Emmanuel, My Living Messiah

2018 | For my Creative Nonfiction Course | Describing a Person or a Character

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I came with only a crop of the whole photograph of him, Mr. Emmanuel whom I know so passionately and this heart-throbbing scene I could not bury.

His circular-shaped face with a nose that resembles the long yet big noses of a Filipino. His wrinkled face is a sign of his extensive physique maturity; however, his short and neatly trimmed hair never did grow old in fashion, he still looks the same way on his twenties. Slightly plump, rounded-lumped stomach like most of adults do and his dimples, his dimples that even if he does not smile still shows off while grinding his teeth out of uneasiness.

His loose perfectly narrowed eyes with two apparent eyelids concealed a lachrymal gland drowned by volumes of tears. That decade and two years old gray shirt he wore on a similar event last twelve years still fits her upper body and compliments to his Filipino complexion, yet I was baffled of how white his thighs, his legs and feet, fairer than I do.

He never did grow much but he is exceptionally of height advantage - five feet and seven inches tall. He is structurally developed but only a gloss, his psychological and physiological self is in pain and my serene nights is his days of melancholy of regrets. His white fairly developed quadrated teeth of seemingly beveled edges was covered by a bit fat lips which exhibits his subtle smile I could barely see.

He stands stiffly, a devoted father resembling Daedalus who have cared much to his little Icarus. Still, his name- Emmanuel, my messiah, my savior of life’s darkest bewilderment. Though his surname is Cuizon, a hispanized Chinese surname which took part of about five percent of his recessive genes but dominantly inherited by his eldest daughter, and I too, the youngest.

Yes I am. I am the youngest. I am his daughter and he is the best father I have known. He provides us, his children, our needs and wants to the extent of sacrificing his health, time, strength and all. I appreciated all his works. He stood still in his silence which I thought I greatly inherited. His silence, often mixed with unhappiness, regrets and yearnings.

I often watch him sitting right in front of the window thinking with his eyes on wander. And I am like him. I am truly like him. My height, my rounded face, my eyes and even my character best accentuates the attributes he has as a person. As for my memory is concern, Mr. Emmanuel, my father dear, never did spank or beaten me up with sticks, belt nor anything like other fathers do, but, I hear him telling me beautiful words even when I made mistakes that made me grow like a true adult. He never told me to strive harder into my studies, as long as I pass in my subjects it’s all alright, that I do not have to be an honor student just to prove to him that I am a child worth of parent’s praise. But it is absurd to hear him say with disappointment when I do not win certain competitions I have joined. And despite of these words he said that I do not have to totally excel it would be my honor to study smartly to repay him with all of his investments to me, a way of showing him my deepest appreciation and love that in this big world I am happy to be blessed with a father like him who have done great things and who would always inspire me to rose higher and make my dreams real.

All the days, even weekends, he spent to earn money so that by tomorrow I could have my allowance and provide me the things I ask to him. He loves his family too much, it is more than his life. I remember how he loved his mother, seeing him as a man weeping silently on the corner while burying my grandmother just made me feel so loved and get moved. I remember him saying that he has spent his coins for he bought candles for my grandmother’s tomb every Monday. I even saw him trying to pretend he was okay when he was not because of pain. He was sick but he does not want to send himself into the hospital because it can cost money. He even does not eat meals for he had to give his money for the family.

I remember him when I was a child that he was my protector against my mom who always pinch me, beat me with wood-sticks or broom and scold me. He always carries me at his back when I run towards him every time he got home after work. I always got a ride with his motorcycle every morning to make me happy. When I was a child until today I hugely felt his forever love.

When people thinks that there is no forever at love, well, there is, both with my parents, with my father. The love of my parents, of my father is incomparable.