I woke up to a rainy morning. Turning around, I saw my father standing over me smiling with his hands on his waist.
“Gina, I think I should just buy a plane ticket and go together with you. You can’t even take care of yourself. How am I supposed to believe you’re going to be fine over there?”
I had tripped and got myself a minor cut on my leg just the night before. When I came back, he saw the blood and immediately went to get the antiseptic and plasters. Even though it’s just a minor cut and I told him I was fine, the worry on his face told me it was more than just the cut he was worried about. And I don’t know what to do or say to make him feel better, so I just sat there and tended to my own wounds, as if that would make him somehow feel that his little girl can tend to her own wounds herself.
“I’m okay, daddy, I’ll be fine. We can contact via Skype and everything so it’s not like I can’t see you again forever,” I told him, still lying in my bed half asleep.
There was silence for a while. And then, just before he left my room, he said with a dejected tone in his voice, “… So, is there anything else you haven’t packed yet?”
I cannot tell him that I’ve yet to pack a little bit of courage and faith into my luggage.
So instead, I shook my head and went, “Nope, I’m all set.”