around him coming back home from office. If he's late, or if he's out all day, I find myself asking my mom why he's taking so long, like a little kid, instead of the 22 year old adult I'm supposed to be. Recently, my  uncle passed away. Talking to my cousin after her father's death made me realize how blessed I am. She told me that her biggest regret was that she never worked up the courage to tell her dad just how much she loved him. 'There's nothing shameful in telling your dad how you feel. Otherwise you might never get the chance again, and then it'll be too late.' So that's what I did. That same night I went up to my dad and told him. As John Mayer puts it, you should always 'say what you need to say'.

 Oh yes there will be more fights and plenty more arguments. But I'll be looking forward to all of it, the good stuff and the bad stuff. I'm just grateful I got my dad back.

This one's for you Abbu! <3